Adventure
Continuation of The Power of Painting in Year 3000 / Part C
Italia brought us to the heart of Sweetie Pie village after telling us a story of a time in her youth, where she cleaned the negative energy away and drained the power from a dog-shaped dark spirit by lighting sage in the household where the spirit made its habitat.
By Patrick Oleson5 years ago in Fiction
Not Today
Not Today Shore Renolds awoke to the sound of a car horn blaring. “Ugh.” She muttered pulling her beach blonde curly strands from her face,and peeking at the clock on her nightstand. 8:28am “Dad you can't be serious! It way too early.” Paul was sitting in his yellow rubicon jeep, tapping on the steering wheel to Lizzo’s hot single ‘Water me’. Paul was Shore’s dad, he was a marine biologist who specialized in the study of shark ecology and reproduction. Today was a celebratory day, because a great white shark that Paul and his team tagged is due to give birth. Paul looked up at his daughter's bedroom window and beeped the horn several more times, to get her attention. “Dad, I need a shower!” she yelled from her window, leaning against the window frame. “We’ll good morning Shore! Plane leaves in an hour, Do you want to explain to your mom why we’re late?” Paul was a middle aged man with blonde sunkissed hair, that he always styled in a man bun, ocean blue eyes, clean shaved face and strong physique. “I’ll be in and out, suitcase is already packed!” She pleaded. “The longer you stand here and talk to me the later we’ll be.” Paul yelled back up to the window then turned his music back up. Shore rolled her eyes and slammed the window, walking by her calendar on her wall that showed another no show menstrual.
By Luna Darling5 years ago in Fiction
A girl with dragons in her heart
There was a painting in the very back storeroom of my Uncle Meer’s Restaurant. It was of a hero, riding a dragon, golden hair blowing in the breeze, black eyes glinting in the summer sun. His name is was Evenhual, and it’s his story I’m here to tell. Well, actually, my story.
By And I am Nightmare5 years ago in Fiction
Searching for Sharks
Even with nothing but a thin wetsuit, the warm waters of the Caribbean felt almost like bathwater on Jordan’s skin. Diving on the west coast, where Jordan had lived his entire life, was always fun in its own way. But there was something special about the beauty of the waters here off of the east coast of Honduras. Of course, perhaps it was just the natural high of being somewhere new-vacations like this were rare with a PhD workload and teaching assistant salary. Jordan slowly let air some air into his BCD (the inflatable jacket divers wear around that holds their tank and controls their buoyancy) and came to a hover fifty meters beneath the surface. He looked over to his right, where Meghan was almost slowing her descent. She looked at him and gave him the OK sign, the universal underwater symbol for being all good, and added an excited smile for good measure.
By Thomas Kennedy5 years ago in Fiction
Thalassophobia
I messed up. When I was eight years old my mother told me not to watch JAWS on television. My idiotic response was to watch JAWS on television. It was right before my first swim lesson. When I walked to the edge of the pool, I imagined that the moment I jumped in, a secret door would open in the deep end of the pool and a murderous Great White Shark would come out and eat me whole. Long story short, I never learned to swim. I have been petrified of water ever since.
By Matthew Stanley 5 years ago in Fiction
Endure the Abyss
- The splinter in my thumb itches like hell. I pick at it with my pocket-knife under the desk while pretending to listen. Sister Gable is babbling something about fire, I can never follow these religious lectures; they’re so boring. I squeeze my thumb hard with my finger and try to get under the splinter with my knife, it hurts, but the pain is better than this unrelenting itch. I’ve almost got it.
By Abated Apotheosis5 years ago in Fiction
Crown of the Grand Horn
Ortiana was a land of chaos and blood, broken in ages past when kings held petty wars for personal pride. None can tell when the fall happened, which army ran amuck where, only that the old castles were in ruins and lands shattered to separate villages. Now it was ruled by the sword, the horse lords of the north and barbarian hordes of the south would not let the bloodshed end. Any village had to spend its days worrying about an attack, rest and peace were far off dreams.
By Patrick Marrero5 years ago in Fiction
