Fantasy
A Little Genie's First Flower
Way back before I first gained the title "Harvest Genie"--something I'm very proud of--I had to start somewhere. Get inspired by something to figure out the answer to a question every genie asks themselves at some point: "What kind of genie do I want to be?"
By Grant Alexander Brown4 years ago in Fiction
Trading Destinies
Black folks don't commit suicide, right? That's what they used to say when I was growing up. Things are different now, though. Black teens are killing themselves at an alarming rate. Yeah, I mean, I'm 42, but at least I have some cover. My wife, my kids, hell, the whole world would be better off without me. I always was told about my potential and how smart I was...so why the fuck am I fat, depressed, broke, and losing my family? It's all connected...I'm losing my family because I'm fat, broke, and depressed. I'm fat because I'm depressed. I'm broke because I'm fat and depressed. It's a beautiful symmetry if you think about it.
By Chris Moore4 years ago in Fiction
Karya
There are three kinds of men. Those who love me, my sons and husband, for example; those who carnally desire me, too many both nameless and faceless; and those who fear me. When I say fear, I don’t mean “for their lives”. The men who fear me, fear my strength, my resilience, my intelligence, my tenacity, my energy, and being on the wrong end of my biting wit. I give no ground to fools. What does not exist are men who are indifferent to my charms and wiles.
By Alexander J. Cameron4 years ago in Fiction
Bouquet
At the end of every winter, Reyna’s hair, black as soil, fell out in clumps. At the start of every spring, her bald head sprouted flowers instead. And every summer, her mother used a pair of garden shears to cut the flowers from her scalp, selling the bouquets for exorbitant amounts of money. By the time autumn came back around, the flowers died, and her black hair returned for the winter.
By Christina Lee4 years ago in Fiction
Day of Jubilation
My generation is the sixth generation since the Reckoning. My generation couldn’t remember the Reckoning, we studied it from a Scholar; she couldn’t remember it either, nor could her mother, but it had been important once, so we were taught to remember. We speak its name with learned remorse and loss, even though we cannot comprehend the devastation. Destruction rippled across oceans, continents, cities, and countries and ripped open a wound most never to be healed. As the world lay bleeding, humanity did its part and survived.
By Alex Cordray4 years ago in Fiction
Mysterious Copilot
I have the feeling that I’m not alone, although I’m in a space tunnel. Who has led me to this small and narrow way? I don’t know exactly so I look out my only port hole and name my mysterious copilot , Marigold , for the yellow splotches scattered on the sublime plaid purple space ahead. That’s the aim of my journey. The tunnel of space all around me is soft darkness in dim shades of green, red, and blue. I don’t mind it. I’m not afraid. The way ahead seems pleasant, and I trust Marigold holds my heart at these high altitudes giving me a touch of light to steer by. I don’t know why but I do.
By Alice Eckles4 years ago in Fiction
As Above
Sophia's eyesight was seared with a brilliant white light as she was catapulted from one dimension to another. Her vision blurred, as prisms of multicoloured reflections danced around her. She felt she was flying through a rainbow, and once on the other side a world different than her own came into focus.
By sylvana lee-jones4 years ago in Fiction
The Lost Witch. Top Story - August 2021.
There’s this feeling, that I cannot resist. When the sun delicately caresses you, and the breeze brushes past, rustling the trees on its way. The early stages of summer, when the cold is on its way out, and basking under the warmth of a rejuvenated sun is blissful.
By Ariane Torelli4 years ago in Fiction
