Historical

Rotterdam
The sun rays are shinning down on the streets of Rotterdam, to be precise piercing through the debris, to strike the blood doused ground. Not more than 23 minutes ago, the Dutch troops had everything under control and were defending their port from the German forces. Buildings were reduced to ashes and the bombings had set the sky ablaze. Human remains were left scattered, thousands were dead in a war they weren't fighting. Amidst the commotion, a lad of 19 years, with cobalt teal colors on his chest was crashed against a collapsed bookstore. The badges on his uniform were slightly visible as the blood gushing out of his arm was drenching him, he could breathe for only a few more minutes. Those around him were all dead, he knew the air in his lungs wouldn't be enough to take him miles in search for help. He was bound to breathe his last, and what broke him more was that he had orders to be delivered to the navy regiments to hold their fire till further directives. The river of Meuse was now in red, he recalled his captain's unwavering words.
By Harshini4 years ago in Fiction
One Final Kick At the Can
What can I say the night seemed out of place like walking into a room and catching static from everyone who notices you walk in, except, that there was no one around this Christmas. The light filtered off the streetlights like some kind of wild flurry of dust that resembled to him like so much flour drifting in the air. Blowing by in the light to come falling softly to the ground covering the paved streets and sidewalks with its fine dust.
By Juniper Jones4 years ago in Fiction
Birth of a Nation
Birth Of A Nation (Vol.1) (The Great Awakening) Chapter 1 “Slow your ass down!” An older man walking down the sidewalk said as he was nearly knocked over.
By All Life4 years ago in Fiction
Plague Dr
Venice, the Floating City of Italy, reached its most significant prominence at the dawn of Rome's 15th-century "Resurrection".
By Michael Anthony Alberta4 years ago in Fiction
The Diary of a Shakespeare Groupie
April 2nd, 1600 Dear Diary, 'Tis another night spent at The Globe. They've charged us working men two pennies to see the first performance of His play Richard III. Two pennies is a day's wage at the tannery, which means that I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, but 'tis worth it to see another play from England's greatest playwright. 'Tis only my mind that needs sustenance, and tonight my mind has amply supped on language so beautifully spoken by the stage's finest players. Aye, what was language before him?
By Maggie Blaha4 years ago in Fiction
Last Climb
Grandpa Gene was not the typical grumpy old man that most kids talk about when they are going over to visit their grandparents. In fact, not once did I ever hear him utter gruffly, “You kids get off my lawn.” Grandpa had a smile that always made you feel welcome. When you first arrived at his house his lanky frame would grab you up in a tight hug.
By Don Money4 years ago in Fiction
Wren of the East
01-Wren of the East The sun offered no warmth in the grey morning. The clouds hung low, and a light mist filled the air. The only sounds on the road were the horses' hooves against the stone. The trees were even desolate and offered no cover for birds or humans alike.
By R.A. Thomas4 years ago in Fiction
Illness in the trenches
The illness took its time to set in. At first, it started as a cough. It wasn't until mid-afternoon it turned into a fever. James tried to hide it, but this was no place to be sick. Exposed and open to the elements the trench offered little respite. Not sure what he should do he couldn't help but shiver and shake uncontrollably. It wasn't long before a Lance Corporal noticed. A tall man with ginger hair. He was compassionate and expressed great concern. The Lance Corporal whisked James off down the trench. Away from his PALs. The duo weaved in and out of trench lines past soldiers. Board soldiers. Waiting, soldiers. Not sure of their fates, but sick of waiting to meet it all the same. A growing sense of anxiety that no amount of tobacco could fix. It was too late now to head back out of the trench and to seek medical attention...
By Charlie Smith4 years ago in Fiction
Prologue
1886 I sit on the floor in front of Mama, playing with my doll and a top. Since my older siblings have gone away it is very quiet. As quiet as it has become inside, it is now loud outside. Waves of shouting and pop, pop, pop followed by times of silence. Mama cries often now. Papa, when he comes, slips in and out like a ghost, only at night, never staying long. Sweet Franciszka who used to take care of me is gone, as is Cook and the others.
By Cathi Allen4 years ago in Fiction
Seminole Wind
The Seminole tribe was not unlike any of the other Native American tribes that had been driven out under the sheer force of the United States Army, but what set them apart was their will to face anything even the things, which most people would be appalled by. Menewah, had been the second son to the chief of their people, but this gave him less responsibility towards the governing, and more towards the fighting, and hunting aspects of which were needed for their small community. The young brave had never really desired to lead the village as he watched his father’s battle scarred face become etched in worry lines. The old man’s eyes had yellowed, and his skin appeared like leather from the sun’s unrelenting rays beating down on it.
By Sai Marie Johnson4 years ago in Fiction
Livid Misery
It singed, the coldness of the place in which she had found herself was a heavy cold. The type of cold that seeped into your bones, and took hours of heat to get out. To her the place was horrendous if not disgusting, to say the least. Yet what would happen there was something she hadn't laid witness to in an age. The bouncing tendrils of each curl upon her head had been wound up into a french bun. This was a place of lusts, and emotional binging, Devi sensed it upon the air. It exerted power, a shift in the electromagnetic wavelengths had made this place useful in the casting of spells. Yet, it was haunted. Frozen by the memory of every spell, death, or conception that had occurred within it. The Sanguine family loved it, however, and that was why Deviaun remained in this place called home. Perhaps, it was the area in which Devi resided that made it even more chilled. No one ever came there. None, save Deviaun, entered this chamber, and there she stayed. The same chamber where she had resurrected Kalene, and even Madam Chalys. Few would remember. The chamber where she wrote spell after spell, and tale after tale. Her thoughts ran to the past with photographic imagery ascertaining that she could never forget anything that happened to her. The time when she had been reduced to mere slavery and bonded within a rope corset. Such a pretty little wench. She smirked, "And that's where they always underestimate me," And it was true. Terms like Deadly Beauty, and Seductress of Death had suited her. Did they now? The removal of her heart hadn't cured her questioning. Still, she was so fucking alone now. "Fucking alone," she repeated the words aloud as if saying them thus would clear the problem any more than she had already played it out. Somewhere there was a new child Vivian had finally given birth to him. Devi shook her headlong had it been since a child had been had by her. She wondered what the purpose for the child would be? What was her sister's new agenda in their beloved little family?
By Sai Marie Johnson4 years ago in Fiction
The Only Man On The Santa Maria Who Knew The Truth
Christopher Columbus grew excited: Peering through a telescope aboard The Santa Maria, a vicious smile consumed his face. Concluding an arduous, sixty-one day journey, The Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria approached land.
By Bashar Salame4 years ago in Fiction