Short Story
Julia's Diary
The girl was still strikingly beautiful - even though she was dead. Thomas had seen enough death to know that she'd been dead for a few days, maybe more, and that she had probably taken her own life. Lots of people did these days. Though what was she doing out here, deep in the bush two miles outside Newport, Vermont was anyone’s guess. Thomas came here often, just to find a place to think and be alone. He'd never seen another soul until now. He guessed that she was was close to his own age – say, seventeen or eighteen. The tear in her blouse revealed a small tattoo above her left breast. It was a crudely drawn butterfly in a circle with a line across it. There was a gold, heart-shaped locket on a chain still clutched in her hand. Thomas stooped and gently took the locket and clicked it open. Inside were pictures of two people; a woman in her thirties and a man who looked about five or ten years older. They were probably her parents.
By Bill Townsend5 years ago in Fiction
The Bookkeeper's Daughter
Gold was such a funny element. It was precious, coveted, a symbol of status and power. People fought over it, died for it, killed for it. Some people lived for it. No greater gift could be given or taken away. It was cool at first touch yet warmed quickly on the skin. For many it could mean the start of a new life. Tonight, it marked the end of mine.
By Hannah Forbush 5 years ago in Fiction
Maskwa Legend
Geometrical shapes whispered from a dark ceiling above. A soft white blanket started dusting over the terrain. It was only midday; it should have been more well-lit than it was. The crystallized flakes glistened in the light emitted from the house. She pulled her cashmere wrap snugger over her delicate shoulders. November could be unforgiving in the Northern ranges of Manitoba. God’s River is an isolated wilderness, the principal settlement of the Manto Sipi Cree.
By Margaret Todd5 years ago in Fiction
Bevin's Spring Break
“Bevin, are you ready for the meeting?” That was an excellent question. Was I? I sat on my bed staring at all the clothes strewn around my floor. Mostly flannels, but a few gay pride shirts as well. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I gripped the side of my bed. The meeting started soon. I wanted this. It was just information. Why was I nervous?
By Huckleberry Rahr5 years ago in Fiction
The Intern
He wore my face in a clumsy expression, with eyes that lingered on the floor and an intern’s meager voice that echoed off the walls built on tradition and nepotism. Their wings clipped by the room’s noise of fashion degrees and wealthy parents, his words stumbled, then fell from his tongue in my familiar way and landed squarely on the meeting table. The table’s selection of tailor’s shears and fine fabrics became macabre instruments of a post-mortem examination on those words that died the moment they left his throat. They might have buried them on the spot, another intern’s corpse beneath the corporate floorboards, had the central London, Savile Row address not been too rich for his blood.
By Nathan Hutchins5 years ago in Fiction
Survival
The war was inevitable. Everyone saw it coming, yet nobody was able to figure out how to stop the missiles from screaming through the skies. Nobody could create peace to stop death. The only ones that still slept were the nuclear missiles. It seemed the only thing anyone could agree on was the fact that the planet needed to be livable for when the war was over.
By Patrick O'Connor5 years ago in Fiction
Ella's Heart
Ella awoke cold, hungry, and afraid like always. The eight-year-old pushed her dirty blonde hair away from her face. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes hoping for a better world than the one she fell asleep in. It was not. She stood up in her mud-soaked dress gripping her dilapidated teddy bear determined to soldier on. Ella knew that she must keep walking, as she had been, for what seemed like days on end. Searching, praying, wishing she could find them.
By Sean Valinoti5 years ago in Fiction
