The Ruins
The archaeologist discovered within the ruins a spot the others had missed.
He used math to deduce the area where extra space had to exist.
He pressed along the stones covering the walls.
Lo and behold, one gave, and opened to the halls.
Inside he found a room more exciting than the rest.
A shelf with written characters carved with dates abreast.
Anything he wanted...the room would provide
from a universe unknown; but never satisfied.
Before it was too late, he finally realized,
The room had carved his name;
it was eating him alive.
About the Creator
Hector Gonzalez
Speaking to those who don't listen; listening to those who don't speak.
Keep reading
More stories from Hector Gonzalez and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Mystery
She leaned in for a kiss. After nearly a decade of doubt that this would ever happen, it finally was happening. My heart was racing as I stared into her exhilarating eyes. Her lips touched mine; I could just barely feel the touch of her skin when my eyes open. For a moment, I merely lay here in a stupor as my eyes soak in all the information reminding me that I'm single and that she's not just taken...she's married; to a real piece of work at that, but that's not any of my business. My lungs finally remember how they function and I take in a long breath and let out an exasperated sigh. I forgot to turn off the alarm. It's a Saturday morning and here I am...awake at 7:30AM. I consider going back to sleep only long enough to remember that the last dream ruined any possible rest I may have had. Instead, I get up and head to the bathroom. I go through the morning ritual of using the toilet, washing my hands and face, brushing my teeth, and staring into my own eyes for a not insignificant amount of time. I'm not sure what I expect to see; I never am, but I suppose I'm hoping to see...well, maybe hope. Maybe some glimpse of luck or some reflection of good things to come for the day like a horoscope. When that fails to yield the expected results, I head to the living room. The windows are open to let the light in. I drop to the ground to do my daily push-ups. Before I finish, there's a thud at the door. I wait, but there's no other sound...so no one had knocked. I get up and go to the door opening it and peeking out. There's no one around, but there is a package on the doorstep. I step outside and look around. I see a drone flying away about fifty feet away. I take the opportunity to grab the mail from the box and pick up the package bringing them in and putting them on the coffee table. Speaking of coffee, it's a good time to get breakfast. I get dressed and then head to the kitchen. At first I feel like cereal, but I go with a couple pieces of avocado toast with fried eggs on top instead and finish it in the living room while watching a show. The mail catches my eye and I grab the letters first; bills, trash ads, more trash ads. I move on to the package and notice there's no return address, though it's definitely addressed to the correct person and location...weird. I open the package and look inside, but I'm even more confused when I don't find anything at all. Literally, it is just an empty box. I take another look around the outside of the box expecting I missed something, but there really isn't anything else. Suddenly, I notice a bit of writing on the inside of the box. It's written on one of the inner sides but the angle makes the lighting weird and the words hard to read, so I rip the box apart to better see the text. It's an outline of something:
By Hector Gonzalez3 years ago in Fiction
The steps to losing a child
Step One: Lose a child. Not what anyone wants to happen and nothing you can do to change it, but you can go through steps to becoming happy again. You can go through steps to loving again. You can go through steps to become a new you because after losing a child you will never be the same person you once were.
By Tabitha Hinkley4 days ago in Fiction
Draft with Revisions
My father told me what life was. You go to school. You get a job. You earn money. You retire. My father didn’t offer this as advice, no. He described it as routine, a set way of doing things that had worked before. Years of hardship, repetition, and caution shaped this path. There was no room for discussion. I never questioned it because that seemed pointless, even wasteful, and waste was not allowed in that system.
By Lori A. A.5 days ago in Fiction
Where's the Glory?
In breaking news, rehabilitated Republican Senator Johnnie Johnson (Pronouns: HE, HIM, HIS) called a press conference from the Men’s room of the New Orleans Louis Armstrong International Airport, Concourse B, across from the Ignatius Reilly’s Lucky Dog stand. The Senator had just returned from a sexual reorientation rehabilitation program in Memphis, TN after being publically disgraced at a Buckee’s Truckstop restroom soliciting sex from an undercover cop three months ago. He is a founding member of the Reformed Christians for Christ, a conservative, pro-family and ex-gay advocacy group. In the spirit of being reborn, Senator Johnson invited reporters to marvel at his plans for a major remodeling of airport bathrooms.
By Cathy Schieffelin6 days ago in Humor
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.