Fantasy
Downpour
I was shot six times -- three times in the chest, once in my right arm, and twice in my right leg. I couldn't tell you who killed me or why, I just know that this barn, slumped in the same position day after day is where I spend my eternity. I don't know if I sleep at all. Not once did I try to keep track of the time. I couldn't tell you the year, let alone the day or hour it is. I don't know what the outside world is like anymore. I only know this rusted red remnant from when I was alive.
By Cody Steinberg5 years ago in Fiction
Halfway To Nowhere Special
It is too cold to sleep outside. I shake myself awake every other minute. I even dream of a warm prison bed. I walk the streets looking for cars with unlocked doors. No need for the stereo or their trash on the floor. Just the metal box that keeps away the wind, the cool, Cold air of winter. Protection from others humanity.
By Craig Johnson5 years ago in Fiction
No Shelter from the Storm: When dreams and dragons can’t get you home
The storefronts give way to large residential lots and the fresh air swirls around them. They arrive at a property with an enormous barn set to the side. Enclosed entirely by a split-rail fence, they enter the yard at the gate.
By Amy Proebstel5 years ago in Fiction
LOST CITY:THE OLD BARN
I am going to tell you the same story about that old barn outside of town that my mama told me, and her mama told her, so on and so forth. The tale begins long before there were paved roads, automobiles, or even electric. Everyone has heard of the Salem Witch trials that took place in 1692, but our little town has kept the secrets of Lost City, Oklahoma, and what it used to be. The only evidence that is still around is that old barn right there on the edge of town. Lost City was not always the name of this little town I call home, it was once known as Makeayway Valley. Makeaway Valley was the tribunal home of a very powerful people, the Waymaker Gemini Coven.
By Greylee Tynewise5 years ago in Fiction
The Tractor Graveyard
If I asked you to name a place you were warned not to go as a child, what would your answer be? The home of someone you thought of as a friend? Perhaps a neighbor's yard, where they kept bees for a side hobby? Maybe your guardian just didn't want you crossing the street? Whatever the case, we've all had adults tell us we can't do something. Doesn't that make you want to do it even more?
By Dani Banani5 years ago in Fiction
My First Flight
Once, I was an impressionable five-year-old who just wanted to fly like Peter Pan. I didn’t know that one summer I would see something that would change my whole world forever. Every summer I would visit Grandma and Grandpa’s house. They were farmers and they were always outside.
By Erika Ravnsborg5 years ago in Fiction
Painting Lessons for Fairies
It was late fall when I found the fairy tangled up in Grover’s fur after our morning walk through the woods. It wasn’t uncommon to find leaves, small twigs and burrs snarled and snagged in the German Shepherd’s bushy coat after every walk. The thick fur was practically a magnet for forest debris, and it didn’t help that Grover had to bound through the densest part of the forest without hesitation. He always came when I called, but all it took was a second in the brush and Grover was soon carrying half the forest in his fur home.
By Jharice Blake5 years ago in Fiction
