Historical

Hidden in the Flowers
Hidden in the Flowers Acting as a proper woman, Ada strolls the arboretum. She recognizes its true nature, a manicured veneer over an ever-present wildness. Like her.
By K. Marley4 years ago in Fiction
Pity Me Not
“Put your good boots on,” Sherah snapped, at her young brother. “Got us a bad man, needs t’ be kilt.” The boy answered to Kemuel; it was a Biblical name, as was her own. He was just turned ten, three years younger than his sister, and nearly as stubborn as she was. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and bounced upright in his bed, glaring in bewilderment and irritation.
By Eric Wolf4 years ago in Fiction
The Yellow Hibiscus Chapter 5
As he escorted me to the morgue, he prepared me for the gruesome task of identifying their remains. Their fingerprints and dental records were not yet available. So it was up to me.
By Annelise Lords 4 years ago in Fiction
Discovery of the Machine
The early summer day in 1900 on the Sea of Crete had been alternately friendly and fitful. The waters had been choppy at times, then placid at others. The Sun peeked out from behind cumuli, on and off, casting bright warmth on the crew tending their equipment on the deck of the tirhandil, gently rocking to and fro in the waters off the Grecian coast. They had come from the port of Kalymnos in search of sponge. They numbered seven, just enough for the 24-foot boat of ancient Phoenician design, they studiously maintained the scaphandros, the suits that allowed the divers to stay deeper and longer underwater. They routinely dove to 150 feet or more as they dared, and with the dive charts available as a guide, they pushed their endurance to the limit. Recompressing was recommended at a rate of three feet per minute, but some of the more adventurous pushed their luck, sometimes with serious injury.
By Joseph "Mark" Coughlin4 years ago in Fiction
What Lies Ahead
We all have dreams and aspirations, but there is a reason why we don't usually talk about them. Sometimes it's better to just not know what the future holds. We never want to know the details of our demise or those of our loved ones.
By Penned by Ria4 years ago in Fiction
Dracula The Romanian Vampire
Over the long haul, Romanian fables has roused a great deal of stories and fantasies with astounding characters and fictional universes, loaded with implications and stories. The creative mind of individuals and the occasions that occurred both in the city of the towns and in charge of the nation, have brought forth stories that join the genuine and the incredible and in which the great generally arises triumphant. Strong, children of rulers, wonderful young ladies, basic individuals, witches, mythical serpents with seven heads, this large number of mystical characters lead a ceaseless, brave battle, which the peruser savors with unquenchable.
By silviu694 years ago in Fiction
Dear Mutti
Thursday, October 21, 1937 Dear Mutti, I’m with Walther and Peter currently. They are in their room napping, so I have nothing to do but write you a new letter since it’s been a couple of weeks.
By Emery Pine4 years ago in Fiction
HER HANDS #5
Please note. There are descriptions of religious beliefs and practices contained in HER HANDS. They are intended for use as setting, cultural context and character development. They are not intended to promote or criticize any religious belief or practice.
By Ed Burke4 years ago in Fiction
Underneath the Stars
It was Mid-April during spring and the petals were arriving and there I was where the European seas starts to create a riffle of waves that travel way west north is a young hard working as an American spy.
By Kristian B. Delpilar4 years ago in Fiction
Cold Storage
Bobby Jenkins, an engineer with White Star Line, leaned against the railing. He pursed his lips and heaved a sigh as he blew smoke toward the bay. The smoke lingered a bit, then disappeared.
By Brent Tharp4 years ago in Fiction
A Fleet's Night to Remember
It is the third rap on the door that Frederick Fleet is unable to ignore. It rings out through the near-empty flat with such nostalgia, a memory cutting through the ever-rumbling din of the trainyard that sits just across the street. It is a rhythm that, for a moment, he fails to consciously place; still, his body reacts, and turns over in his uncomfortable twin bed, back now towards the door. Frederick is ignoring him, as he was always want to do when he would wake him in the middle of the night: Ollie, the ruddy-faced, snaggle-toothed boy who wrongly assumed that family, foster or otherwise, means forever; Ollie, the younger brother that Frederick never in a million years asked for but always misses when he has even the smallest crumb of food to share; that is who he’s choosing to ignore. Him, and not the off chance that it’s really the wreck commissioner at his door, finally come to collect him for another day of testimony and inquisition. Frederick sucks his teeth in annoyance, tongue fiddling in the gap of a missing molar. And then, someone raps that rap at the door again, and Frederick is up.
By Alabaster Wynn4 years ago in Fiction
Unsinkable
The Minnow “The Titanic unsinkable?” The American's voice curled with sarcasm. “Of course not. Everything that floats can fail.”
By Sam Spinelli4 years ago in Fiction