Historical
The Extraordinary Adventure of Amelia and the Time Key. Content Warning.
FOREWORD In the realm of imagination and boundless curiosity, where dreams intertwine with reality, there exists a tale that transcends time itself. It is a story of a young girl named Amelia, whose extraordinary adventure would leave an indelible mark on the world and ignite a fire in the hearts of all who hear it.
By Samuel Korede3 years ago in Fiction
On the Wings of Birds
AFTER Hinewai was packing, Tania helping, both feeling so excited at the thought of returning to their lives on the other side of the desert and lake, and Kahu – it took awhile, but Kahu had built a new village – not out of the ruins, but closer to the great Lake Taupo, amidst even more precarious, volcanic steaming eruptions – his people were used to the rumbles and the continual thermal activity, they knew where to build and where not to, they knew where to step and where not to, they knew when to get into hot springs and recognized the signs and knew when to get out, before the water reached boiling point, they knew which areas to avoid, and which areas were calmer than they appeared to be. Even the horses knew which areas were dangerous and which were not, so long had the Te Arawa lived in the wild terrain. Rebuilding and helping what was left of his people had kept him too busy to feel too lonely, except when he retired for the night, when he was so tired that the fleeting thoughts of missing his wife barely began before he was snoring, and his dreams were always the same…
By TANIKA SMITH WHEATLEY3 years ago in Fiction
On the Wings of Birds
The escape Hinewai was sitting on a rocky plateau watching the wondrous geyser activity that seemed to spread out in all directions as far as the eyes could see, surrounding her with hissing mist, at her new home. How she’d wished that she had thought to bring one of the many bird totems with her – it would have looked like a shining Manaian symbol among the Te Arawa ethereal misty lands. She hadn’t realized how much time she’d spent praying to those totems, back home. She hadn’t realized how little she had bought with her – travel light, she’d instructed everyone, we will get new things at Te Arawa – too late, she realized just how precious some things were, like the totems that she had taken for granted, at Manaia. She supposed she couldn’t ask for any to be made, especially now, when these people were changing, becoming like the Pakeha, and worshipping their Gods – or God – apparently, they only had one, although they also prayed to his son’s mother, Mary…
By TANIKA SMITH WHEATLEY3 years ago in Fiction
On the Wings of Birds
BEFORE I believe it is all her fault, my ambitious, grandmother’s fault. With some regret, I blame her. I remember the first time I saw her. Still youthful; and still beautiful. And frivolous, flippant, and flirtatious. Even as a small child I thought so; yet I wanted her to be proud of me none-the-less – and although the life she had planned for me was extremely different to what I had dreamed of at the time, she made me believe I was just like her, courageous and confident, rather than the quiet, shy girl I really was. She made the quiet, gentle ways of my sweet mother seem somehow weak and feeble. She had an infectious laugh and exciting way about her that contagiously swept everyone away with her enthusiasm until too late, we’re all doing what she wants, living the life she has in mind for us – even my conquering father, my sweet mother, and my lovely sisters – such power, such control – even with the great sea between us - yet – if we all had a second chance at it, we’d all do it exactly the same, all over again – simply because – she was right…………..(mused Whiu Hinehoe A’Tane - called Hinewai)
By TANIKA SMITH WHEATLEY3 years ago in Fiction
Heist Gone Awry
Rain poured down relentlessly as they crept through the labyrinthine museum halls. Sarah, the skilled lock-picker, deftly maneuvered her tools while Marcus, the acrobat, crawled along the ceiling, his lithe form almost melding with the shadows. Julian, the hacker, tapped into the security system with focused intensity. They were a perfect team, bound by trust and the promise of unimaginable riches.
By kennedy kubai3 years ago in Fiction
"The Little Old Print Shop"
In the early 1900s lived a humble old man, a printer named Nikolai. The townspeople occasionally came to him, requesting things like circulars, cards, and wedding invitations. Old Nikolai was proud because of the fact he owned one of the first printing shops in the city of Saint Petersburg, which was founded by Peter the Great. Nikolai wasn't rich by any means, yet he was still delighted because he had a deep passion for printing verses from the Bible. However, printing religious material was considered a crime during the Bolshevik Revolutionary War. Despite the dangers he might endure, the printer continued to publish the verses and stories he had grown to love the most. Soon enough, he was caught and jailed, and little old Nikolai's fate was sealed for the crimes committed against the State. He was later condemned and sent to the gallows, executed for printing about God's love. But his spirit lived on in that old printing shop, even years after it was closed down. Before going to the gallows, the old printer prayed for his city, people, and land. "I don't pray for myself, Saint Peter. I hope our Lord lets you hear my plea. I pray that freedom will one day return to this wondrous beautiful land and that one day this old magestic city bears your name once again." During those years of strict regime rule, the city was renamed Leningrad to honor the wit and father of the revolutionary age calling for hate and for war. But many men and women of goodwill grew intense with each passing day and still remember the old printer's prayer. And in 1991, the town was renamed Saint Petersburg after the fall of that ruthless regime. The old print shop is gone, closed down, kaputt now many years have passed. But the spirit of that little old printer who dared to print the stories of truth, love, and freedom lived on, and his prayer for liberty came true. And some still alive in that old part of town where that little old print shop once stood, say on a clear, quiet night; if you really try hard, you can still hear him printing away the stories that a little boy once heard, an old hero that almost nobody knew named Nikolai published one day.
By Rudolph Danny Leiva 3 years ago in Fiction
