Historical

The Flower Faced Owl Godess
Once upon a time in the Realm of Sky - the dwelling-place of the Gods and the origin of the great cosmic pattern. As The doors Open to the kingdom the cosmic gateway to divinity we find the Paradise which is of course, ruled by a loving law. All places of purity to live in are governed by laws of Love . Within paradise there are many kinds of trees, with different fruits, each fruit has it's own use. We can also see beautiful flowers with unique colors which carry meaning as well as their own healing properties for our bodies to eat them and absorb their energies into us so that we may become more powerful in the physical world..
By Titan Godess4 years ago in Fiction
The Beginning
Everything was heavy. Her eyelids, her arms, her legs. She felt as if a vise was wrapped around her, squeezing the life out of her. She pushed down the panic because she knew she was dreaming, she often had nightmares of drowning at sea. All she had to do was wake up and it would be over.
By Katie Warwick4 years ago in Fiction
PICTURES TAKEN ON A BOX CAMERA. Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge.
I arrived on the four-thirty train and fully intended to stay on board, go to the end of the line, and shunt back; but how could I do that without feeling like an utter fool, a total coward? How could I travel back to where I started without doing what I set out to do? Alighting with a mass of excited schoolchildren, and a hoard of hopeful-looking adults eager to join their families for the holidays, I held back.
By Rosanne Dingli4 years ago in Fiction
All New York Bows to Miss Manhattan
Chelsea On 22nd street, in Chelsea, Audrey Munson discovered that every automobile in New York City was listening to her at the same time.
By Eric Dovigi4 years ago in Fiction
The Rosetta Stone
It was a harrowing task but the Napoleonic force finally had their day of rest. The next day they marched for hundreds of miles to their current position. The soldiers had found a tunnel to the ziggurat they had come across. They started digging, and came across a room, it led to a corridor. They kept going further and further until they found a stone. It was a stone filled with inscriptions. The soldiers didn't exactly know what they were looking at. They told their superiors what they had found. It was the Rosetta Stone which translated Demotic and Greek script into the Hieroglyphs known today.
By Lee Roby4 years ago in Fiction
Coney Island
A stroll along the boardwalk, a glimpse out towards the sea, aromas blowing in from the beach, stirs memories so close, yet just out of reach.
By Freddy Zalta4 years ago in Fiction
My Father's Grave
December 1941, San Fernando Valley, California. A cabin built between the fields and forest, flanked by farmland, beside a stretch of dirt road running from the town a few miles north. The first rays of a brisk Saturday morning filter through a window in the kitchen, past the open curtains, illuminating the room and its furnishings with a soft golden light.
By Kent Ha4 years ago in Fiction
Hatty
Harlem, New York 1927. Its evening time, the sun faintly smiles from the clouds, cool breeze as the smell of rain-soaked soil fills your lungs. Langston Hughes the big cheese himself is having a book signing across the street for his new collection of poetry. I could be in that speakeasy introducing myself, shaking his hand after he finishes placing his signature in a copy of his new book I purchased, enjoying the hibiscus and lemon cake they placed out for those who attended. Instead, I’m up here hanging for my life in one hand and an old trumpet in other hand, praying to the Almighty that I will not die.
By Roman Kyle4 years ago in Fiction
Wolbachia
when it begins Diao Chan knew of three ways to break a man's arm and had practiced them all several times in the short course of her life, for the most beautiful woman in China was often also the most harassed. That she knew how to defend herself made the situation twice as intolerable.
By Mehrina Asif4 years ago in Fiction
The Time of War
It’s 1918 and you’re a German soldier on the Western Front. In a brief moment of repose, you slip your hand into your pocket and pull out a cigarette case. You open it up, slide one out and light it, closing your eyes as you put it to your mouth. You pay close attention to the feeling of smoke streaming into your lungs as you take the first drag. You’re alive. You’ve made it this far. Your body aches with exhaustion and your skin is decorated with bruises, cuts and scars, but no matter, because your feet still tread the land of the living, and the smoke dancing in your lungs is a sacred reminder of that fact.
By Peter Spering4 years ago in Fiction
Death of a Dream
In the warmth of a Georgia morning at a favorite spot on the bank of the Chattahoochee River, a young slave does what he most enjoys in life, fishing. The only thing that could top it would be a day of fishing with his father and today was just such a day. It wasn't very often that young Michael had his father all to himself. With doing the Masters' biddings and serving as a sort of spiritual leader in the community, there wasn't a lot of time for father /son bonding. As a sort of foreman of the field hands his father had become admired and respected because he never let pleasing the master keep him from being fair and just with his fellow slaves.
By Dr. Eugene G. Akins III4 years ago in Fiction
Time's Passed
In was mid-June in 1816, the sky was clear, the sun was bright. I could hear the horse-drawn carriages moving down the street. This was one of the most beautiful mornings in Liverpool. As I walked the grounds of my estate, I could feel the warm breeze graze my skin. In the distance I could hear the sea as the tides rushed up the shore to the beach. I sat down at the table on the back veranda, my companion was still sleeping. During these times it was illegal to be in the company of the same gender in such an intimate manner. Vera also preferred women, as much as I preferred the company of men. We have a mutual agreement that we will never marry, but will also keep our real relationship a secret, which was only friendship.
By Mark Hitz4 years ago in Fiction