Classical
The Odyssey: The Powerful and Emotionally Flooded Father and Son Re-union
In the epic poem The Odyssey by Homer, Odysseus is presented as the main character, who desires to return to his home, Ithaca, where his wife and son are awaiting his return patiently even after twenty years of him missing. In book 16, line 193 the well-anticipated reunion between father and son is described by Homer in detail. Through the Homeric language in this passage, it is evident how everything Odysseus has been through was leading up to this beautiful reunion that holds great significance in the poem because, at the end of book 16, Telemachus and Odysseus plan their revenge against the suitors together to finally regain their well-deserved honor and glory.
By Natalie G.4 years ago in Fiction
Beyond the Dark Water
ONE 1 Seventy-six year old Mike Taylor recognized Rusty’s grin before anything else. That same ear to ear toothy grin that could so annoy or endear. Punctuated by the loose lanky walk, where the feet never came close together. To walk a straight line would be out of the question. It was similar to Mike’s own walk, except less self-conscious. He was dressed in rather nice slacks, sports jacket, slip-on shoes. It was Rusty all right, Mike concluded in shock.
By Charles Turner4 years ago in Fiction
The Village
“Come now, Michael!” A flustered old woman, with a tart mouth and stern eye, chided her young charge. She came scurrying down the lane of the little one-way street of the village. Apparently never having been there before, she seemed to have lost her way, and rather than asking someone which way to go, seemed to take greater pleasure in scolding the little boy who followed her, at a safe distance. “We’d never be in this mess if it hadn’t been for you, you stupid boy. Come now! Hurry up!” She caught up her skirts and made a dash across the street, crossing to the other side, and impatiently beckoning to the boy, who was reluctant to cross.
By Erica Nicolay4 years ago in Fiction
The Old Bog
A man fell into the old bog and was never heard from again. The bog is also where there was a man the villagers called Mr. Toad. He resembled a toad, in many ways—he was a toad. He had the disposition of a gathering storm that lurked in his countenance whenever his ironed frown lines settled around his crooked, drooping mouth. He hardly spoke, and when he did, it was only to gurgle out a guttural, rhythmic croak of a note or two.
By Erica Nicolay4 years ago in Fiction
The Chase
It was with cool, quiet desperation that man in the dark overcoat deliberately approached the teaming swarm of angry gestapo. He still clenched the stub of a smoldering cigarette between his numb fingers, and blew the last bit of smoke through his nostrils with grim foreboding. The blond haired boy, who clung to his side, with his bloodstained nazi uniform, could scarcely disguise his terror while he glanced knowingly at that mad frenzy brutes as they tore past the two.
By Erica Nicolay4 years ago in Fiction
Longing for Love
On my long, plodding way down (in my nurse’s arms), I took notice of the many dark paintings on the walls. They were all much bigger than I--some ten feet by five, some made up of layered bush strokes that seemed unconnected (I learned the term impressionistic later), light-hearted and colorful--but the majority seemed fit for dungeons--with iron bars, moldy castles, surrounded by the turbulent waters of the sea, often with an erie creature decked in a white gown, poking its pale face out a gothic window. They were altogether revolting pictures to me. I have never learned since to like them.
By Erica Nicolay4 years ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Child
It was a twelve year old slump-shouldered youth who crawled over the rusty gate to the farmhouse. By his cautious demeanor and furtive glance, one would have guessed he were a trespasser come to perhaps steal a few scrawny chickens—but he was no thief. The house was his own…or at least, he lived there.
By Erica Nicolay4 years ago in Fiction
KRISHNA JANMASTAMI
Krishna Janmashtami is simply known as Janmashtami or Gokulashtami. It is a Hindu festival that celebrates the birth of Lord Krishna, the eighth avatar of Vishnu. It is observed according to the Hindu lunisolar calendar, on the eighth day of the Krishna Paksha (dark fortnight) in Bhadrapada, which overlaps with August or September of the Gregorian calendar.
By Nira Kumari4 years ago in Fiction
You Say Orpah
Start typing should be the directive; or something. Anyway here I am at work as usual with no specific goal other than perhaps to crank out six hundred words of some type of garbage being as how I won't be paid to do it. As is becoming the norm my monthly check is in jeopardy. I sure am glad that it doesn't have anything with being half Jewish ancestrally in the Deep Southern United States. Maybe I'm lucky not to live in the Shallower South wherever that would be. Even better and more fortuitous I am nowhere near the Northeastern portion of the country, I tell myself. Actually I resent being here, always have, always will. Either that or not so much.
By P. B. Friedman4 years ago in Fiction
A Partridge for Your Thoughts
Christmas was her favorite time of year. The soft delicate flakes of white swirling in crisp air. The promise of icicles and skating. The smell of cookies and pies wafting from underneath the freshly rising rolls of the bakeries. Peppermint in the shape of canes brought a smile to her delicate thirteen year old lips; a whisper of tastes to develop with the passing of holidays. Winter was her season, in the season of her arrival.
By Katharine Poole 4 years ago in Fiction
the pear
In a field on a quiet hill far away from the busy world, a pear swayed gently in the summer breeze. It was another lazy and glorious day. The pear basked in the warmth of the sun along with their siblings, safe amongst their mother’s leaves. The pear was comfortable in the tree and did not want to leave.
By Jacob Morrow4 years ago in Fiction
