Young Adult
The Ascent of Skye
She sat on her bedroom floor with her stuffed brown bear clutched in her arms gazing at the rain that bounced violently against the window. The whispers of her mom’s phone conversation, “I just don’t know what else to do . . . I know . . . yes . . . right . . . I know she’s been through . . . I’m scared . . . I’m worried Skye won’t get through this,” wept through the door and caused two silent tears to run down the tracks of the young teenage girl’s face. Skye squeezed her bear tighter and spoke in her own whisper, “I don’t want to be in this world anymore.”
By U.B. Light5 years ago in Fiction
To the Stars
My mother named me Nevada because I was conceived in Las Vegas. Funny, considering I’d never actually been to Vegas or Nevada. But to be fair, I hadn’t been much of anywhere in my eighteen years due to what is technically called agoraphobia, but which I just call the big shakes. I’ve spoken with countless therapists over the years, and though the faces and business casual attire fade into each other over time, they all basically asked the same question.
By Kora Greenwood5 years ago in Fiction
The Package
It was just like any other Sunday, peaceful and quiet. William had just settled down so he could watch the big game. Before he could turn the TV on, a knock on the door startled him. He wondered who it could be because the wife and kids were out of town. He opened the door to find no one there, nothing but a package on the front porch. At first, he thought his wife ordered something but there was no name, no address, just a package wrapped in brown paper. He looked down the street to see if there was a car leaving or person walking who might have dropped it off. He decided to call his wife to see if she was expecting something, but his call went to voicemail. Hesitant to bring the package inside the house, he placed it in the garage until his wife called back. This was all weird and he scratched his head as he walked back in the house. “Let me chill and watch the game”, he thought to himself as he turned on the TV. He was just in time; they had just started the first quarter. Suddenly, his cell phone rang. Assuming it was his wife, he answered only to hear static on the other end. He was about to tell his wife that he couldn’t hear her until he looked down and saw the call came from an unknown number. Brushing it off, he hung up the phone. The phone rang again and this time, there was dead air on the other end. Annoyed, he hung up again. Suddenly, both his cell phone and the house phone rang, his wife’s number showing on the cell and an unknown number on the house phone’s caller ID. Picking up his wife’s call, he asked her if she tried to call earlier, in which she said no. He asked her if she was expecting a package, and she said no. She asked him what was wrong, and he said he would call her later. Answering the house phone, William’s hands trembled as a deep, raspy voice on the other end asked, “Did you open it?” William shakily responded, “Open what?” The voice responded, “The package.” In a panicked voice, William asked, “What’s in it, who is this?” The caller laughed evilly and hung up. William dialed *69 to get the number of the caller, but it was unavailable. Rushing to the garage, he thought about what to do with the package. He could open it, but he really didn’t want to. He could just throw it away but what if the person who dropped it off was watching the house. How did they get his phone number? Was it somebody he knew? What was in the package? William walked outside of the garage observing everything. He watched as neighbors walked their dogs, cut their grass wondering if they could be the culprit. He began to think about the safety of his family and realized he needed to get rid of this package. He was going to the police. Grabbing his keys, he carefully placed the package in a metal toolbox and placed it on the floor of his car. His cell phone rang, and it was his wife again. William decided not to answer, he didn’t want to worry her with what was going on. He didn’t even know what was going on. Driving down the street, all he could think about what was in the package. As he entered into the busy intersection, his cell phone rang again, and William saw it said unknown. William pressed answer and said nothing. The raspy voice on the other end laughed, then finally said, “I see you and I know where you’re headed. Not a good idea.” Choked up, William responded, “If you tell me what’s in the package, I won’t go to the police.” The raspy voice said. “Pull over to the side.” William looked back wondering who was following him. Once again, the raspy voice said, “Pull over and open the package.” Veering over, William finally pulled over to the side of the road and parked. The raspy voice continued to give him directions. “Take the package out the toolbox”, it said. Reluctantly, William did as he was told. Whoever was on the other line was enjoying this torment. “Don’t worry, it isn’t a bomb. Now, open the package”, the voice said. William ripped the paper from the box, saying a prayer and thinking about his family. Taking a deep breath, he slowly lifted the top of the box……….
By Regina Greathouse5 years ago in Fiction
Vessels (Part 3)
“Do I give it to you, or do I just leave it on the altar of Neferamtat?” Behren was his name, Jeshed remembered. He raised cattle in his modest pasture to the east of the village. He made offerings sparingly, usually only on the most important days like the rest of the villagers. They gave what they could and that usually meant they gave the least amount they could part with. Jeshed held no ill feelings towards them. Life was hard in the desert so when the dusty man arrived with a package of the choicest beef cuts, Jeshed was surprised.
By Rachael Dunn5 years ago in Fiction
The Art of Knowing: Prologue
A sigh escapes me as I walk into my office. I pause to stop and admire the diplomas that hand proudly on my wall, I still can't believe I actually did it. I slide off my leather jacket and place it on the back of my leather office chair.
By Hunter Machayla5 years ago in Fiction
The Lost Children: Summer Storms
Away in the distance and across a vastness of untouched snow, two children cavorted upon the thick ice of a small frozen pond. One child, the younger of the two boys, laughed as he trotted towards the edge of the pond under the skeletal shadow of an old elm tree long dormant from the freeze of winter. The older boy reeled in the drunkenness of spinning around and around, oblivious to the actions of his smaller counterpart. The sound of a harsh winter wind gusted through, then there was silence; the laughter was gone completely and only the spinning world remained.
By Thomas Hawkins5 years ago in Fiction
Alyssa's Army
“Wow, I’ve never seen you eat before. I didn’t think you did.” Alyssa and her ‘cult’ (they honestly might as well be) had stopped by the empty table I was sitting at in our high school’s cafeteria. Alyssa reveled in her cliche mean girl speeches; like, at least have some originality. This part had been redone countless times in all of the movies and television shows. Alyssa was absolutely breathtaking; her shiny blonde hair always cascaded perfectly over her shoulders. But she was vindictive and, to me, all of that beauty had faded away due to that fact. It’s unfortunate how a lot of pretty peoples’ insides don’t match their outsides. It’s also unfortunate how quick people are to not only make snap judgments but to voice them. It’s insane how many people there are out there who say whatever is on their mind—they really go out and choose to bring people down. I never understood why people like Alyssa would put so much emphasis on appearance. I’ve realized that high school is a breeding ground for those kinds of people. And I genuinely hate those kinds of people.
By Lena Crowe5 years ago in Fiction
Pinky-Swear
This is my retelling of a story I first heard in January of 1980 in the back of a Suburban as I was trying to get some sleep. We were just setting out on our Yankton College choir tour heading to Gackle, North Dakota. The Dakotas, January, 331 miles, five & a half hours—you’ve got the picture, right? I didn’t get any sleep.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock5 years ago in Fiction
