Short Story
Christmas Tales ~ Silent Night, Deadly Night
Christmas is a time for joy, for love, for peace. Yet peace survives only when evil is held back. The rules have shifted; Christmas is no longer about naughty or nice. For this season, nice takes its rightful throne in a wicked world, until the spirits stir again.
By Mia Z. Edwards2 months ago in Fiction
My friend Sara. Content Warning.
When I was young, I was very serene. Quiet. Always hiding myself from people with my sallies in nature. But as years passed, something in me became reckless. Something has shifted. I have become someone I do not recognize, something I do not recognize. I still love nature. And that's the reason. That's the reason why I'm so frustrated. My favorite place has been taken away from me. My life has been shattered to pieces, scattered all over the place. My one friend has died there, and it hasn't been the same ever since. I'm filled with grief. With anger. I loved her. I loved her. I - I loved her... so much... she was my best friend I-I... She was such a kind soul! so beautiful... When everyone asks me "Hey, how are you?" Which no one does, but I want them to – my real answer would be, "I'm unwell." I can't go to this place anymore, to my real, chosen home. Ahhh such nostalgia... such magic, such beauty! Was there. Experienced there. Lived there. I go there in my mind, though not physically. I soul travel. I can see it so clearly: the comulonimbus clouds, golden when the sun sets. The azure skies. Those poplar trees, so amberish in autumn. I counted three near the lake. The rain came down in silver drizzles in autumn. In winter, soft snow fell slowly. In summer, the sky was filled with birds. Robins, fluff chested. Songbirds, of all kinds. Bald eagles occasionally, singulars each time. That place was magic. Pure magic. And bliss... it was like some kind of an earthly heaven, a haven. A place so stunning it leaves your mouth fall to the ground. And Sara made it better. Even - even better. So much life she infused to that already lively place. Laughter, common jokes, sharing her beautiful, quirky thoughts, her ideas. Who she was. Sara always used to say, "I don't belong here", referring not to our sacred haven, but to Alabama in general. "I mean, I like the people here. Even love some. But I don't completely fit. I'm like a piece of a puzzle that almost fits, but one bit is not where it's supposed to go. It's not my home. It's not where I belong. I belong where the sky is vast and the birds are always chirping. I belong here, with you. With my awfully shy black headed boy," she mussed my hair, "this will always be my home." Softly she said it, smiling gloomily. She was my forever home. I think of her German parents often. They were so nice and welcoming. I loved them as if they were my own parents, as if I was their own blood. I was, and still am, a misfit, a lonely kid. But not with them. With them I felt like home. Less lonely. Much, much less. They welcomed me unto their home. They have given me warmth, care. Sara always made jokes with me at their table, like we were siblings. And we were. We really were chosen siblings. But Sara died from a lightning strike near that lake at our sacred haven. I was almost struck, too. Almost went to heaven with her... if I even DESERVE a heaven. But Sara was an angel. She is already in heaven. In heav... *sobbing* Why does everything has to be SO DAMN HARD?!why am I losing my one person in life when everything else is so bad?! Gosh... I sure hope she's in a good place. She was an angel! She was an angel. An... oh my god... I feel so terrible. First my abusing parents, now this... GOD, WHY DID YOU ABANDON ME?! My God...
By Maya Or Tzur2 months ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 47
Chapter 47 The magma lake roiling like a living sea of fire. The air shimmered with heat, waves of molten stone rising and falling in slow, heavy rhythm at the edges. She knew instinctively of course the strongest energy would be at the bottom, where fire and stone converged and condensed in their purest form.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)2 months ago in Fiction
THE ART OF BEING SEEN
Aisha Rahim always believed that blending in was the safest way to survive senior year. Walk quickly. Nod politely. Keep your grades high and your expectations low. At Crownbridge High, where reputations formed faster than rumors and spread twice as far, being invisible felt like a shield.
By Alisher Jumayev2 months ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 46
Chapter 46 The volcano’s heart chamber pulsed with molten light, shadows dancing across jagged walls as the magma lake churned lazily. Sara sat down, cross legged upon the scorched stone. She pulled the Greatworm Egg from her Pocket Storage and cradled it before her in a cocoon of Soul and spore energy. Its crystalline shell shimmered faintly as the Hatchling within continued to feed on the powerful ambient Fire and Stone energies.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)2 months ago in Fiction
The Threshold of Then
Elara found the door on a day when her present felt particularly thin. The maple tree at the edge of her property was ancient, its bark a geography of ridges and valleys. Today, in the low, slanting light of October, she saw the lines she’d always taken for natural cracks had formed a perfect rectangle. And within that rectangle, someone had long ago painted a simple, weathered green door, complete with a tiny brass knob that was just flecks of ochre paint.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
Shimmer on the Tree
On the highest branch of the family Christmas tree hung a tiny ornament shaped like a star. It was no bigger than a marble, and its paint was slightly chipped from years of being handled by excited little hands. Around it were bright red balls, glittering golden angels, and twinkling lights that danced across the room. The little ornament often felt small and unimportant, wondering if anyone even noticed it at all.
By Logan M. Snyder2 months ago in Fiction
