Mystery
Mary Shelley and Frankenstein
If walls could talk and sit awhile with this young girl of long ago, as her mind conjured up the monster which we have come to know as Frankenstein. How could someone so young, born in a time when women's rights were almost non-existent, and her life plagued with one misfortune after another, dream up such a story as Frankenstein?
By Novel Allen3 years ago in Fiction
Surviving Death
Noise filled Marla’s mind. Thousands of voices overlapped in a cacophony of a screaming white roar, crashing around in her head; confusing her senses as she lay frozen in bed in the dead of night. A crushing weight squeezed her chest. She wheezed. Her whistling breath quietly echoed in the still of the room. Panic exploded inside her and the bedroom walls began to close in.
By Cheryl Diane Parkinson PhD3 years ago in Fiction
‘Falling for Christmas’ Review: Tripped Down Memory Lane
The allure of a genuine comeback for Lindsay Lohan is more driven by media headlines than by the details. Her first lead role in over a decade is generating more buzz than the actual movie. For those who grew up with an interest in pop culture, her rollercoaster life has sparked a desire to see her succeed, despite negative perceptions from tabloids and the industry.
By Winner grace!!3 years ago in Fiction
The Rabbit The Weasel And The Cat
1 .The Rabbit The Weasel And The Cat A Rabbit left his home one day for a dinner of clover. But he forgot to latch the door of his house and while he was gone a Weasel walked in and calmly made himself at home. When the Rabbit returned, there was the Weasel's nose sticking out of the Rabbit's own doorway, sniffing the fine air.
By Anmol Shukla3 years ago in Fiction
The cosmic bookshop
The book shop felt oppressively narrow, a feeling that wasn't helped by the fact that air hung thick with dust and the scent of musty old books. The shop consisted of two parallel corridors flanked with bookshelves that disappeared back into darkness; each bookshelf bowed under its heavy load. The man behind the battered wooden counter seemed almost catatonic, despite his stupor he sat bolt upright on a three legged wooden stool, no mean feat considering his obviously advanced age. Peter moved further into the shop, past the old man, down one of the aisles, noticing immediately how the book lined walls deadened all sound from outside. He sauntered down the book lined passage, eyes sliding over the typical assortment of second hand books- entire shelfs of unread biographies and walls of literary classics studied in every school up and down the country. However he noticed as he continued that only one copy of each book appeared on the shelves, no duplicates. Determined to find a double he delved deeper into the shop. Passing countless alcoves containing old threadbear armchairs with a reading light above them, he continued. The books seemed to become older and less distinctive; the faded fabric covers with paling gilt titles on their spines seemed to blur into one monotone shelf.
By Joe Forsyth3 years ago in Fiction
Tales of London #17
When Robert woke up, he was alone in bed. He felt tired and somewhat disoriented, and he wasn’t sure why being alone in his own bed felt wrong. Then the memories from yesterday hit him: the bar and the Goddess, ghouls, kissing, Jenna in his bed, and some more ghouls and kissing, priorities not necessarily being in that order.
By John H. Knight3 years ago in Fiction
