Fantasy
Glass
When I told the story afterward I always said we spoke the same language, the wolf and I. A slight falsification. Actually the word we spoke was silence—blue burning cloudless and the glade of bees, then the loom of darkness, leaves shining in the sun and the stars’ prickly light.
By Lori Lamothe4 years ago in Fiction
Demeter's Light
The dark fae had already crossed over. Their job was done, and yet she couldn't fathom where or how she should start. The silencing of a forest wasn't easy on any of the fae, dark or light. Yet it had come to this. The willow's shrubs had ceased to sway. The soft grass that so many of the fae had lounged against now cracked at the slightest touch. It was inevitable. From above birds didn't fly, while down below worms squirmed to be free from the coarse earth that surrounded them.
By J.J. Gonzalez4 years ago in Fiction
Bound Existence
Summer was in the air, thick and humid, drawing forth an army of bloodthirsty insects as Martin wandered beneath the shady trees. He felt like a vampire, struggling to stay beneath the overhanging branches in a desperate attempt to avoid the searing sun. It was just too damn hot down here in the south.
By Catherine Guillotte4 years ago in Fiction
Utilities Not Included
Just a few moments left. She paced back and forth, furrowing a rut into the concrete floor of the dimly lit backstage; her skin was morphed into a ghastly, ghoulish hue by the crimson signal light above the stage door. She couldn't tear her eyes from its sanguine glow. Any moment now, it would indicate that it was her time to take the stage and submit her performance-application. In a few short seconds, she’d hear her name and the roar of the studio audience, piped into the performance chamber via omnipresent loudspeakers. Of course, the judges would remain silent.
By Willow J. Fields4 years ago in Fiction
Kitsune-bi
The front page of the Savannah Morning News featured a photograph of a city square lined with luminescent live oak trees, their twisted, glowing branches dripping with Spanish moss, drooping low over the streets. Below the image was a headline that made Claire cringe. Alone on a cobblestone sidewalk at the end of a long work day, her exhaled breath was a small sound of private exasperation.
By Caitlin Suzanne Young4 years ago in Fiction
The Rise
The killer watched the family intently. He had the perfect view. Nestled in the shrubbery of their backyard, he could see directly into the family’s kitchen. He smiled to himself, bemused at how blissfully unaware they were. Of course, who would have expected a strange man, lurking in their backyard at night? Certainly not the Carters. Toying with his silver dagger, the killer watched as the Carters cleaned up after dinner. The two young kids buzzed around the kitchen, clearing the table of dishes. Before dashing out of the kitchen. Now it was just Sienna and Nate. The killer’s gaze followed the couple as they finished closing the kitchen. They seemed so at ease. Turning off the lights, they disappeared further into the house.
By Sayble Kerr4 years ago in Fiction
Driftwood Beach
The soft ticking of a large austere clock hanging on the wall was the only indication that time was moving forward. It was almost perfectly synchronized with the almost inaudible ticking of the silver Rolex on Dylan Drake's left wrist. Dylan, however, was in the same position he had been since 8 AM. Sitting erect at his computer, his hands on the keyboard, eyes unblinking, and mouth set into an expressionless line. His only movement came from his fingers that whizzed over the keys. Their clicking harmonizing with the ticking melody. Finally, he broke eye contact with his computer screen and glanced down at the marine blue face of his watch. If it were not for his watch informing him of the date and time, Dylan wouldn't know the difference between any of his identical days. It had been three years ago that Dylan had arrived on Wall Street, hungry for something new that he would be bored of within a year. That was how Dylan Drake was, nothing held his interest for too long, and yet he performed impeccably. None of his superiors had ever complained. Locking his computer, he grabbed his leather briefcase and headed to the elevators.
By Daniela Alejandra4 years ago in Fiction
The Baby Legs Bates Chronicles
Standing at the intersection of do or die, feeling forlorn like a sky without a dawn, is Grace. She’s like water without wet, a brainchild of regret. Yet her heart still beats and she wonders what for, because she can’t find a reason to live anymore.
By Frank E Robinson4 years ago in Fiction
