Historical

The Clocks That Stop
We have seen this coming for quite some tics, and just as many tocs. Counting every second with heavy hearts waiting for this moment to arrive, poised to stop at the perfect time. We don’t want to disrespect his wishes, after all. The man who first brought us to life: the clocks that stop when the mourners come. He is no more, and that is what we have done. Once more we have stopped with sorrow in our hearts, as the piano ceases and the drumming starts. Just as he has done to all of the others, Death has sunk his vicious hooks deep into our beloved creator, whom without, we would have known only inanimacy.
By Jemima Bainbridge4 years ago in Fiction
In the Future
Avraham Levin swept the sidewalk shaking his head at the crowd gathering across the street for the Anthrax concert. An Orthodox Jew since time began all the way down his family line. Only the Nazis had nearly cut down the family tree.
By Cyrus Emerson4 years ago in Fiction
Voodoo Queen
Catherine washed her hands in a blue porcelain bowl as her daughter groaned on the mahogany four-poster bed. Childbirth was difficult enough without this tortuous heat. Marguerite’s nightgown was translucent with sweat, and its wetness clung to her breasts and her stomach. Catherine used a paper fan to give Marguerite’s face a little relief.
By Teralyn Pilgrim4 years ago in Fiction
Black Tom
“Algo esta mal. Puedo sentirlo en mis huesos.” —Captain Esposa Caribbean Sea 1709 “Something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones,” Captain Esposa mumbled while peering out over the sea-splashed deck. The Nuestra Señora del Mar was the only galleon in a small fleet and therefore carried the bulk of the gold they’d collected from across the Spanish territories in the Caribbean. It was a proud position for Captain Esposa but a perilous one for the Señora, the hurricane swells coming over her deck walls that night. The weight of the bullion had slowed her far behind the safety of the rest of the ships, and the captain knew they were now perilously alone in the storm.
By Kevin Gaylord4 years ago in Fiction
Wind Witch C3
A stream of light beamed through a small window of the wash room. The sun’s rays showed a stark difference between the light and dark on the cement wall. This room is the beginning of the deconstruction of the Native child. The child of light enters and a child of Betrayl and brokenness exits.
By Sheila L. Chingwa4 years ago in Fiction
Front Page Champion
I remember that day as if it were yesterday. The editor of The King Sentinel News said he was sending me on assignment to take photos at the Angus Macpherson homestead. His prized dog, a black and tan Coonhound, had recently won ‘best in show’ in the hound category at the Canadian Kennel Club. The editorial staff agreed to publish a photo of the celebrated dog on the front page of the upcoming issue.
By Steve4 years ago in Fiction
CHERRY BLOSSOMS FROM THE SKY.
HIROSHIMA...PRESENT DAY. MUD.I was dreaming about mud, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic cadence of the trains steel wheels on the tracks. Mud, hot tropical clingy mud. Suddenly in my dream a thunderous drone, aircraft flying in formation, heading out to sea, Cherry Blossoms....Ships of war waiting like grey mountains in a shining ocean of early morning light. Big red circle. leather helmet.. a red scarf...a wave, a grain of humanity....A long drawn out scream....
By Gary Pressman4 years ago in Fiction
The Outcast
Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed brightly across the dark sky. The rain pattered loudly on the uneven ground and on the hood of our carriage. The twin horses jolted across the muddy meadow to reach my aunt’s village, making the two of us bounce up and down roughly against our seats.
By Samiha4 years ago in Fiction
The Free Kingdom (Part 1)
Introduction Hello, by name is Demetrius Fulmore, I love to fantaize and write about fictonal geopolictcal topics. The year in this story is based on the 365-year calendar. The letters YA means the years after Qing Guo was formed.
By Demetrius Fulmore4 years ago in Fiction
Harbinger
Beechey Island is a small speck of land within the Arctic circle. It would be unworthy of note if it had not once been the winter harbor for the Franklin Expedition. The expedition left England in 1845 to seek the Northwest Passage. They never returned. What happened to them is still a mystery, but Beechey’s place in history was cemented by a particular relic—the graves of the first to die.
By Lauren Triola4 years ago in Fiction
Widow's Walk. Top Story - October 2021.
Day after day, I climbed the steps to the cupola on the roof to watch for my husband’s ship. I hated that Charles had had to go back to the sea; only last year he had retired from the long trading voyages. With the profit of thirty years as captain, he had purchased his favorite ship and another of similar design, and a large warehouse. Thus settled in business, he had our present home built to his specification: red brick, with the servants’ quarters and kitchen on the ground floor, and dining hall and study above. On the top floor were the bedrooms, ours and two smaller rooms for our sons, Henry and William, all surmounted by a low-ceilinged attic. A trapdoor brought down a stairway to the roof, where the cupola, surrounded by a railing, stood – a captain’s walk, he called it, so that he might watch for his ships’ comings and goings. He had seen them in one of the southern colonies and determined that he should be the first merchant he knew to have one on his own home. His ships were called Salem Town and Colonial Bull – the latter a reference to his favorite tavern, the Bull’s Horns, which he also owned a half-stake in and where he always took his crews for dinner upon arriving safe in harbor and again before setting sail. I confess the ships looked the same as any other in the harbor to me, save that I recognized the officers aboard when they docked, but Charles could see a mast barely peeping over the horizon and know whether it was his own or another’s. He would watch as she approached the wharf to see that the proper number of men were on deck – there always being a risk of illness or accident at sea – and once she was tied up, he would hurry downstairs and across the square to supervise the unloading of cargo. There were usually contracts for most of the goods to be sold on to shops, but there were always some goods that someone was trying to move quickly, and Charles’s captains were savvy in what might or might not be worth finding room aboard for.
By Randi O'Malley Smith4 years ago in Fiction
The Ridge: The Whisper of the Leaves - Chap. 47
“Sim.” “Marsh.” I didn't see my father come up behind us as Mr. Borden and I sat on the bench. I felt him put his hand on my shoulder though and could smell the pipe which he had already lit and was puffing.
By Dan Brawner4 years ago in Fiction