Tension
For the moments you can't pinpoint the reason for emotion.
Cato glanced over, head throbbing, watching the beautiful woman frustratedly flipping through countless pages of old tomes whose meanings lived in the past. Her hair was bound in tight braids, restricting its flow downward, highlighting the tight yet comfortable traveler’s clothes she opted for rather than her well-worn but well-kempt noble’s attire.
“I’m sorry,” Cato mumbled after awhile. Alesia glanced up at him briefly and then back to her work. He gazed at the ground and massaged his temples in dreadful silence.
“For what?” she finally responded.
He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know."
“Then don’t apologize.”
About the Creator
Jared W.E.
Fantasy, philosophy, adventure, and overly complex world-building. Check out some writing from this nerdy camp counselor!
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More stories from Jared W.E. and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Child of TIme
He must have had a reason. No ship had ever arrived on the shores of Arthénátou on purpose. Not that any sailor with half the intelligence of a newborn Pixie would ever want to. The labyrinthian archipelago was said to have formed from the persistently active volcano, spewing fire and molten lava to form snaking islands of rare stones. The Mortals also believed this to be why the islands were constantly shrouded in a film of steam. Getting close to the volcanic island in the heart of the archipelago was often so hot sailor’s sweat would begin to evaporate from their face. Fear of their insides boiling along with the ocean kept them at bay. Centuries had gone by, and this fear alone had been effective enough. Lucrative trade with neighboring shores took a few days longer, but any merchant with a modicum of regional knowledge would take the time over losing their merchandise and possibly their ship.
By Jared W.E.3 years ago in Fiction
Miss Persephone's Manual to a Seemingly Ordinary Life
Miss Persephone was found at the dining table, her blue eyes swollen, her tears arriving and retreating like the tides of the ocean. Earlier that day, her family had visited her in the retirement home where she had lived for eight years. It was her eightieth birthday.
By Imola Tóth2 days ago in Fiction
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I would greatly appreciate it if you could take a few moments to read my poem and share your thoughts. Your feedback would be incredibly helpful in refining and improving my work.