Mystery
The fantasy parkway
I have lived in a big city my whole life, and the only thing I have seen daily was tall buildings and crowds of people walking the streets. There are very few trees around the city. I believe more people are living in the city. I have never seen a park on the path I walk every day.
By Laura mclean4 years ago in Fiction
Hand-Me-Downs
“Come in, Child. Sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?” The sun outside was high above the mountain desert, and it baked everything it touched. A note in my handwriting beneath one of the journals on my breakfast table read: Stage Four. Six months – 1 year. I knew my time was running out, and this was my only chance to leave a legacy. I spoke to the girl as I would a granddaughter, as I always have. She had a mind for business and a nose for bullshit, just like me.
By Grace Turner4 years ago in Fiction
Burned
I'm not a fucking poet. That's not what I'm here for. If you're looking for prose as long and flowy as, well, when someone's hair is long and flowy - look for it elsewhere. I'm here for one reason: to tell a story. My story. And that story begins with fire.
By Olivia Hrubetz4 years ago in Fiction
Crimals World
We came up with operation drive it was to drive our leads to the main guy in charge. But that was not how it played out. It started on Wednesday we had a great lead and it was about to open this case wide but we were falling into a trap that was about to frame more than one person. Mason left ahead of me that morning, I wanted him to ride along in my car since his car was so familiar.
By Sara Kline4 years ago in Fiction
Disappear
I don’t know when it happened. Like depression, time is a stealthy enemy, you never see it coming and you surely don’t see it pass. Suddenly the shroud is upon you and there is nothing you can do to reverse the devastating effects. I don’t know when I disappeared, when I became obsolete, when I stopped being loved or even spoken to by others. One day I just no longer mattered.
By Zane Motteler 4 years ago in Fiction
Under the Pear Tree
When she first saw him Margot was on the train, tucked comfortably in her seat next to the window and enjoying the sights of the passing countryside. She was on her way home to the town she had grown up in, the town her grandmother still lived in. Every year on her birthday Margot took a week off work and spent it with her grandma, and every year the week was filled with baking, gardening, jam-making, and laughter. She would return to work and regular life in a state of bliss, with dirt under her nails, a belly full of tea and cake, and her grandmother's laughter still ringing in her ears. This year it was Margot’s twenty-fifth birthday, a decade since she had moved from her hometown. It was only an hour away by train, and because her grandmother lived in a small one-bedroom cottage Margot preferred to travel to and from each day. She enjoyed the quiet hour in the morning and the evening and would often read as the rock and sway of the train carriage lulled her into a state of relaxation.
By Rose Davies4 years ago in Fiction
Perception
"Meet me under the pear tree at two, and I'll run away with you.", that is what he said. He told me our love was true. So, I waited under that tree. I arrived before two, and I waited until I heard the church bells ring. When I heard the bells, I dropped my head and let my tears flow. It was like my eyes had a levee, and the levee finally broke. After two hours of waiting under the tree, I intentionally dulled my senses. My gut was in knots, my mind was screaming that he wasn't coming, my eyes burned from holding back the tears; yet, I allowed hope to be the overlord of my instincts. But, when I heard the church bells, I knew my love had changed his mind and married his intended.
By Simone Henderson4 years ago in Fiction
An American Marigold
An American Marigold A Short Story by Sam Wilson Part I: A Family History The boy began walking down the driveway as if his shadow were attempting to hurt him. His pace quickened and he found himself panicked in a way he wasn’t prepared to be. His mother had just told him to go play outside. Her exact words, “go find something meanwhile to do”, rang between his ears. He headed right out of the driveway as he decided to walk down the dead end street and into the cornfield west of his house to Schlabaugh Farm. There was a feeling, something in his lungs as he drew each breath, pulling him towards the farm. He felt a sort of subtle energy dragging its way through his body, limb by limb. It felt thrilling somehow. At 14, Tanner didn’t have much going for him besides a curveball that made his elbow hurt all the time. He helped his baseball team win the local 2007 14U championship. He was named the tournament MVP. He was the oldest sibling of his family, his younger sister, Sarah, was 11. She was away for the day at a nearby amusement park, riding roller coasters and swimming. Summer though, had now reached the point where the thought of fall had overwhelmed everyone’s minds. Baseball would sleep until April of the following year.
By Sam Rutledge4 years ago in Fiction
