Psychological
Gina's Ghost. Top Story - January 2024.
Sleep eludes me. It has wholly forsaken me. I wander through these halls all night looking for that which is lost. I look in the darkest corners and cannot find what I misplaced. But it cannot be located, for it is hidden too well. There is a cold chill that I cannot displace, no matter how many fires I pace in front of.
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Fiction
In A Snowglobe
Things seem less important when I'm sitting in the hot water, watching snowflakes drift past. No word had been exchanged for just long enough for the silence to weigh heavily on us both. But, trying to pierce the shifting cloud to see what lay beyond, I felt strangely at peace.
By Alexander McEvoy2 years ago in Fiction
Clip Clop. Top Story - January 2024.
In the old days, it was different. Whether you had a horse or not, and whether you liked them or not... If you heard clip-clop on the street, some inner child prompted you to go to the window. You'd look out with some small satisfaction.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
A Matter for the Gods
An Intense Dream: I dreamed of an Indian Chief standing on a desert plain alone. Dreaming in the haze of unreality, I blinked to ensure this was no mirage rippling into existence on the dry, cracked earth beneath him. Convinced that this vision had taken form, I began walking toward him.
By Veronica Coldiron2 years ago in Fiction
My Song
Sicily | 1943 Under a firm mutual agreement of trust, the misfitted group of four banded together to clean up their mess. Corrado helped Father Burgio gather the dead bodies of the Italian soldiers, and Rosalie helped Garret give Private Hale a temporary burial - which consisted of blanketing him with a few layers thick sheets - until Garret was able to get his body back into the hands of the American military.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
Brothers of Black Stone | Pt. 3
Sicily | July 10th | 1943 Garret used the combat knife to cut a slit in the fabric of Tim’s pants, and revealed the gunshot wound. Without any syrettes, there was nothing he could do to lessen the pain, but that mattered little. Tim’s paleness and lack of awareness were tell-tale signs of shock, and the bullet unfortunately severed his femoral artery. There was nothing he could do. Garret held his friend’s hands in his own, and stayed with him until his eyes rolled back, exposing their white bellies. He stayed with Tim until the end.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
