Love
Onsra
It was the first day of the Spring Festival. Ardent breaths interwove with the thousands of tiny bamboo reeds of the flute, tumbling off into music and onto the warm breeze like running ribbons, up into the cool bracken of the mountain forests. Rituals bloomed in a fragrant proliferation of drums and dances and cries and colourful silks.
By Juliette Brown4 years ago in Fiction
Unconditional
A love that never dies It was a warm muggy night in Late July, it was a slight mist in the air, noting to keep me in the house though. I was sitting on my porch blowing a spliff when a visitor decided to stop past to see me. I hadn’t saw this visitor in years. If I’m being honest when I saw his dark silhouette coming up my steps my heart skipped an actual beat. I literally choked on the smoke. “You still can’t smoke I see”, said Lynell. “Shut up” I said while laughing and giving him the biggest hug I’m sure that he had ever gotten from me. I missed this man, like seriously missed him. There was never a man that made me feel so alive. When my skin hurt he was able to make it feel better, and I know that sounds crazy. When my heart was hurting he always handled it in the most delicate way possible. He was thee man. He just wasn’t my man, anymore. I don’t know why I was playing with him because he was definitely the man for me. He did everything right, and I did everything wrong, and for some strange reason, he still loved me. This man had unconditional love for me and after 10 years of not seeing him I realized all of that. I wanted him back 5 years ago but I felt like I was always playing games and to be honest, he deserved so much more than that. However, now on this Hot steamy day In July all I wanted was him.
By Venesha Owen4 years ago in Fiction
A little Colour
Dong... Dong... Dong... The sound of the bell snaps him from his daze. He sits up straight on refocuses his eyes on the figures standing before him, bowing respectfully. An old, rich man, and a young attractive woman. A long moment passes before there is a barely audible noise at his side. The fossil of a man that had been his mentor his whole life glares at the young prince, his jaded eyes darting between him and the still bowing suiters.
By Matt Linde4 years ago in Fiction
When You See a Marigold
In her youth, young Rowan played and explored just as any kid would. She fearlessly swam in the creek that teemed with life behind her farmhouse. She harassed various critters with her tiny, chubby hands, barring no actual malice, just sustaining her child-like curiosity. This was her life, every single day, sunset to sundown. It was a good little life, a happy one - yet, she was ever so lonely. She wished with all her heart for a friend, someone her age to enjoy all the excitement of her property with her. To her great surprise, the universe eventually granted her wishes. One fateful morning, as Rowan scoured her driveway searching for the perfect rain puddle to splash in, she spotted him. Her big blue eyes followed a lumbering moving truck, cruising lazily along the dirt road that ran for miles in front of her house. It pulled into the driveway not too far from her and from what she could tell, inside of it held a woman and a young child. A boy just around her age! This boy proved to be her closest friend throughout the majority of her childhood years. Sam was the exact opposite of Rowan, always chasing after her and begging for her to slow down as she whipped through the fields like a streak of blonde lightning. He was a nervous child, afraid of bumps and bruises, crying when he received them. Sam outright refused to swim in the dirty creek with his counterpart, instead, he simply watched Rowan flip about as he twisted his hands nervously in his dark curls. They were inseparable, or so they thought. One fateful evening, Rowan scampered across her lawn, determined to go and fetch her beloved friend. Instead, she was met with that very same moving truck from all those years ago. Sam left in the same white carriage that he was brought to her in. Her little heart was devastated
By Leila Lewis4 years ago in Fiction
Low Road of Marigolds
I was a long way from home when I heard her voice. She had a Scottish accent, and I listened to it for a while remembering how close we'd been and how I'd left her all those years ago. But I wasn't sure the voice was hers. I listened again, she was distant, the sound was coming over a public address system. At the time I thought I must have been dreaming or imagining things and then her voice stopped. I mixed in with the crowd, the normal Sunday morning gathering of people at the local markets. Tables full of home made products, jams, conserves, freshly picked fruit, free range eggs, the smell of someone cooking bacon. Babies jackets for sale, hand knitted gloves and flowers, lots and lots of marigolds.
By Grant Woodhams4 years ago in Fiction
Marigolds Dancing Beneath the Aurora Borealis
Snow sparkles under the dazzling display of the Aurora Borealis. The landscape before me looks untouched; pristine. It stretches out for miles without sight of a footprint or figure to mar the beauty, and I revel in this moment of tranquility.
By Megan Baker (Left Vocal in 2023)4 years ago in Fiction
