Fantasy
The Culling of the Wild
I Emanual was freezing and exhausted. Flakes of snow bit into his face, and he stared at the tree line. The evergreens were just beginning to thin out at the altitude they were at. It would have been a beautiful scene if they weren't running for their lives. He looked back over his shoulder, and saw the impossibly long line made up of his village behind him. He trudged another step through the hard packed snow, and looked at Trevor. Trevor gave him another one of his annoying eyerolls, and communicated with his face that their was no way they were going to slow down.
By Kyle shick4 years ago in Fiction
Nightmares of Battle
Tossing and turning, a man jolts up in bed, sitting up frantically, wiping sweat away from his face. His body, pulsating with deep quick breaths. He looks around his candle-lit room in worried fear. With the candles wick low and fading, he staggers to a bucket of water to wash his face. Within the rippling of the water, the man stared deeply into the reflection of his eyes.
By Logan Halverson-Bergez4 years ago in Fiction
Portal in the Piggly Wiggly
Portal in the Piggly Wiggly, by Laurie Lyons 7:42 A.M. Tuesday morning. Raven hits the snooze button. She will hit it two more times, then wake up. Next is coffee and granola, then dressing in black skinny jeans and a black T-shirt. She has 5 identical sets of each. She accessorizes with heavy black eyeliner, black combat boots and colorful socks (which no one can see, but she knows are there). The apron will come later. At 8:20 she walks out the front door to catch the 8:26 bus that will take her 7 ½ miles to the Piggly Wiggly. Here she walks down aisle 7 to the employee break room, places her things in her locker, and puts on her red apron before checking the board for today’s assignment. This is precisely the sequence of events of every weekday morning of Raven’s life for the past 6 years. This particular Tuesday, Raven is feeling especially numb, as if she could sleepwalk through her day and no one would know the difference. Half alive and half something else. Not dead, but not really living either. Certainly not living enough to even imagine that things could be different.
By Laurie Lyons4 years ago in Fiction
Laelaps and the Vixen
The instability of the Fae Realms of Elphyne exploded after the assassination of the Summer King five years ago. Whatever peace might be wrought in blood and iron between the disparate Courts was shattered that night, along with his blade and his lone heir's heart.
By Elizabeth Noyes4 years ago in Fiction
The Mermaid's Menagerie
Commander Simpson slid across the wet boards as the hurricane shoved the HMS Stoat leeward. Hands suddenly gripped his left arm, and he turned to help Mr Noble steady himself. The young seaman's face looked as pale as if he'd seen a ghost, or become one. Simpson clapped Noble on the shoulder and shouted over the howling winds: "It will be alright! Help secure the foresail!"
By Deanna Cassidy4 years ago in Fiction
Rex Draco Farm
Summer passes as the marvelous, crisp smells of Fall settle upon the land, the fields of grasses turning from bright emerald green to a shade of brown that reminded Arthur of a paper bag from the store. Scratching his head as he looked out from the front porch, a cup of coffee in his hand early mornings having become a rather painful routine ever since Little John had brought the two cows and three chickens. “I still cannot believe they just gave us the animals.” He told himself a building on his face thinking about all the changes they had to make to accommodate the new giant chickens and the new routines added to the once slow days.
By Chris James4 years ago in Fiction
The Marigold Cafe
[SFS 4] A single marigold in a vase on the windowsill. The bright yellow caught her eye, and the feeling of foreshadowing that came over her as she lifted the flower and twirled it between her fingers. What's next? she asked it. To anyone else it would seem an insignificant detail of the room, but for her it felt like the most important clue of all.
By Ellen Stedfeld4 years ago in Fiction
Starlight and New Beginnings
My city is on fire. Ash rains down on me from the sky. I stand in the street surrounded by chaos, smoke, and burning buildings. My father runs up behind me, picking me up in one fell swoop. It was the last time I felt his strong arms around me. I don’t remember what he looks like, my memories are gone. The fires are the earliest memory I have as a child. I can’t remember my mother, or if I had any siblings. I only recall my father hiding me in a cellar with two other children. That life and time seem so long ago. I sometimes wonder if I imagined it all.
By Mandy Raquel4 years ago in Fiction
Morning Golds
“What the hell are those?” Sam questions, as he walks in the room with an unlit clove cigarette nestled behind his ear; like a carpenter would hold a pencil. “Marigold flowers and morning glory seeds, homie,” Javier excitedly exclaims. “This shit is powerful medicine.” “My Tia, Señora Lupita, is a Curandera,” Javier continues to explains with pride, “ a Mexican healer with various alternative medicines, spells and prayers.” Now Javier is heavily rooted in ancient Mexican-Folklore culture and superstitious. With a rendition of the Virgen of Guadalupe tattooed on his chest, the embracement of his heritage is literally tattooed on him.
By Pablo Angel Castro 4 years ago in Fiction
LOST CITY
LOST CITY: Which is a Witch Now where did we leave off at. Hmm. That’s right Nimue and Niam were just starting to read the Malleus Maleficarum, hoping to determine the amount of potential danger their family may be in. With the new lander beliefs having infiltrated the land the Waymakers way of living was now under speculation and perhaps even believed to be witchcraft. This is the part of the story that always caught my attention when mama would tell it. The suspense of how the Waymakers manage always has me sitting on the edge of my chair. So, let’s get on with the story.
By Greylee Tynewise4 years ago in Fiction
The Realm of the Fey
“Hey, watch it, kid!” The townsman dusted off his front as I pushed past him, shooting me a sneer of disgust. I didn’t falter and kept up my pace, shimmying through the packed streets of the village of Abdalla. I followed the curve of the cobbled stone path until we came upon the bakery, and I struggled out of the flow, irritating most in my path.
By Katelyn Hunt4 years ago in Fiction
