Historical
Winter at Walden
Henry has lived in the cabin in the woods by the pond for two years. He now knows this woods, and this pond, as his closest friends. Closer than the frequent guests he invites for dinner, his friends among the writers and thinkers. No, his friendship with the pond is as close as the footprint in the snow that caresses his boot, or the amicable darkness that hangs about at dusk when he sits on his porch and muses, as he often does.
By Anna Hamilton4 years ago in Fiction
A Curse of Gold
The wind began to carry a malicious tune of change in early September. By the last week of that month, the first delicate flakes of frozen water fell from the clouds, signaling the onset of winter. It was far too early, far too soon for the seasons to be changing.
By Vonne Vantablack4 years ago in Fiction
Christmas in Maine
One of my closest friends moved to Florida last year to ease his arthritis. I’ve always thought there’s nothing like New England living, but you do feel the cold more with age. He sent me a postcard with a palm tree on it last week. “Merry early Christmas, you old fart,” it read. “And happy birthday.” I was one of those kids always hoping to get two separate gifts. I don’t think it happened once.
By Danielle Stoller4 years ago in Fiction
Lie in Wait
A lone wolf roamed a forest in the winter. He searched for food all around, finding nothing satisfactory for a long while. Eventually, he came across a sight that was expected yet still distressing: The frozen carcass of another wolf, lying next to a fallen trunk. For a brief moment, he wondered if it was the body of someone that he might have known before, or someone he could have met if fate had gone a different way. Who knows? Perhaps we could have been lifelong friends, he thought to himself. Then, with a calmness devoid of any hesitation, he began to eat the dead wolf.
By Victor Garcia4 years ago in Fiction
Weary Path
The first deep chill of December was always the hardest for John’s Georgian blood to bear. The trek across campus from his dorm to his courses was made longer by his aching limbs. At least he only needed to make the journey twice per day: once on the way in and again on the way out. Completing his studies as expediently as possible would ensure John could fulfill his dream of dentistry before long.
By B. M. Valdez4 years ago in Fiction
Lawrence
Abigail wrapped her thin fingers around the pull chain. One yank would open the storm cellar and give her a straight shot for the road. Once there, she could flag down a traveler and get the help her family needed, but her arm would not move. Whether it was from fear or fatigue, both were inconsequential. She had to pull the chain, had to find the place inside her where courage was born and make a break for civilization, for providence, for preservation.
By Mack Devlin4 years ago in Fiction
A Snowflakes Mischief
'Twas the night before Christmas in 1925 outside London's noisy metropolitan area, on the corners of 6th and 3rd, lived an old couple; Lady Gothel and Duke Noire. Lady Gothel was a retired nun from Germany, and her husband Duke, a native Englishman with an affinity for carpentry. The two lived together in a home converted into an orphanage known by the neighborhood as "The Friendly Embrace Orphanarium." The two lived and maintained the orphanage for many decades, but on this faithful Christmas Eve, an event occurred that the two never expected to happen. Close to midnight, Duke retreated to his study to handle the financial welfare of the Orphanarium. Lady Gothel made her way into the kitchen to prepare Christmas cookies for the children, and she turned on the radio to suit the holiday mood. Suddenly, Lady Gothel noticed something just outside the corner of her eye through the kitchen window.
By Deion Townes4 years ago in Fiction
The Opportunity
He can feel the cold and wet soak through his trousers from where his knees press into the frozen ground. Before him are rows of two-inch corn stalks, dark green, withered and covered in frost. It is July 5th and his crops should be tall and green and vibrant. This is his third failed crop this year and it feels like the weight of all the world is pressing down upon him.
By Daniel Charles Porter4 years ago in Fiction
