Series
Friends and Neighbours
In the morning, I called Bobbi. As my real estate agent, she knew a thing or two about my house and as my neighbour, she had a husband who knew how to fix things. Ira came over, and I took him down to the basement to show him the water pump. He said it looked like a good pump and it was quite new, so he tried to prime it, but no luck, it just kept running and still no water. He talked to me as he worked, and I only understood half of what he said. He was the first of my Nova Scotian neighbours I'd met. Bobbi, his wife, my realtor, was from Tennessee, so she had that great Southern drawl. Ira spoke in true Cape Island speak. He suggested we go out to check the well. I nodded and smiled as I processed the words I heard, into words I know. We went outside to the little house that is the well. Lifting off the roof, we peered over the edge.
By Kim Smerek4 years ago in Fiction
CYCLE III
When the CYCLE first began, our most precious resource vanished. With society unable to reproduce, the remaining children became more vulnerable than ever. Treated as commodities, they were bought and sold. The enormous desire to become a parent was prevalent, sought by the most affluent of social classes.
By A. W. Knowland4 years ago in Fiction
Crooked
It didn't take long for me to regret the decision I'd made. But I was stubborn and there was no going back, not now. My feet stomped hard against the damp ground as I walked, ignoring the cackling voices behind me as they faded into the distance. I would not be treated as a pet anymore, like an animal that could be controlled and punished by others. I would not be forced to perform acts of violence against my will any longer, and I sure as hell was not going to let them make me feel guilty for leaving. It was my choice; the only choice I'd ever made for myself.
By E. M. Otten4 years ago in Fiction
Radio Silence
*Authors Note* I started this story back in November 2015 (before the pandemic, eerily, considering the subject matter), and stopped writing it in December 2015 when my mom passed away. So I'm sharing it in parts, and hoping to finish it as I share it here (I have 50,000 words written so far, so a large chunk).
By Caitlin McColl4 years ago in Fiction
Hidden Places (Part 3)
Continued from Part 2 Morty motioned us off the road when we reached the spot where it curved sharply to the right and then started dropping into the valley below. We moved into the trees while making our way down closer to the warehouse we had seen the day before.
By Paula Shablo4 years ago in Fiction
Tales of Esgarond
Marcus stood in the pear orchards outside the Mountain holds of the Nanir. Here was where they could grow their food and sustain their mighty stone fortresses within the mountain ranges. The golden fields and bright colours of the fruits in the rows of orchards that stretched for miles away from the shadow of the mountains and fed by the streams that ran down their sides. The warm sun gave everything a pleasant glow and the pear trees were at their most radiant, their soft fruit giving off a feint but pleasant fragrance.
By Tomos Jackson4 years ago in Fiction
The Cursed Hand
*To listen and read along, play the narration video* Laughing followed by a clashing of ancient swords erupted between two boys. In the blink of an eye, a blood-curdling snap of a boy's sword had sliced off the other's hand. The rich boy, Demonic, fell to his knees, crying as he grasped his gushing arm. The ancient sword the poor boy, Vigore, held began to glow. Gradually, the severed hand withered.
By Mel E. Furnish4 years ago in Fiction
Tales of Esgarond
Imperator Marcus Longinus gazed out from the front of his army watching as the horizons darkened with storm-clouds. It seemed fitting for the foe that faced them. Truly had their shadow washed over all resistance like a force of nature itself. The enemy had arrayed its forces in the distance, the host when all combined seemed so numerous it looked to be reaching into the horizon and beyond.
By Tomos Jackson4 years ago in Fiction
Amelia Cruz: The Dixon Project
"This is Mr. Leonov," Viktor Leonov said, taking the phone from his secretary. "How can I help you?" "Mr. Leonov, my name is Detective Peterson. I'm with the Burglary and Theft Division out of the San Antonio Police Department's West substation. I'm calling to let you know ..."
By Todd Henson4 years ago in Fiction
