Fable
Choices at the End
Azza awoke in what was becoming her normal way, to a throat clogged with slime and the feeling of drowning. She instinctively panicked, her body spamming with deep, explosive coughs that tore at her throat and wrenched her stomach muscles. Tears streamed from her eyes, drawing paths through the dust and grit that clung to her skin. Ropes of grey mucous spilled from her cracked lips, staining the grit-strewn ground. She would have vomited if there was anything in her stomach.
By Heming Hopkins4 years ago in Fiction
The Snake in the Garden
It was as if Time stood still when the Princess and the Snake's paths crossed. The Princess had never seen a Snake in her garden before, and it felt as if there was something beckoning her to this beautiful creature. It was as if an invisible, unbreakable thread connected them throughout the cosmos, as if they were always destined to cross paths.
By The Art of Legion4 years ago in Fiction
Risen
Risen 1. The boy did not return to the oceanside in Valparaíso until after his father had died. There had been an accident that no one had seen coming. One day he was there, holding the family on the broad muscles of his back; the next his chest was crushed by a tractor.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet4 years ago in Fiction
The Queen's Handmaiden
The grandfather clock was a pinnacle of our kingdom’s architecture, Erect in the town square for visitors to marvel at the magnificent construct. A fascination to those who came from lands whose monuments were either lacking in comparison or non-existent entirely.
By Robyn Little4 years ago in Fiction
Hope Wears Yellow
There are those we don’t yet know but wish to know someday. They breathe magic and fairy dust without even trying. The air becomes electric for reasons you can’t entirely identify if they happen to walk into a room when you weren’t expecting them. They sparkle. They shine. They give you the impression that if you could touch them and draw them close, your humdrum everyday life would go from black-and-white to full, living color in an instant.
By Shannon Hilson4 years ago in Fiction
Pollination of A Fig
The dense forest gives way to a circle-stage of open meadow. Yellow sunrays flood the grass before her like a spotlight. Her air leaves in a whoosh and she folds hands-to-knees, her dirt-streaked palms brace on red and wounded legs. She winces with a sting of pain.
By Ellis Cahill4 years ago in Fiction
A Stranger Comes Calling.
Snow fell hard this harsh winter night as a lone rider pushed his steed down the forest pass. He was nearly covered from head to toe in fresh snow, as was his horse Luka. A fine black stallion, and his most loyal companion. In truth his only companion, for in his profession it was not uncommon to travel alone. The pair traveled at a steady safe pace, with the only source of light coming from a lantern strapped to saddle bags. Further up ahead in the distance, lights could be seen as the pair neared the edge of the forest path. Before them a good mile away was a mansion perched atop a cliff overlooking a small village. Faint lights could be seen coming from the mansion, but not the village.
By Julio Aguilar4 years ago in Fiction
The Life of a Cartel Princess
She starts to wake up from unconsciousness, she doesn't know how long she has been out, and doesn't seem to remember where she is, or how she got here, looks around and no one is in sight, wherever she was, it looks like heaven, she closes her eyes to try to recall events on how she got here, she remembers a woman, her office, and her children, then she looks out near the water, and she sees her, Roxelle, now it all comes rushing back to her. She realizes she is in danger, hoping that they find her soon, her hand goes to her neck and realizes her necklace is missing, her most prized possession, as she closes her eyes she sees her office in flames, along with Roxelle's file, and she remembers yanking the necklace off her neck and dropping it on the ground before the woman knocked her out, and she also remembers having a copy of Roxelle's file in the safe at her home in Miami.
By Tabatha Nabors4 years ago in Fiction
The Tree and Her Boy
Dear Reader, lend me your eyes so you may see what I see: a boy perched high above in the branches of an old tree. She is his haven, an escape from the harshness of life. There, cradled in her long, outstretched arms he can breathe. He can dream.
By Timothy Wilkinson4 years ago in Fiction
