Historical
LOKI’S RUSSIA
The class arrived in Saint Petersburg on a Wednesday. Our first trip amazed me through the red walls of the Hermitage museum. The Peacock Clock’s mechanical movements mesmerized me as something I would have expected from a modern Steam-Punk Animation. In front of the Peacock Clock, the man with an eye patch first appeared. He opened the conversation by explaining the artist. He claimed James Cox’s creations during his time as a goldsmith were quite phenomenal and nothing like anything imagined today. This clock was purchased as a gift by Prince Potiomkin for Czarina Catherine. He informed just like this clock, Russia’s history hides more mysteries than any other timepiece because the writer is the Norse god, Loki.
By Hiosta Van Dillis5 years ago in Fiction
A Vampire's Life - Part 3
January 1st, 1603 His feet pounded along the cobblestones of London's streets, running at the fastest pace he could manage. Scrimshaw had sent him on an errand; a delivery of money as payment for something or other. Bastian knew not what the ancient-looking man had bought, nor did he especially care. The white-haired old bugger had not taught him a single thing in terms of combat. He had taught him useful skills – reading, writing, how to speak (in an attempt to stomp out his accent), and some arithmetic – but those were only taught to him so he could perform the basic duties with which he was entrusted.
By Bastian Falkenrath5 years ago in Fiction
Cracks
As the plane descends, the memory becomes more and more vivid. I’m reliving it, moment by moment, in unprecedented detail. It was morning, a week or two after my ninth birthday, and I was playing in the backyard when Mr Dodd, my elderly neighbor, poked his head above the fence and called me over. This wasn’t in itself memorable; I’d known Mr Dodd for as long as I could remember, and it wasn’t unusual for us to chat to each other whenever we were both outside at the same time. He’d always been a jovial man, but on this occasion his old, worn face was devoid of its usual cheerfulness. He looked anxious. It’s unnerving to a child to see an adult appear so unsure of themselves, and I approached the fence tentatively.
By Joel Pryor5 years ago in Fiction
CONTINUUM
Five years ago, on a downcast afternoon in my home town if Meridan, I felt lost. I had been searching for meaning in my life and was grasping at straws. I felt like I was falling into a deep inescapable hopelessness. My wife, Rachel, kept telling me I needed to see a psychiatrist, but I felt like the type of help I needed was far beyond external repair, after several attempts. I had been working twelve- sixteen hour days in a construction job. I felt like I was making good money when I started, but now with the kids, it feels like my Bank is just a placeholder for bills to come. I love all three of them: Ron, Mike, and Sarah; but it feels like it all happened so fast.
By Ogbeni E Ekhomu5 years ago in Fiction
For Posterity
“Breathe, Mara! It’s okay; you’re okay. Listen to my voice, sweetheart,” I heard my mom choking back tears. “Put your hand on my chest, Mara! Follow my breathing. That’s it, keep breathing, hun. Stay awake.” I could hear the panic in her voice, but I could tell she was trying to stay calm.
By Zach Maurer5 years ago in Fiction
Fantasy Non Fiction
Greetings Everyone. August of 2019 my fiancee passed away from a massive heart attack at the age of 45. She was a wonderful woman with a heart of gold larger than Fort Knox who stood by my side as my warrior princess. A strong and honorable woman who's love was a truly a treasure.
By Timothy Sokoloff5 years ago in Fiction
Sand in the Locket
The sand in the locket Dear Jinder that I do if I want to meet you. I took off the locket around my neck and held it in my hand. That is what I do when I am in Thy remembrance. The locket opens like a box. In this box is the sand shared between you and me, the sign of our bed.
By kuljit mann5 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
iii She ended up twisting her ankle and cried out in pain as she fell out of sight into the tall grass. They’d been playing a make-shift game of tag, and she’d turned in an effort to avoid him. That was when she fell. Artie ran over to her—panting—looking down at her for a moment before dropping to on one knee and reaching for her foot. She tried pulling it back, and he looked at her sternly.
By ben woestenburg5 years ago in Fiction
You Can't Go Home Again
The warm spring breeze felt amazing coming through the open window of the carriage as it creaked and rolled down the long dirt road. It felt so good to be outside of the hospital. The months of long hours cooped up in dark rooms had begun to take its toll on Howard. It seemed nearly every minute of his time was filled by some aspect of his work but he didn’t regret the exhaustion that came with it. How many young doctors could say they were heading the formation of a brand new department in medicine? It was an honor that made his head swim if he pondered the thought for too long. He was thankful for the break and the opportunity to come home and visit his family. He had been so deeply involved in his work the last few years he had barely seen them.
By Peter Hoffman5 years ago in Fiction
