Fantasy
Wild, The Child and their Warrior
Long raven curls flowed down her back and blew in the wind at the top of the ledge. She stood leaning on a pole of bamboo feeling the impermanence of the moment and reveling in the present. The pole bent slightly underneath her weight, preventing a nasty decent, the tip of the obsidian dagger strapped to her thigh dangled in the wind. She wondered how much longer the child would be.
By Hannah Farrow4 years ago in Fiction
How to Drown
Mother always said I would die with a song in my throat. Marcus, my brother, agreed, but the two of them had very different interpretations of what that meant. Mother recognized my tendencies toward questioning and, at times, disobeying. “Never lose your voice,” she always said. Marcus always just shrugged and said that since I was always humming and making up melodies, he figured I would do so until my dying day.
By Sara Rumrill4 years ago in Fiction
The Hourglass
The Girl sat quietly in the Hourglass. For the past seventy-nine years, all she had done was sit quietly in the Hourglass, for she was Time. She was the latest edition of the woman burdened with being Time. Her sadness kept the humans' clocks in order, so that’s what she had to be. She was nothing but a tool for them that they didn’t even know about. The Girl had never been given a name out of fear that it would make her “too human”, despite the fact that the only difference she had from one of them was that she couldn’t die. Being immortal wasn’t as fun as it had once seemed. Especially when all she could do was sit in the Hourglass and feel the effects of starvation wearing away at her bones, but never being granted the sweet taste of a meal, or the sweet release of death. She wished for death more times than a three hundred and twenty-nine year old should, especially an immortal one. But that was the purpose of Time anyway.
By Tyler Kelly4 years ago in Fiction
The Girl in the Dream
I hated what I turned into when I fell asleep. I looked down at my hands, trembling still. Last night had to be one of my rougher nights. When Mother introduced me to my powers, she never mentioned the mental strain it would cause to further develop them. I was only able to use them unconsciously, in my dreams. It’s a dark world to work in, in the astral realm...one sees things. Every morning I woke up not sure if I could continue on with my work. “If you want to be a vessel of light, you’re going to have to be exposed to the perversions of the world.” My body shook, and I coughed, struggling to hold back the bile in the back of my throat. I swallowed the bile and reached for the glass of the water sitting on my nightstand, I could see small waves forming in the glass, as my hand still shook.
By Christina Jacobs4 years ago in Fiction
Neptune's Tide
“Another day, another dozen tide pools,” Milo said to the scattering arthropods on the freshly exposed beach before him. Dr. Milo Wilson was a marine biologist, specializing in the effects of overfishing on aquatic ecosystems. He was playing in tide pools outside the fishing village of Tarent’s Cove.
By Travis Wellman4 years ago in Fiction
The Lottery
The lottery reached $123 million dollars now. Everyone wanted a piece of that pie. The stores were crammed with people wanting to buy lottery tickets. Some had their own numbers, some just wanted random numbers but all wanted to win at least a little of it.
By Angie Coulter4 years ago in Fiction
The Judge
The Judge I sit on a metal throne in a blank canvas. Where the metal came from, I’ll never know. It has been here alongside me forever. That and my bat. My throne – and I know it’s my throne because no one else has ever sat in it and no one else has ever tried – is tall, but not so tall that my feet don’t touch the ground. I’m granted power, assertion, that much is clear. The throne is molded to my back and arches upwards with pointed, metal spindles. The base is solid, anchored to the bottom of this white canvas, and unable to move. I sit here always. All day. Every day. Forever. I’ve been here for as long as I can remember; there’s no memory of anything else. I’m surrounded by blinding white, and although I’ve been in this one spot for all my time, the white has never ceased to blind me. I am constantly squinting, constantly rubbing at my eyes, constantly aware of my dry eyeballs and the way I have to flex the muscles behind them to look around.
By Brittany German4 years ago in Fiction
