Adventure
Jorogomo
Jorogumo Rain kept falling. It was late in the afternoon. Light would soon be gone, but it would keep raining heavily for many days and nights to come. Hoshi stood there, unfazed by the rain as he watched locals chop down the strongest of the trees within the Aokigahara forest, a young boy standing there drenched and shivering beside him. This tree would serve more than one purpose and Hoshi would continue watching while the welfare of the small boy seemed not to trouble him. Weakness was not something Hoshi accepted, even at the boy’s age.
By Glenn Rogers4 years ago in Fiction
The Messenger
Bashir laid in bed, book in his lap, lamplight buzzing and flickering ever so slightly in the distance beyond his window. It was just like any other night, home, alone, waiting for something and waiting for the world to shift and for him to no longer be afraid. Then maybe Bashir could leave, go outside the walls of his tiny apartment. But until that day, here he sat under the covers, a spot worn into his mattress from his stagnant movement.
By A. A. Achibane4 years ago in Fiction
History Mustn't Repeat Itself
Delaehla: Imogen Simone Boehm was born on April 12th 1929, the German child had been the first, and only daughter to the Maximilian Theodore Degen, however she was the illegitimate bastard of a love affair with an actress named Magdalene Bianca Boehm, a famous German opera singer during the height of the Third Reich. Imogen's father was a renown scientist who was a part of the esteemed Deutsche Physik scientists. Imogen lived a tumultuous existence, and the girl often had to remain hidden from her mother's countless suitors, and sordid love affairs. It was with some degree of luck that at age 13 her mother happened upon one gentlemen who found that the young Imogen was quite the pretty young lady, and could soon follow in her mother's footsteps. Magdalene, however, was a slightly unstable woman mentally whom had come to rely heavily upon methamphetamines, and Russian Vodka. Upon hearing that her daughter might be on the up-and-coming she grew very envious and began shouting accusations, and insinuations at Imogen. It was her belief that girl must be trying to win over or steal away her attentions. Magdalene was a notoriously vain woman, and insanely jealous when need be. Even towards her own daughters.
By Sai Marie Johnson4 years ago in Fiction
The Covenant of the Fae
Kataru tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for her turn to enter the portal. Her group had spent an eternity listening to Queen Alari drone on and on about how restoring the Covenant between the fae and humans will bring balance back to the realm. The speech captivated most of the assembled fae; however, it lacked a certain luster, considering what Alari usually said in private. Plus, she tired of the droning speeches from the queen and the elders. If she was going to be forced to do this, she wanted to get it out of the way.
By Glenn Whitlock4 years ago in Fiction
The fatal strike
“Faster, Lady!” She shouted, kicking her worn-out heels into the horse’s sides. The air was beige as the sand lifted off the ground from being hit hard by hooves. It swirled around Rose’s head, like a halo. Still, what she was on her way to do wasn’t good.
By Sarah Said4 years ago in Fiction
The Missing Golden Egg
She may be a subtle five in age but she has a soul that is as old as magic. A chosen soul to conquer the meaning of life through her sense of being. Her purpose chosen to live by the act of play and use of multidimensional imagination. Her curiosity takes the lead. Keeps her head tilting side to side when caught in the net of thought. Creative solutions is her game of choice for the challenges she involves herself with daily. An honorable mention-Tomb Raider or Kim Possible in disguise.
By sianna burgos-altman4 years ago in Fiction
The Search
Collar, call 'er. They're linked somehow. The connection pushes something in me, and I yell out. The cry, a sorrowful call for her, for Andra, slams in harsh echoes against the wall and wakes me from a dream. Before my eyes opened, I was picturing the two of us comfortably seated in our old dining room feasting joyfully on the biggest steaks I’ve ever seen. I haven’t had a real meal since the morning of the disaster.
By Peter Wisan4 years ago in Fiction
