Humor
A Dragon's Tale
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. "Duck!" Before I have a chance to find the defenseless little bird that seems to be grabbing someone's attention, I'm knocked off my feet. One of the many dragon's around here, glides right through where I was standing.
By Marissa La Roche4 years ago in Fiction
The Kingdom of Come Again?
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Nor, for that matter, were there any now. In fact, you could go up to just about any Valley dweller while they were going about on their merry business and ask them: “So, what of these dragons, eh?” And quite likely, they would scratch their nose and respond with something like: “What’s a dragon?” or “Come again, mate?”
By Hans-Manuel de Biekieper4 years ago in Fiction
Into The Vale
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. To the humans, it was a safe haven. To me, it looked like an opportunity. Growing up, Mama always warned me and my sisters that the Valley was not safe for dragons. Yes, those humans might look delicious, but some of them had arms sharp enough to cut through dragon hide, and others had tamed terrible beasts capable of spitting trees into the sky. And then there was the air down there, all thick and flammable. Better to stay up on the peaks and plateaus, snatching mouflon and geese and trolls, than to risk the Valley, where you were more likely to accidentally set yourself on fire than to wrap your jaws around a tender blacksmith.
By Tom Brailli4 years ago in Fiction
Ava & The Honeybees
There weren’t always Dragons in the Valley. .. Ava sniffed the air, her big paws treading softly through a gnarly blue scrub of heather. She was close, very close, to the tree her grandfather had described: a huge old trunk of wild cherry, bursting with the thick golden juice of the bees, dripping with clusters of buttery white comb. She could taste it already—she had been dreaming of tasting it for a whole year, ever since old Grizzle Beard had told her about it one summer night, as they sat beside the fire together and drank blackberry mead. Ava wasn’t supposed to drink mead—she was far too young, her mother said—but she was twelve years old already, and she felt very grown-up. She was more grown-up, she thought, than her brother, Stub Ear, who was sixteen, and prone to fits of sulkiness, and playing moody songs on his lute. And she was far more grown-up than the twins, Tor and Torvald, who were only five years old, and very silly, and also cried a good deal. In fact, it was quite noisy in the big grey cave along the cliffs of Mór-Dune, which her family called home. The twins were almost always whinging about something, and her mother’s grumbling was incessant. She was glad to be out in the woods. She just wished Grizzle Beard could have come with her.
By KJ Karlsson4 years ago in Fiction
Four Day Weekend. Top Story - June 2022.
"There weren't always dragons in the valley." "Shut the fuck up Nat," Jenny snickered a laugh. "I thought the last couple months would've made your tolerance better, not worse." She took the blunt back from Natalie.
By Tinka Boudit She/Her4 years ago in Fiction
Secrets of the Dragons. Top Story - June 2022.
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Up until recently, the worst anyone had to worry about in San Fernando was paying for their ten-dollar latte or occasionally outmaneuvering a flashing homeless man. The most vicious creatures on the streets were studio executives on the hunt for growing talent with dreams ripe for the crushing.
By M. J. Northwood4 years ago in Fiction
A Trip To Space
In the early afternoon, I couldn’t take the mundane world any more. As I looked out my window, upside down, while hanging over the side of the bed on my back; Clouds were passing pretty quickly, and it seemed as though they were parting the skies for me.
By Shannon Burger4 years ago in Fiction
Cats Rule the World. Top Story - May 2022.
It’s the fur that gets me. I know that they are meant to be our superiors but do they have to be so furry? Spending every day of my life following them around with a broom, collecting hair, it’s monotonous but I should count myself lucky, at least I am not on shovelling duty.
By Ben Shelley4 years ago in Fiction
Peanut Buttered
Good morning, Mom. Or, at least by the time you find the corner of this letter peeking out from under the toaster, it will be morning. You'll be inserting two of those breakfast pastries you like into the slots of the toaster, even though you tell me I'm not allowed to even buy them because they are so loaded with sugar.
By Charleigh Justice4 years ago in Fiction
