Young Adult
Dreamer - Chapter 36
I had found myself walking towards Ace's room. I had no idea why. I just felt as if it had been a while and I really needed to see him. Something in me was telling me that I needed to see if he was doing alright. I traced my fingers along his body until they reached his chest.
By 'Lissa Stufflestreet4 years ago in Fiction
Return of the Night Owl
Men had landed on the moon in July of 1969, but my days that year had mostly been about packing and getting ready for school in September. Moving meant leaving what was familiar. The end of August was only about my entire personal reality changing. When you are nine years old, moving from the only house you have ever lived in is all-encompassing, and even men on the moon didn't seem like more than a small detail of my life.
By Wil Haslup4 years ago in Fiction
Knight Owl
A picture on the wall… well a painting on the wall I should say, this painting that my grandmother created… What could it possibly mean? I asked my mother, “Why did grandma create this painting of an owl in armor sitting at the top of a barn?” What she says next I don’t think I will ever understand.
By Koa Napihaa4 years ago in Fiction
Weight of the Cosmos
Lyria stood in the candle lit stables sharpening her blade, a heavy sigh escaping her chest. How long had she been doing this? Not the act of sharpening a blade, rather, brandishing one. A life on the run, the life of a hired weapon – it was not the life she was destined to. It was the life she chose as an escape. Can you ever truly outrun your fate? The wind caused the walls to creak and groan. The flame of the candles began to flicker and lash, and she heard the call of the ghost owl as it glided towards her. She felt the soft pulsing hum of almost electrical energy as the owl drew near, perching on the table in front of her. “Oracle.” Lyria heard the owl speaking in her mind. No. She rested her palms on the edge of the workbench and bent forward, trying to block out the bird. “Oracle.” The barn owl tilted its head and let out a soft hoot. Lyria’s vision began to blur as she looked up at what was both a guide and an omen. “NO.” Lyria screamed aloud. “Oracle!” The owl let out a deafening screech. Lyria was ensnared by glowing energy like the Arouras, the flames whipped and then went out – taking Lyria’s sight with it and dropping her into the sight of the divine. The owl took its astral form – shifting into a white-haired celestial goddess, adorned with a crown of twigs and feathers – and her dress flowing with trims of gold like the stars. Lyria was no longer in her worn out trousers or leather bracers – but a ceremonial gown and ornamented with the markings and adornments of the celestial oracles before her. “Oracle. How far do you think those mortal feet will carry you? The divine cannot outrun what awaits them. The calling will follow you, and catastrophe in it’s wake.” Together they saw the wars to come, men and gods alike dying and fighting. Brothers betraying brothers. All kindness overruled by greed, hatred, jealousy, and fear. They gazed upon the fire and famine. Until hardly anything was left but ash and ruin, the sick, the dying, and the dead. “Is this what you would wish upon the realms? Suffering, and death? Each day, each year you try to outrun what and who you are, where you belong, this reality draws closer and solidifies itself all so you can selfishly live a life that was never yours to live.” Lyria grit her teeth, tears of anger stinging her eyes and threatening their descent. “I did not ask for this so-called gift. This curse that follows me. I am my own. Not some tool, or some bargaining chip the gods can barter and sell as a bride. I do not wish to be just a scry, shackled to the divine – for nothing but the sight and to bring about a new generation of ‘heroes’ that go home to the gods or a new oracle to be stuffed into a life she did not choose.” Her words were bitter and cold. Her contempt for the gods and her lineage reverberated through every word. The goddess laughed. “Silly child. Do any of us celestials choose to be born? We are bound to destiny just as mortals are. No being chooses to be one or the other. Little Oracle, you are more than just a pawn – some tool to discard and replace once its spent. Celestials bind one of their own – an Oracle- to the realm of men in order to preserve peace, to communicate, and to keep them linked and grounded to the divine. The ceremonies of the oracle are sacred, they keep chaos at bay. Until you return home to us, your place is alongside the heroes and rulers of men.” “What of love? What of my own heart?” Lyria’s voice was soft and breaking as she thought of Arden – God of the forests. She had loved him, and he had been taken from her, coldly and violently. “Arden’s choice to forsake his betrothed and to try to walk beside you in the mortal realm… the fate he met was the consequence of –” “DESIDIA!” Lyria screamed, as tears fell from her eyes, burning her like hot coals. “Arden was a celestial. Arden was your brother! Yet you talk so coldly. You act as if his death means nothing more than an lesson in rebellion.” Desidia sighed and shook her head as she took Lyria’s hand. “The cosmos is not built on the will of love alone. I tried to guide Arden as I try to guide you now. The perils that await us all far outweigh selfish desire. I lost one brother, should I intend to lose them all? Just because one little Oracle has decided that she does not wish to be bound to fate. I have shown you what will happen, just as I showed you and Arden both the end he would meet if you persisted all for the pursuit of love. Lyria, you will burn us all.” Lyria fell to her knees, the astral plane rippling like water beneath her. It shimmered as her tears fell against it. “Make a choice, Oracle. Defy the fates, pick up your sword, and watch the world perish behind you? Or take your place beside Elios, and preserve the balance?” Desidia gestured with her hands, a door glimmering on either side. “Could you ask me to forsake what Arden died for?” Lyria tilted her head up to the goddess, hot with anger and broken from a wound that threatened to never mend. “Would you believe, that in his nature, Arden would wish to see you and the forests he loved and nurtured burn into nothing, never seeing you again in this life or the next? Does your rage and bitterness blind you from the love you hold? Is desire worth destruction?” Desidia reached a hand down to the Oracle, and she took it – slowly rising. She was jaded, broken, and torn. As the Oracle rose feeling the weight of the cosmos and the burden of her own desires, a choice that would solidify one fate over another had been made.
By Dahlia J. Vincent4 years ago in Fiction
Teeth
I moved on a whim. To be fair, I was being pushed, hurried, towards leaving. After four exhausting years in a city I was beginning to detest, the city I grew up in, it was due time to leave. The dreams I once had of pouring out all my secrets to a star-crossed lover stroking my face as we were falling asleep... of climbing up the career ladder after months of late nights, early mornings, coffee-runs for Big Boss (not because she asked, but because I wanted to) … of following a spiritual path and growing my broken soul surrounded by vast nature and a bustling city holding hands by a Golden Gated Bridge… The very dreams that landed me back in this town in the first place were now so far removed from my reality. I was in fact failing, and straying farther and farther away from my Truth that I once held in such confidently high standards. Life was kicking my ass left and right, disappointment after letdown, for me to stumble and redress myself upon the right path. So no, I did not move on a whim, but I was moved to do it in a mysteriously whimsical way that I’m still trying to understand.
By Ana Lewett4 years ago in Fiction
Free Bird
DAY 53 It has been 53 days since I last saw my foster home. This felt weird. Not weird to be out of here.. I've tried to run away before. Just weird.. in general. The last time I ran away from my foster home, I was found twenty three days later. It has now been fifty three. Did those foster parents just forget all about me? Not that I would be bummed out about that. God, please have let them forgotten all about me. If it meant they'd never once try to find me again, I'll become a ghost to them. My plan actually felt as if it was going to work this time. You can't tell since you don't technically have eyes, journal, but I happen to be smiling from ear to ear. You may think that this, running away from my foster home, is an everyday occurrence for me but I cannot help it. I may actually succeed at my chance for freedom. Maybe if all those big shots placing kids in random homes actually gave a shit about the foster children they place, I would've found the best home with loving parents who actually wanted a child and not just the paycheck that came with us. Maybe then.. I would've stayed put. But that never happened. Ever.
By 'Lissa Stufflestreet4 years ago in Fiction
I Lost My Fight
I was having dinner with a girl I was dating at the time after my karate tournament. I lost the fight pretty terribly by what people told me. They said things like “you did great”, “thanks for letting me come watch” or “winning doesn’t matter”. People only say that when you absolutely failed at something. I only remember the first half of the fight, I think I got hit pretty hard, but it’s in the past. It doesn’t matter.
By Matthew Cheng4 years ago in Fiction
