fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
The Mystic Tale
The Mystic Tale By: Sabali Daye Snow falls consuming all beneath it. As the moon peeks through the dark clouds, the land radiates like pearls under white light. Rustles of the evergreens whistle to the tune of the frigid winter breeze. Dancing to the natural symphony shuffles the small stealthy feet of Lynx stalking the woodline. She seemed carried by the winds as her movements flowed fluently in the same direction of the limbs of the evergreen. Just out of the reach of the woodline underneath a wooden picnic table stood, a grungy little brown hare staring at the brilliance of the moon as if in a trance. In its paws it was holding something unusual. A small milky stone with dark streaks that seemed to glow just as bright as the figure in the sky.
By Sabali Daye5 years ago in Futurism
Feathers of midnight
This is my fifth day in these imense woods; and my third day since I've last seen the creature. I should go home, I want to go home. Who cares about the creature really is and where she came from? Shes's not really my problem. But I do care, I have to. Perhaps she's just the proof I need to prove the illgeal government expiriements and that no, I wasn't actually crazy. The possibility of being crazy bothers me more than I’d like to admit, I’m tired of people not believing me. But I couldn’t get what I had seen out of my head. According to what my father had taught me about owls, I had seen a barn owl. Although not a normal one, with icy blue eyes and black wings that would rival the darkest night. I could leave that up to some rare genetic mutation however, I could have sworn I heard her whisper “follow me” as she took off the night I first saw her. I know how crazy it sounds, like I said before maybe I am but it’s worth checking out. One more day out here, and I’ll go home.
By Kelly Ann Fitch5 years ago in Futurism
The Penance
Once upon a decrepit autumn night, a gust of wind kissed the face of a grief-stricken Kwei. She clutched her child’s ashes and walked down the snowy pathway. The moon’s blood red gaze was her only ghostly guide through the dark night. Every witch dreamed of this moment, and Kwei refused to flounder it. The leaves crunched under her boots and the air was getting thinner and colder. Kwei was arriving at the precipice of the mountain. She smiled.
By D'Kiehl Cash5 years ago in Futurism
VENGEANCE
Once upon a time, it was the tradition of the king to organize a big feast for all his subjects. All the birds in the air and all the animals on the ground, all the fish in the sea and all the living creatures that lived below were invited, for they were all subjects under the king’s rule and they had to obey him. Of all his subjects, the king found his favorite in the hawk for the hawk could travel very quickly.
By Jide Okonjo5 years ago in Futurism
The Moon's Canvas
Athy was a girl that had always failed in her personal relationships with others because, for whatever reason, she believed (more than she was willing to admit) that she was above them all, and it irked her to imagine a world where she could be considered as an equal to any other. Overtime, Athy acquired an almost feral desire to escape into the forests, whenever she felt overwhelmed by the flawed humanity that she so urgently dis-attached herself from. On this occasion, Athy’s chosen place of refuge was a vast, golden field surrounded by forestry; she always visited one particular clearing, as the quiet there gave her the opportunity to abuse her creative outlets - drawing, painting - weary of a world that was less than her, or so she believed – until that night.
By Abd-al-Karim Tayara5 years ago in Futurism
The Crescent Key
“Luna, we’ve been at this for days. Don‘t you think it's a lost cause? Maybe we’re wrong...” Luna could barely hear Ellise. She could only hear the voices. The voices. The voices that made her an outcast by their very mention. She was considered the village witch at six, when the voices first appeared. Back then, they would only appear when something bad was about to happen. The voices, as she called them, whispered to her in a strange language, yet she understood their meaning perfectly. She used to try to warn the villagers, telling them what the voices told her. Things like when the castle guards would ransack their village, or when a blizzard was approaching. But instead of celebrating her gift, they shunned her, telling her she was the one who was bringing these calamities to their town. That she was the cause of it all. So, at six, she fled to Willow Woods. An orphan since infancy, she had no ties to to hold her back. Luna only listened to the voices.
By Bismillah_poetry5 years ago in Futurism
Alone
The trees swayed violently creaking loudly as the winds of the storm whips them back and forth as it continues to wreak havoc in the forest. The winds create mini tornadoes from the leaves littering the ground. In an almost blinding flash of light, a small figure is visible for only a moment as it struggles to remain upright. Blown this way and that by the wind, the figure is soaked to the skin and shivering. Breathing out clouds of cold air, it is quickly whisked away by the wind. Taking refuge in a clump of bushes, the figure huddles close to the ground trying to stop shivering – she must find shelter!
By Merrie Jackson5 years ago in Futurism
Sugar-Free Future
Alexander leaned back and groaned. He was getting too old to haul contraband which, if caught, would see him tortured or killed. He pushed a button and the floor of the tent inflated and warmed, and he relaxed. With a sigh, he started cataloging his profits from the three planets closest to TRAPPIST-1. He’d been visiting old customers, so it wasn’t dangerous. The Stórveldi weren’t active in space, and his wealthy customers had walled compounds where he could land undetected. He was also sure the local ættin, the smuggler hunters, didn’t bother him because some of the contraband made it into their kitchens.
By Jennifer Ryan5 years ago in Futurism
The Wanderer
The Wanderer Let me tell you a story about the Wanderer. A tale as old as legends but new as the sunrise on a new day. With mischievous pixies and the dark hearts of man, and enchantment to leave you in wonder. If you will, pull up a seat by the fire, sip from your mead, and let the magic take you to another realm of reality. Let the world pass you by.
By Matthew Angelo5 years ago in Futurism
Blessed Curse
Never have I felt such rage at the world as I did that night. I ran through the thick trees, the shouts of my family and the man they wished to marry me off to fading with the light. Small animals scattered before me, feeling an echo of the terror ripping through my breast touch their own as my heels sank into their homes. I paid no mind until one heel snapped, sending me flying into a clearing. After flinging what remained of my shoes off my feet, I looked up to see the light of the moon tinging thousands of tightly closed flowers silver.
By Max Drew Geiger5 years ago in Futurism
Through His Eyes
As I sit on my favorite perch, a tree that had been hit by lightening some time ago and broken off about the middle, it was slightly burnt on it's edge and over time I have managed to wear away most of the ash, landing and sloughing my claws off as I fly away creating the perfect home to survey the grasslands from far and wide. As I once again fly over these spectacular lands searching for some Shrews, a Vole or a little mouse, which would be lovely since I can eat two per night as long they aren't too big. I have the darkness on my side with a sliver of moon in the sky, so my sight is spot on! I love to focus on the ground as I fly so as not to miss a meal scampering through the tall grasses...
By C. M. Sears5 years ago in Futurism
