fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
Into the Nothing—Part 2
I woke up in the same room. The white walls, the heavy blanket. There was no other furniture in the room. I was going deaf from the silence. I turned my head a little bit more and saw a man standing behind the bed. His hands were on the metal and the metal was glowing red. He was staring at me, but seemed to be looking through me at the same time. I looked at bit closer into his eyes and saw that his pupils had bright red dots in their centers. They were the same color as the hot metal. I didn’t move. I wasn’t afraid, but I wasn’t comfortable either. My mind was very calm. I felt like I knew him but I knew I didn’t at the same time. The only familiar thing about him were the red dots. They were the only part of him looking at me.
By Dania Diab7 years ago in Futurism
Never Let Go
As Zefaer wakes up in his cold little home in the woods, knowing it had rained the night before as it was damp, he hears all the animals coming out at the morning light. Taking the light peeking through his window as his cue to get ready for hunting today, he sits up in his creaky bed.
By Cheyenne Aeternum7 years ago in Futurism
The Lycan Diaries
When I was little, the other pups would always push the boundaries my father and mother had set for us. We were always warned about outsiders and the dangers they posed. Roland, the Ulfric of the pack, looked to his daughter. “Zooma, you have disobeyed my orders. You shall be punished.” I always was linked to the other pups, even if I was not anywhere near them, and all because I was the princess.
By Tasha Lucas7 years ago in Futurism
The Legend of Smitebeard
Deep under the rocky hide of the Giant’s Thumb Mountain, the Dwarven city of Gun’Idur bustled with trade. The city market had thrived for hundreds of years since the Molten King had opened the Dwarven city’s doors to trade with the world above. For thousands of years they had remained isolationists, and for some time it suited them. But the deeper they dug, the more trouble the city was brought. They were not the mountain’s only inhabitants, and their resources wore thin. Opening trade enabled them to bolster their supplies, share secrets of craft with the humans and elves, and even employ other races into their ranks.
By Benjamin Peck7 years ago in Futurism
Everyone Has Their Daemons
Things aren’t always what they seem. Hello, my name is Daemon Black and I’m a little different than your average high school student. For one I have an IQ measured in the range of the 220s, although I had to hold back a bit to not arouse too much attention. Also, I’ve got a few special, hmmm… I guess “abilities” would be the best way to describe them. For most people, even just having a fraction of my abilities or just my IQ would be a blessing, but I know there is something else behind it, something diabolical. My parents won't admit to it but I know there’s something more to my life and I won't stop until I’ve discovered what is going on.
By Doug Hoagland7 years ago in Futurism
A King's Predicament
The king stood on his balcony. His eyes watched his bride-to-be intently, not losing sight of her as she moved among the trees. He knew she was attempting to throw him off her trail. It made him chortle to himself. With a soft sigh, the royal gave her what she wanted. A distant, elated squeal sounded, followed by pounding hooves. Lady Etain (Ai-deen) rushed for the woodlands. King Conchobhar (Conko-var) retired to his chambers.
By Laney O'Hare7 years ago in Futurism
Blade of Promise (Part 1)
There is a point in a woman’s life when she has a grasp of love and security and she does a lot of planning and getting ready for such things to happen like proposals and weddings and children. Not all women have this in their life sometimes by choice and sometimes it just happens for some reason unknown to them. But sometimes in other extreme circumstances it is taken from them.
By Ashley Wentz7 years ago in Futurism
The Creative Process Is a Distant God
Oden lives in a box. All white, flat, smooth walls and no windows. A constant dripping sound though there is no place for water. There is a desk and chair and on the desk there is an open notebook. The pen beside it is fine point; green ink. Oden is a writer. So Oden writes and nothing else. Oden has never been outside the box nor desired to leave; never needed to replace the pen.
By Troi Speaks7 years ago in Futurism
