Fantasy
The Necromancer
“How long has he been dead?” I ask the woman in front of my door. Her face glistening from the frozen tears on her face, she clasps a worn blanket over her shoulders. She wears an old threadbare gray dress underneath, barely enough to contend with the frigid cold outside. Her eyes are wide as she looks at me, but it’s as if she is looking past me.
By Blanca Nino4 years ago in Fiction
The Last Peaceful Night
Rain was pouring down in the streets of Paris; lighting flashes bathed the streets in a brief white light. The year was 1914, mid-summer night rains were to be expected this late into July, however a curious tingling crept at the edges of his consciousness. A foreboding aura hung in the air like a stubborn stink refusing to leave the nostrils in peace.
By Aiden von Ulf4 years ago in Fiction
Into the Abyss.
The three hour drive to Yacht Peninsular ends up being futile. On the way my analytical mind attempts to rationalise the situation. “Maybe that was his way of affirming my calling to Mermaid Beach? Maybe, I read the circumstance completely wrong? Maybe they are not together and he really was, just teaching her to surf? So, why not just be honest with me then? Why the pretence? And why the fuck am I once again, struggling to make sense of a situation that which makes no fucking sense!” I cannot cope with this any longer. I am hanging onto my existence by that of a mere thread and if I do not get some answers to the questions that which leave me a prisoner of my own mind very soon, I fear I will lose what little bit of strength in which I have left. By the time I get to Yacht Peninsular, I am fuelled with the urge to go back home and confront him. I am not quite sure how I will accomplish this when he blatantly refuses to talk to me, though? To help shine a little light on the darkest of places within that of my psyche, all that which pertain to him and exactly what his intentions are, to put me through this? I have no choice but to catch him off guard. Right now however, I need to try to get some sleep.
By Lauren Davey4 years ago in Fiction
Do You Hear What I Hear?
I am a Miami girl born and raised in Little Havana. My parents are Cuban immigrants that came to this city the same age I am now, 22. They had me at the age of 30 and my sister at 32. They struggled to do everything right and by the book so they weren’t stereotyped by all the negative connotations associated with being an immigrant. They became citizens, established their business, all while raising my sister and I. Majority of our community are fellow Cubans, but the city is just as diverse as the rest of Miami. I speak Spanish, but you couldn’t tell over my American accent unlike my parents. We blended in well and focused so much on being accepted in America that we never travelled outside of Miami. My parents were strict, but my good grades and honors gave me some leeway with them. It was not until I was older and able to travel on my own that I began exploring outside Little Havana expanding to outside of Miami to neighboring Florida cities.
By Christina DeFeo4 years ago in Fiction
Sheriff
My best friend, the incomparable ranger Marion Fletcher, insists that our group can't decamp until we've had a proper breakfast. She trapped two pheasants and is frying them in a cast iron skillet over our fire. The scent of the game birds mingles enticingly with the fresh herbs Eliza Rivers, mistress of nature, foraged this morning.
By Deanna Cassidy4 years ago in Fiction
Immortality
I received news of the burglary while I was in London, far away from home dealing with the acquisition of a new company. The notification did not come from my alarm system, however; that had been bypassed. Instead, I had to step away from a meeting due to vertigo, and any physical distress for me could mean only one thing. I called my trusted financial planner, Mr. Thorne, and asked him to check on my home. He had had dinner with me at my place on countless occasions and would be able to recognize if anything was out of place. He was also a discrete man, one who never asked pesky questions like, “You’ve been my client for 40 years, so why don’t you look a day over 25?”
By Chris Laughton4 years ago in Fiction
Beneath the Frozen Pond:
Another blistering hot climate change day on the ranch here in Texas. As usual, the power had gone out, yet another power down outage. It had been freakishly hot, even by abrupt climate change standards, and the air was almost combustible, but I don’t suppose air can catch fire can it? Science, as you will see is not one of my strengths.
By Brittany Smith4 years ago in Fiction
