Adventure
A Night to Remember
"Shhhhh!" Peter quietly whispered with his finger to his lips. Shannon tried hard not to giggle again. They were sneaking out of her bedroom window and she knew that if her Dad caught them they would be in big trouble, but when she was nervous she always giggled.
By LISA A BAIN4 years ago in Fiction
The Owl Guardian
Chapter 1 This was the third night in a row that Henry had noticed it watching him. He could see the barn owl, as white as snow, perched on the tree not far from his bedroom window. Its eyes were jet black like the night sky, and bright like the glowing stars. Henry closed his window and drew his curtains. The owl was starting to freak him out.
By Tiff Player4 years ago in Fiction
Essence of the Owl
The cold air swept up my jacket like an icicle running across my skin. It caused goosebumps to appear upon my forearms, and a shiver to run down my spine. I had stood there for hours, unaware of how long it had been, as the sun began to dim. I feared mom had forgotten me again. Left me to my wit's end, to try to find a way home. She'd been drinking, and that meant a long walk home. It unnerved me the thought, of passing all those streets, afraid of walking home was the truth. It was like a fear I'd contemplated on several days. Over and overthinking, what if... well that what if had become a reality that day. At six pm, the chime upon the clock tower chimed into my senses. I could feel my knees shake, and a silent tear trickle down my cheek. It had been all those things mom had said, that had got me so riled up. It had to be a joke right. No one was really going to kidnap me. No one was really going to pull over- and yank me into the car. But mom had said so many had it happen to them.
By Hope Joy Sargent4 years ago in Fiction
Submerged
Once the cave diving idea was planted in my brain, I was alight. It wasn’t a paying job, but I had rediscovered motivation, which was enough to make me feel like a capable human and enough to get my father to stop nagging me for at least a week. I skipped the Cavern Diving course because it wasn’t a required prerequisite (and I had no income and my father’s patience with me mooching off of him was the only thing dwindling faster than my meager savings account) but I did watch a late 1990s cautionary tale on the National Speleological Society’s Cave Diving Section homepage called “A deceptively easy way to die”. I will just say that I had enough open water diving experience to understand the importance of training for specialty dive situations, and therefore could have done without the simulated drowning, but point taken. At that point an adventuresome death was more appealing to me than another few months on the couch.
By sushil kumar bind4 years ago in Fiction
Fair Feathered Fiend
‘Ah…. How dreadfully boring.’ The glorious yellow lune was glowing brightly in the sky, to the point it was quite irritating and painful to the eyes bathing in the dark. It was annoying to go out into the light, after all the darkness was my favorite sort of night; Pitch black, overcast or chilled. My victims could never hear me coming, it was easy to sneak up on unsuspecting prey and pierce their flesh before they could scream. Nothing beats the shrill scream in their final moments, feeling the warmth gush out as blood pools around us as their bodies go still. Such an addictive and alluring thing, the life of a predator is addicting.
By Crystal Ayers4 years ago in Fiction
The Return of the Owl
It is a cold, February morning, and the snow is glistening. Demetri just woke up to the smell of breakfast as the rays of the morning sun started to make their way through his window. He had a very interesting dream about a barn owl but decided to shrug it off as he gets ready to start a very interesting day. After all, it is not every day a young man turns eighteen.
By Kevin M Hilliard Jr4 years ago in Fiction
Green Eyes
How would you define time? One minute for a person who counting it down, watching it from 59, and disappearing to zero, could feel like forever. One minute for someone who’s not paying attention could feel like the minute never even existed. A physicist would look at the time and see an equation, or a writer would look at time as a story.
By Rachel Nicole Smith4 years ago in Fiction
The wise old owl saves the day
The Owl sat high on his tree in the woods near the popular canyon hikers like to explore. It was near time to go hunting but he was uneasy. The air felt heavy and acrid. He smelled it. There was smoke in the air. Smoke meant fire. Fire that could make his tree into ash. Danger. Time to move on.
By Ellen Moyer4 years ago in Fiction
Jeremy and the Covenant. Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge.
Jeremy and the Covenant By: RL Stevenson Transformation is interstellar. It happens in the cosmos within and without. There is a distinct sound, a shifting that happens, and at that exact moment in time and space, the bell tolls and echoes your name. Throughout one’s journey in the pursuit of self, many seekers grapple with the reality of who they perceive they are and who they desire to become. One may embark upon an expedition to find greater meaning and purpose, searching for answers to a calling that could possibly bring about a heightened sense of joy and fulfilment, and a bolder sense of strength and courage. But is this goal always attainable? It is possible, but its path is often mapped with terrains full of hills and valleys, desert, and rocky places, and is sometimes inundated with virtually impassable landscapes. Nevertheless, through it all, there is a clearing, and the road becomes smooth and unobstructed; one’s Road of Sharon, so to speak. And, when the season is right, change ensues… because everything is purposed and re-purposed for change. We don’t always know when or understand why, but it is par for the course; it is inevitable. Such was the season of change for a young boy named Jeremy.
By RL Stevenson4 years ago in Fiction
Rottenbird
“I am Rottenbird!” the old crusty barn owl roared, rattling the iron confine around his neck. The rest of this barn owl’s friends have already been devoured as evidenced by the empty cages around him. “The Charles Darwin and his brood of masticators ate everyone I knew,” the old barn owl recalled, taking a lean between the bars of his prison. “Poor Puma went with a side of mint jelly and fingerlings. The twin iguanas, Pearl and Emma met their maker like the armadillo as an amuse-bouche that led to the Charles Darwin’s favorite aperitif, tortoise soup.” Rottenbird tries to blink his eyes to erase these memories but visions of smooth pasty hands popping agoutis heads into mouths like stuffed mushrooms flooded his mind. In an attempt to regain his composure, Rottenbird puffs his chest and joaks, “But it will be I, the indigestible one, the destructor of stomachs, the sentinel of the gastrointestinal who causes my captor to drop anchor and rip him from his adventurous tongue.” The owl added, “I arrived in Cambridge in the middle of the night. One moment I was soaring the England night sky and the next, I was scrupulously being man-handled into this ferrous yoke.” Rottenbird twists his head violently shouting, “Chouette au Masque de Fer!” Rottenbird goes limp for a moment. He stares across the room to muffled chatter behind a large oak door. “It took this wise old owl only one night to figure out what this place is, for the vapors of former friends climb into my cage like ivy. Their memory still clings with the intensity of St. Elmo’s fire hugging a ghost ship.” Rottenbird wildly jerks the inviolable lock of the cage with his beak. Suddenly the oak doors open.
By Kevin G. Cox4 years ago in Fiction
