Fable
Iron Rookery
The stars weren’t out yet. She passed the time with hope. Hope is a thing of the future, where she was from, and it felt surreal to travel back only to sit around and wait. Her name was Saire (sigh-EAR) and she nestled atop the Arrol Gantry, 228ft in the air.
By Matthew Daniels4 years ago in Fiction
Timpul trece
Time passes in front of my eyes ... yes, we argue, we hide, we lie, we offend and this is not perfect. Everything you do hurts me a lot, no matter if it's the first words or gestures ... even a "I love you" hurts me, I feel like you're saying it just because I told you first or out of obligation not to I feel bad, not that there won't be days when I tell you I love you and you just tell me no matter what your time ...
By Bogdan Elena4 years ago in Fiction
The Man, The House, and The Gnome
Once upon a time there lived a man who inherited his ancestral house. The house was a Victorian style, with enough bedrooms and living space for comfort, but not so spacious as to feel empty when there were no guests. The person, named Adam, loved everything about the house. He loved the rooms, and the back yard spaces, he loved the kitchen and living space, he especially loved that the house’s age gave his parties a kind of extravagant flare more modern homes lacked.
By Judah LoVato4 years ago in Fiction
Curses
I should take a moment here and introduce myself as narrator of this story and take the focus from its current location and shift it a little. You see, I am writing this from a comfortable future and not only have memory and timeline issues but also benefit from the added bonus of removing associated trauma from my head with each victorious completion of a chapter, thus removing my associated limbic response and fundamentally altering the, already shoddy, memory, allowing me the blessed peace of having that particular incident in my life finally stored properly and no longer haunting me with flashbacks or intrusive interruptions to what should be (but isn’t ) regular cognitive function.
By Richard Thompson4 years ago in Fiction
Some Day My Prince Will Go
It was pretty scary watching the witch sing "Happy Birthday". Instead of being pursed in disapproval, as usual, her mouth stretched into a smile so wide it made me think of strychnine. Meanwhile, her eyes stayed as cold and unblinking as a hawk, with a nose to match. She wore the inevitable silky blouse, twenty years out of date and buttoned right up to her wrinkled neck, but today it was little-girl pink. Even her trousers were pink. The outfit clashed hideously with her strident plum hair, and I couldn't help thinking it was going to get stained when she shinnied down the tower.
By Rajya laxmi4 years ago in Fiction
SAME AS ME?
To the lost and the fallen, to the beaten and the broken, to the sad and the happy who have yet to feel that moment of sadness when a loss is the saddest part of your day; alas, loss the saddest part of your day, perhaps a week, oh loss, the saddest part of your week; loss, perhaps even longer. Some would say why lose when you can win, for the winner may not be a sinner, but to lose dear winner is not choice but happenstance, sometimes. Fear not, a dear friend of loss, for winning is not all that it appears, but striving for it is a noble idea when the idea itself is noble to all, for winning for winning's sake is folly for the foolish. So win, a dear friend of loss for to try is freedom, and when restraints are put onto thee stand strong, for tomorrow is yet another day to try, to live.
By James Green4 years ago in Fiction
Backlash
The cat ate the mouse and found it tasty. It was yummy at first sight. And yummy at first smell. All the popcorn you could imagine. To your hearts content. In the meantime they would circle each other in a cat and mouse dance. The winner of the dance competition take all. They would become a slave to themselves. I wonder how I would write when I am super tired. Let us find out. As long as the cat enjoyed the mouse it would find itself in the can. The cat had an odd smell to it a mixture of iodine and copper. The mouse followed the tincture of the cat's smell. And left an offensive odor in it's place, an odor that could not be wiped away. It lingered at the touch of another foul reminder. One that could not be replaced by the soap of another era.
By Alex Jennett4 years ago in Fiction
Almost a Daughter
“Would you still like me if I wasn’t a girl?” Her voice was so low he wasn’t sure he heard right so rather than answering right off, he just stared at her. She tossed her head to one side, sable hair storming over her shoulders, glanced back at him for a quick second, clear eyes blue and penetrating, then turned away. Not a girl? Jordyn sure looked a girl. His body responded to her whenever she was close to him the same way it did all girls. That involuntary stiffening, the want, that indecent want, a clawing need. And yet, and yet…
By Dan Glover4 years ago in Fiction
A HAPPY STORY ABOUT THE UNIVERSE, AND STUFF.
First there is something, then there is nothing. No wait, that’s reversed. Or is it? So many ways the universe can begin. It can explode into being from nothingalmostnothingImean, or it can be born on the back of a crocodile, the way I think I read once that some cultures believe the universe was born: the crocodile had to carry a frog across a river, I think, and there was a fox too, or maybe a hippo? The details may or may not be unimportant. It is hard to tell, for true stories.
By Briane Pagel4 years ago in Fiction
