Mystery
Murder, A Dish Best Served Hot
What could I do? How could I escape? How could I have let this happen? Was it my fault? All the bruises and cuts flooded my memory like home videos on a tv. I stood there in my skirt with my hair in a bun and my shirt clean and crisp with an apron over me. My black flats, that were worn out and hanging on by a thread, freshly cleaned and fixed to the best of my ability. I prayed it was enough.
By AnnaMarie K Cobb4 years ago in Fiction
Soaring through the Skies
The forest was lit with fireflies and the gleaming moon, as Morgan fled through the narrow, dirt-ridden path that snaked its way through the woods. Blood soaked through the front of his white, buttoned-up shirt, as he raced through the darkness of the night. Endless trails of sweat travelled their way down his face, as he managed to keep his eyes ripped open. I cannot stop, he thought, desperately searching for a sign.
By Vithurshan Thajenthiran4 years ago in Fiction
A LEGENDARY CONTRACT
I had an imaginary belief that I was in complete control over my life, and the outcome thereof. In a nutshell, I was on point, so I thought. My overall ambition was to exceed any, and all expectations. Born in poverty and grim conditions, the environment in which I was raised had shown no mercy. The only fame, and fortune to attain was the street persona. The neighborhood/streetlife was apparent, and very much connected to inner-city living; and an only option for most of its residents. To escape this socially accepted fate was of the slimmest percentile. An overwhelming number of family and friends had become victims to the senseless reality of urban communities near and Worldwide. To the amazement of a treacherous society, I'd beaten the odds. I had to this point took all of life's pain and hurt and made it my own. As a young adult, I decided to love the pain-, and all it had to offer. I knew that it would eventually define my character, and hopefully have some mercy on the future man at hand. How much heartache can one man's soul bare. Is there an end to be seen? Or is pleasure and pain intertwined to carry me throughout this gift of living. Lord knows, and only time will tell. My mission is no dought written in stone, lest my creator chose sand, so my story can be corrected if need be.
By D.C.@UN-BrokenGRAMMAR4 years ago in Fiction
The Heir of Elements - Ep 1
I am in the darkness. I haven't seen the outside world for 18 years of my life. I have been asking my identity and existence from myself for a long time. Suddenly, a beam of light pierces open the darkness. I take time to adjust into it. A hand pulls me into the source, while I fall from the sky. Even without opening my eyes, I can see what was beneath me. I was turning into a fireball heading towards the Earth from thousands of feet. I crashed on a pointy metal building which began to shudder as it lost one of its supports. The building was about to hug the earth and hundreds of people were about to loose their life. My instincts kicked in and I raised my hand to rebel against the disaster.
By Eric Joshi4 years ago in Fiction
The Silence
Rolling over to see the clock on my nightstand flashing 7:00 in red. The screeching sound of the alarm ringing in my ear and it is driving me nuts. I slammed my hand down on the off button and the ringing in my ears stops. Should I get up and do something with my life today. Sitting at the edge of my bed, wondering if I would have a better day than yesterday. It sucks you know. That thing called life. Where you have to get up in the morning become a productive member of society. Most people want to be part of something every day, but I am different from that. I would not call it special either. I just like being to myself. The seclusion, the quiet, and the solitude makes me happy.
By Shareda Ferguson4 years ago in Fiction
The Nightstalker
Annie’s eyes shot open, and she stared at her bedroom ceiling in the pitch dark of night, the image of a barn owl tattoo still floating in front of her eyes as if it were seared in her brain. She blinked rapidly a few times and the image slowly faded. Like when you accidentally stare straight at the sun and have the brightness etched in your vision until it finally disappears, she thought muzzily, pushing herself up into a seat. She wouldn’t be able to sleep now, not after dreaming about the barn owl tattoo again, for the third night in a row. It obviously meant something. She glanced at the clock next to the bed, 5:18 am, and sighed and threw off her covers, and got up padding towards the kitchen and the coffee maker.
By Caitlin McColl4 years ago in Fiction
The Fairhope Deal
Wind whistling, leaves changing, pumpkin spice candles being lit. A new season, a new story to come for the small town of Fairhope, Connecticut. It was an early morning as always for Tessa Brooks. The Brooks family was polished, polite, popular, and poised. Tessa was the youngest of the Brooks, she had brown hair, brown eyes, popular, smart, and sporty, she had everything. She had the Victorian house on Walter's St., the perfect family, perfect friends, and the most adventurous personality. Her house had this way about it that no one knew how to describe, it was welcoming and warm, it always smelled good, always clean, but there were secrets in those walls that were indescribable.
By Lilia Schrode4 years ago in Fiction
Dark Dig
Brewing Turmoil Mid-summer days are long and hot. As a result, everyone working, in the tight confines of the admin office, chose to shed the heavy khaki jackets and opted for lightweight T-Shirts. The long hot days also resulted in sudden storms. Marcus observed the ominous clouds gathering along the horizon. Clearly the storm was approaching fast, growing in strength. The gusty wind was pungent with the sweet smell of rain on hot dust.
By Bruce J. Spohn4 years ago in Fiction
Two Sides to Every Coin
I couldn’t remember the last time I sat in a limousine. Why were they a symbol of wealth? How did they even get to that point? I can distinctly hear my father’s voice in my head telling me, “Wealth is a pillar of power, Mackenzie. Without wealth, you can’t have power.”
By Kass Iatrou4 years ago in Fiction
A Bulls Head Missed
The grass in early summer always smelled so musky and sweet it called for me to run barefoot through the fields near my house. The wind bourne scent caressed my face as I stood upon the weathered oak porch of my childhood home. How I wished to roam free and not as a captive to the volatile world inside. Stepping back into that world was like voluntarily stepping on a landmine, but returning was not necessary yet. I still had a few minutes to fill my lungs with the wild breath of the countryside. A few minutes for the imagination to soar...
By Eric Wegner4 years ago in Fiction
