Fable
Golinda and Gallopatrot find the answer to 'Who are you?'
It had been years since Bob’s death. He had been part of the Great Turning of the 1960s, riding the peak of cultural change post WWII. Bob was one of those individuals who were capable of opening the intellectual doors of perception, and exploring what it meant to be a functionally responsible human. He deeply respected the structure of past traditions without becoming imprisoned by them. As a man of some renown in the world of physics, he had freely shared his knowledge and ideas with his colleagues, and with Kat. Moreover, he had offered Kat experiences beyond her imagination.
By Katherine D. Graham4 years ago in Fiction
Hudson
“Catch ya later, Hoods.” My friend Will daps me as we part ways. I dribble the basketball down my driveway, digging my keys out my pocket. Immediately, stepping through the front door, I am bathed in the salivating aromas of dinner: robust tomatoes with hints of herb and garlic.
By Terrance D Waters4 years ago in Fiction
Barnaby
The world had turned dark, and there seemed to be very little light that could be summoned this past year. Barnaby was one of the few fortunate enough to have survived the recent raid. His parliament had come under attack from the cougars that had banned together. They had been prowling all over the territory, raiding and killing any owls or other living beings with whom they came into contact. The winter months were already hard enough for Barnaby and his family, [who had been] trying their hardest to forage for food and stay warm. But now they had to worry about invaders attempting to kill them all. Ever wary, Barnaby stood to watch that night; he had only the sound of his empty stomach rumbling to keep him company. And, of course, fear and hunger pervaded his every passing thought. There was once a time of peace for Barnaby and his family. He tried to recall that time and to feel the warmth that memory brought to his mind. Would he ever feel that warmth again, the glow and promise of safety? Would he ever not feel the gnawing sense of loss and hunger? He had lost so much. Even though things seemed bleak, Barnaby had hope that he and his family could try to carve out a better existence in a safer place with the coming Spring. Until then, they were stuck amongst the ruins of what was their beautiful forest. Everything had been burned to the ground. The once beautiful barn they had called home for so long was reduced to ash and cinder.
By Breanna LaMonte4 years ago in Fiction
A Recurring Bliss
"Who's there?" said as he slowly turned back to see where the sound came from. Hello? Is there anyone here? He asked again, trying to hide the fear in his voice as he spoke, but around him, he only saw trees and the old leaves that glided to the ground in a very odd pattern.
By Jevmar Hex4 years ago in Fiction
An Owl and a Vole
Every night, the old barn owl soars over a groaning mire of gnarled branches. Beneath him, an ensemble of unnameable squawks and howls ring out from all directions, each signalling its own dramatic scene along one of the countless life stories unraveling somewhere in the woods. Only hunger and primeval joy propel the owl below into the unknown, sending him down to pluck doomed little denizens from their forest homes before fear forces his retreat to the upper canopy.
By Juan Hurtado4 years ago in Fiction
A Knight of Skye
Upon the Kenning of the twelfth moon of autumn, on Gehenna’s day, all the young horned owls of Skye maketh pilgrimage to the sacred peak known as Ravensmount. They do it in their hundreds. They do it not for food, neither for shelter, nor for mates, nests, or any other thing one might expect to be normal for an owl. Nay, these young wings flap up its sheer and craggy face, facing biting wind and rain for one thing and one thing only, honor. It has been this way since time immemorial, when the twelve Strix first led the owls to Skye and became the protectors of the Vale. It is here that they were gifted the mountain by the ravens, it is here where new knights are made, and it is here where most of them will die. For to become a knight of Skye, one must first be willing to fall, and from this fall only then can they truly rise.
By Aqil Rajan4 years ago in Fiction
The Owl Who Had No Hoot
Jerry was a loner. An outcast. Ever since he opened his sharp brown beak to speak, he knew he wasn't like the other owls. This made him dread the long, warm summer nights. His family would gather with the neighboring owls, all nestled together high in the rafters of an enormous abandoned barn outside the city lights. And they would hoot. And hoot. And hoot.
By Jacaranda C.4 years ago in Fiction
Crimson and White
On a night colder than any in memory, somewhere on the backroads of an old New England countryside, a man traveled home to a small, unnamed town where white smoke billowed from brick chimney tops. On the eve of a winter holiday, families gathered inside their dwellings, held up from the nips of cold air and whips of sharp wind blustering outside. The man, instead, drove alone through a bleak and dreary scene far from there, his only companion an old, clunking, dilapidated green car that had seen many years past its prime.
By Charles W. Vincent4 years ago in Fiction
