Adventure
The Style of Time Travel
No one ever wants to look like a peasant. No matter how many times I insist the ensemble is simpler, less expensive, and honestly, less conspicuous on the other end, no one ever wants to look like a peasant. They don't get into this job to go around as peasants, or Russian serfs, urban poor in the twentieth century, the shudra in India. Every agent insists on knighthood, a noble line, merchant class at least. Who would talk to them, they think, if they were so lowly and homely? They shouldn't be talking to anyone is what I remind them, but they are the agents with the education and I'm only the costume designer with the experience. I've been in this job longer than many of these, essentially babies will live.
By Rajan Poudel 4 years ago in Fiction
The Sad, Sad Downside to Dying Of Dementia
Hi, y'all! I have to use the southern drawl and twang for my Wild West novel. There has been a slight delay in my progress in the name of travels and research, but I will continue typing the weekly installments as they come. I promise I have them written up to date, and will update you all where we left off. Stay tuned as we figure out what happens in this great Wild West ghost town as they continue to relive the same day for 300 years, and grow tired of their mere existence.
By Kristyn Loritsch4 years ago in Fiction
Locket of power
Running as swiftly and calculated as she could trying to make as little noise as possible Zakkiyah could hear the bloodhounds gaining on her. She glanced down to her side to see if it was still there. It was! The Golden handled Kamakura onyx plated Katana was still strapped to her side safe and secure. She bent the corner into a dimly lit alley. She could see the dingy green dumpster. At this point she was faced with the decision to hide hoping they’d pass by or keep running to get the locket embedded Katana to safety.
By Keisha Haywood4 years ago in Fiction
Missiles on the way
"MISSILES ON THE WAY!" The headline was in two-inch type. Sam Spool had just sat down in the subway car and unfolded the morning paper. So they finally did do it, he mused to himself. He felt disappointment--he had been sure the peace talks would work out. As the train lurched and started out of the station, he turned the tabloid cover and began reading the sports pages.
By Sital baniya4 years ago in Fiction
Sweet Betsy from Pike
Five hours in the back seat of the car since they left their farm near Estevan and Tony and Jenna finally felt like this most recent family outing could end sometime soon. Their Uncle Clint’s ranch in the Cypress Hills appeared in the distant valley.
By John Oliver Smith4 years ago in Fiction
Saving Summer
Summer was the best time of the year. Everyone was staring at the clock as the seconds ticked down, one by one, a mental countdown in everyone's mind. Then, the bell, oh, what a melody to my ears. Then, a rush of adrenaline, pumping in everyone, as we scrambled for the exit into the world, out of prison. Then, imagine my disappointment and confusion when I saw that heaven had torn apart, rain cascaded down, and thunder rampaged the streets. "A rainstorm in summer? How is that even possible? Ugh! I'll have to stay at home today." I grumbled, fuming at GOD for ruining my excitement and joy after the last day of school. I shot my eyes up towards the thunderous skies, lightning crackling in my eyes: my eyes, death black, malice oozing from my pupils. Fuming, like a bull staring red in the face, I stomped off to my mother's car, opened the door, threw my bag and myself in and slammed the door shut.
By Vihaan Pujara4 years ago in Fiction
Mahalo King Cod Filet
A slate-grey sky hung heavy over the President James K. Polk Memorial rest area on Interstate 64 in southern Indiana. At the fueling station, eighteen-wheelers lined up under bright green lights for diesel and windshield wiper fluid from an army of apathetic attendants. A mother carrying a styrofoam coffee cup emerged from the Kwik Mart, pulling the collar of her neon pink and light purple ski jacket tight around her neck with her free hand and hurrying her two children across the broad expanse of cracked tarmac. A grove of oak trees, damp brown and bare of leaves for months now, peaked above the domed roof of the food court. At the far end of the parking lot, a mountain of exhaust-stained snow towered precariously over a red and yellow dumpster belonging to Solid Waste Disposition Incorporated, Akron, OH. A cacophony of colors and commotion.
By Sital baniya4 years ago in Fiction
How I Became a Supervillain part 3
Whether we're at home or at school Jim and I start working together. It isn't a seamless experience, but I oddly feel like I'm rediscovering the brother I lost when my mom died. After her death, Jim went all in on his villain persona, and I'll admit I buried myself in my creativity. And our dad...well he also got caught up in his work. I guess none of us realized how much we drifted apart. I actually feel a bit grateful to Mr. Hornsbees for making my brother and I work together.
By Taylor Ellwood4 years ago in Fiction
Nectar of Ashoka flower.
Ashoka Nectar This fragrant and sweet floral fragrance resembles an intoxicating fruit. In Fargon, when this rocking flower, jhake jhake, thakaya thakaya, variegated red and sometimes yellow, how does the color of this very old house match with nature. Most of the two-storey house collapsed. It is underdeveloped and often very steep or curved. The large mesh windows of the house scream in your head. Especially when it's windy. They were all very depressed by the night wind. It seems that many people wake up in the morning with a broken heart. But it is not the truth. Fragments of the former brick can be seen, not broken, Jhurai Surki. Gillick wandered in the face of such a catastrophe, wondering how his mind was alive even at 62 years old. How about itiuti anchana inside the chest until today. Especially at night.
By Nikhil Bhowmik4 years ago in Fiction
