Excerpt
From The Windcaller
Although Samueld had just reached his eighteenth birthday, many would have considered him a doyen because of his unusual abilities. However, hidden away at the ancient hacienda, he rarely used his abilities or his knowledge. Now, he was studying the old manuscripts that he had discovered in the trunk under the old quilts. He hoped that they would give him some insight into what he was supposed to do to rescue the "Others". He looked longingly out the open windows at the purple mountains to the north and thought about going there to investigate. His old guardians would never agree to such an adventure. He could try to contact Andriana and get her to go ahead and plot a course for him. He suddenly thought about her going along with him. She had a special talent also but hers allowed her to be hidden without being imprisoned.
By Judith Parrish Broadbent4 years ago in Fiction
By the Blood
It was happening again. Dammit! I couldn’t stop my head from spinning, the visions flashing before my eyes. The eruption of Vesuvius. The earthquakes in Crete. Poveglia Island. The Antonine Plague. The scenes came and went almost faster than I could keep up. My nose bled and my legs felt like jelly as I stumbled down the hall. My hoarse voice called out to my mother, but I didn’t think she could hear me. I tried my damnedest to shout, but I felt like my voice was slowly being stolen. As I finally came upon the entrance to the living room, I whispered for her once last time.
By Mina Ramey4 years ago in Fiction
House on the Hill
There was this house on a hill that was very evil. It reeked of it. The rubble could call itself names. It would probably call itself Paul, I would think. It was also a very sad house. Crawling with dog tags and mystical letters. Painted red and swallowed whole in romance. The romance of the mystical kind. It baited many a weary traveler. Drowned them in its own sadness. This is very disturbing, but it was there just the same.
By Alex Jennett4 years ago in Fiction
Waves
It is dawn. I am standing in the arched passageway to The Great Room, looking in at the floorboards, which are swirling like the ocean, spiraling inward to the very center of the house. I see my two small daughters on the other side of the room. I approach them, and as I walk across the shifting slats, I see that I myself am a young girl. I continue. When the girls see me, they stop talking and look at me with wide eyes of concern. “What is it?” I implore with my expression.
By Brooke Hamilton Benjestorf4 years ago in Fiction
Cynical Depression
My eyes snapped open. Even in the suffocating darkness, I found myself beginning to relax. The noise had come from outside my door, from the sounds of it, the little ones were playing a rather rowdy game of tag. I sat up, shifting so I could lean back against the wall, a flick of my wrist illuminating the room with dull light. What little concrete wall was peeking through my décor absorbed much of the light. Another bang interrupted the silence, followed by some shouts in protest. I reached for my phone, the light of the screen blinding me. It was only 7 am. Figures. I rolled my eyes as I began to swipe through my messages. Another email from the mayor with a request for a sit down, five emails from the bank on First Street pleading for their money back, and one email from Love. I stopped my scroll and stared at the name. Why would Love be contacting me? I didn’t miss a meeting or kill anyone this week last I checked…
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
Origin
I was nine when my past came back to haunt me. I had finally left the ring. Got out as they say. Clawed my way out from under the piles of bodies left in my wake, but I made one fatal mistake; I left my brother behind. When he discovered me, oh so many months later, I found myself barricaded between him and the dumpster behind the Trickster’s bar, his arm pushed against my ribs and his hand around my throat. My fingers clawed at his hand, the bloody scratches doing nothing to stop his hand from squeezing my throat even tighter.
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
Mischievous Delight
The world had turned upside down, or maybe right side up? Delight crashed into my room/the garage, stumbling over metal pipes and gas canisters before finally tripping and falling over a half built engine. She was in tears, a strange sight for sure but my eyes found themselves drawn to the purple bruises circling her delicate neck, being partially covered by her shaking hand.
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
Cynical Angst
I smirked at the memory of Depression’s shock as I followed the hallway right, left and around a blind spot before entering the dining room. Well, it was more like a cafeteria/hangout space but with its high ceilings, obtrusive ledges, and history of battle planning, many of the senior group members have come to calling it the War Room. I find that I agree with them as the room is reminiscent of a castle’s great hall, but with less gold and more blood stains. I grabbed a leg of chicken and some toast off the serving plates before seating myself at the head of the table. The youngsters provided excellent entertainment as they continued their game of tag, chasing each other around the long, oak table. A patch of red caught my attention as our newest member scurried by me. Seems Enmity was finally comfortable enough to relax her powers and interact with the other kids. She was definitely the youngest of the group at only six years old.
By Steph Ruff4 years ago in Fiction
