Historical
The Old Oak
The Old Oak By Jonah Klever Our family parable holds that it was my grandfather who planted the tree. Our ranch didn’t have many trees, it was cattle country after all. Maybe it was the lack of competition, or the fertile, untouched land, whatever it was, this tree towered over our homestead. From it’s hillock, for three generations, it watched over us, our oaken guardian.
By Jonah Klever4 years ago in Fiction
THE SECRET BENEATH
PROLOGUE Miss Jane awoke to a freezing room and driving snowstorm. Best to get an early start this morning and warm up the classroom before the students arrived. She pulled on her woolens to wear under her skirt and finished getting ready in the dim light of dawn. Hard pellets of snow stung her face as she walked up the hill to the one room schoolhouse. She put wood chips in the pot-bellied stove and started the fire. Now she just had to review the lessons for the day while she waited for her dedicated learners to arrive in this snowstorm.
By Lisa Brasher4 years ago in Fiction
Pendarvis, The Reaper
Pendarvis looked upon a world that should have died ages ago, once afflicted by disease, suddenly given mercy by the forces outside its comprehension. But while the people in this city celebrated, balance was torn from the universe. There was too much life given and not the fair amount of death returned. And now, death was wanting.
By Joy Muerset4 years ago in Fiction
G-26
The train was cold, dark and long. They gave us no light, no food to eat, no place to relieve ourselves. After a while we wondered if it would continue to draw on forever, waiting for us to stop fighting for the last licks of life. Maybe this was the camp, and there was no place to stay after all. Just endless darkness, swimming in the foul, thick odor of death and feces, the moans and screams of the ill and injured, who we all knew wouldn’t survive the trip. It was a hopeless nothing.
By Pass The Pomegranate4 years ago in Fiction
A War of Whispers
I never developed a fondness for the taste of coffee, nor sweets and pastries. In fact there were few culinary items that I would suffer the presence of others for in public, yet the Cafe du Croissant was where I was instructed to wait. I sat alone at a small table along the wall. It was evening now and the shift to night allowed me to wait in the shadows. I was offered soup, but couldn’t eat at a time like this. My heart was pounding. In my pocket, a vial of poison and a strip of paper with the address of a journalist, followed by her handwriting. Bring me his ear.
By Lindsey McNeill4 years ago in Fiction
the knower
He knew that he would not be executed and that they would not be able to execute him no matter how hard they tried. He knew that God would not oppress him as humans did and did wrong to him. His manhood was violated and he was wronged. They wanted his death and execution, but he knew that he would not be executed. He was called the Arif, yes, he was the Arif who knew that he would die safely on his bed while his body was warm, and would not die on the execution platform alone in a dark well.
By Samara Ben4 years ago in Fiction
Soul Man
Christopher remembered the day he shipped out. It was a sultry Sunday afternoon after a tearful Mass where the entire Russell clan prayed fervently for his safe return to this Dublin parish. He could have used their pitiful moaning when he was wrecked by a gang after a pub fight, or spent months in a dingy cell for stealing or the years of hunger and beatings at the hands of his Da. All of that made him into a holy terror, feared by his family. Now the war was raging in the Pacific and the British Empire needed strong hungry lads like Chris to help defeat the Japanese.
By Michael J Massey4 years ago in Fiction
