Historical
Seminole Wind
The Seminole tribe was not unlike any of the other Native American tribes that had been driven out under the sheer force of the United States Army, but what set them apart was their will to face anything even the things, which most people would be appalled by. Menewah, had been the second son to the chief of their people, but this gave him less responsibility towards the governing, and more towards the fighting, and hunting aspects of which were needed for their small community. The young brave had never really desired to lead the village as he watched his father’s battle scarred face become etched in worry lines. The old man’s eyes had yellowed, and his skin appeared like leather from the sun’s unrelenting rays beating down on it.
By Sai Marie Johnson4 years ago in Fiction
Livid Misery
It singed, the coldness of the place in which she had found herself was a heavy cold. The type of cold that seeped into your bones, and took hours of heat to get out. To her the place was horrendous if not disgusting, to say the least. Yet what would happen there was something she hadn't laid witness to in an age. The bouncing tendrils of each curl upon her head had been wound up into a french bun. This was a place of lusts, and emotional binging, Devi sensed it upon the air. It exerted power, a shift in the electromagnetic wavelengths had made this place useful in the casting of spells. Yet, it was haunted. Frozen by the memory of every spell, death, or conception that had occurred within it. The Sanguine family loved it, however, and that was why Deviaun remained in this place called home. Perhaps, it was the area in which Devi resided that made it even more chilled. No one ever came there. None, save Deviaun, entered this chamber, and there she stayed. The same chamber where she had resurrected Kalene, and even Madam Chalys. Few would remember. The chamber where she wrote spell after spell, and tale after tale. Her thoughts ran to the past with photographic imagery ascertaining that she could never forget anything that happened to her. The time when she had been reduced to mere slavery and bonded within a rope corset. Such a pretty little wench. She smirked, "And that's where they always underestimate me," And it was true. Terms like Deadly Beauty, and Seductress of Death had suited her. Did they now? The removal of her heart hadn't cured her questioning. Still, she was so fucking alone now. "Fucking alone," she repeated the words aloud as if saying them thus would clear the problem any more than she had already played it out. Somewhere there was a new child Vivian had finally given birth to him. Devi shook her headlong had it been since a child had been had by her. She wondered what the purpose for the child would be? What was her sister's new agenda in their beloved little family?
By Sai Marie Johnson4 years ago in Fiction
The Only Man On The Santa Maria Who Knew The Truth
Christopher Columbus grew excited: Peering through a telescope aboard The Santa Maria, a vicious smile consumed his face. Concluding an arduous, sixty-one day journey, The Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria approached land.
By Bashar Salame4 years ago in Fiction
How the birds learned language
This story comes from a time long ago. It had been purported that Leif Ericson had traversed the waters west and found America's gleaming shores and the vast solitude and space of a great countryside. Here is the story of those things, the beginnings before far migration of people and expansion, of a flight that had never been written but was legendary in its time. In a life in a land where people gathered and learned to survive the cold. Fur wrappings and cloth were necessity. When people taught their children of heaven. The Norse called it Valhalla.
By James M. Piehl4 years ago in Fiction
A Gathering of Old Men
This is a sneak preview of stage adaptation of A Gathering of Old Men. Synopsis Based on a , a white Cajun farmer shot dead outside of a home of an elderly black man named Mathu. After the murder, Candy Marshall, a headstrong owner of the plantation, starts to gather around all the men to bring all shotguns and take the blame for the farmer’s murder.
By Gladys W. Muturi4 years ago in Fiction
jack of diamonds
i Chernetsov wiped the tears from his eyes and sat back, looking out at the dirt and soot of the city and its distant harbour. He could see the tops of the several ships’ masts looking like thin spindles, with both sprit and spars, and rolled canvas sails, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of the current. They were soon lost in the morning light coming in through the window, along with steady black clouds of soot rising up from the funnelled cargo ships that would soon be plying the Atlantic. He was willing to look anywhere else, he realized, except at the bloody stump that had once been Anatoly’s foot. It was too much for him to take in at the moment, and he was glad there was no one with him to witness his tears. If you’d have asked him ten years ago if he’d ever imagined himself possibly sitting at the foot of his son’s bed weeping, he would’ve said no.
By ben woestenburg4 years ago in Fiction
All’s Fair in Love & Basketball
Game 2 of the 1991 NBA Finals, the Chicago Bulls got their first Finals victory! Chicago Stadium, the home court of the Bulls, was near the Henry Horner Housing Projects. There lived a 12-year-old boy who dreamed of being an NBA Superstar like his idol Michael Jordan. The young man would practice his basketball moves during any free time he had on his hands. His mother would say, “l know you love basketball Glenn, but education is most important!” His mother & father worked hard to instill good values in Glenn. Glenn loved & respected his parents. He was an honor roll student at his elementary school. He wasn’t the most popular kid in his class due to his extreme focus. He alienated himself to perfect his basketball skills and stay on top of his studies! He once heard Michael Jordan say, “You are only as good as you practice & prepare. I try to be great at everything I do. I can accept failure, but what I can’t accept is not trying!” Glenn lived by this mantra. Once at an AAU youth basketball tournament, Glenn scored 29 points & 11 of those points were in the fourth quarter. If you watched the film of the game his dad recorded, you will see the uncanny resemblance of Jordan’s game. The kid even played tenacious defense. In his room, you would not be able to tell what color the walls were due to the Jordan paraphernalia! Everyone spoke highly of the kid. Glenn was the type of kid you would not expect to break his curfews or sneak out of the house. Yet after watching the impressive performance by the Bulls in Game 2 of the NBA Finals, he could not help himself! He thought, I’m 10 minutes away from the stadium. I could just go down there & be back & no one would notice. He was mesmerized by the thought of actually seeing Michael Jordan in the flesh. He had tried so many times & failed but he knew Jordan was right down the street! At that moment he jumped out of his bed & got dressed. He snuck past his parent's room and headed down to the arena. He was only one block away. His eyes glowed with the lights from the stadium. He was about to cross the street when two Chicago Police squad cars cut him off. One almost hit him because the driver jumped the curb. A woman who was just robbed cried in the back seat of said police car. She really could not remember the accounts of the horrible ordeal she just endured. I am not sure why but she assured the officers that Glenn robbed her. She was robbed right after the game was over. Glenn was still in thought in his bed while the lady was being stuck up. The real perpetrator ran toward the housing project Glenn was coming from. As the police rode the lady around, for only 4 minutes, she saw Glenn & said, “Him!” The police didn’t hesitate, they made a U-turn and pulled up right in front of Glenn almost hitting him! The officer who was driving jumped out with his gun drawn screaming at Glenn. Glenn was terrified. He turned around and ran. The officer in the passenger seat hopped out to chase Glenn, but before he fully got out of the car his partner shot Glenn four times! Glenn fell face first smashing into the concrete. If the gunshots didn’t kill the young man, the fall did. The kids at his school were truly hurt. They held a vigil for him the night the Bulls won the Championship. I think he had a closed-casket funeral. Potential gone to waste. Were there any charges on the officer who killed this child you might ask yourself. Just remember this was 1991. Laugh out loud yet crying! All’s fair, right?
By Richard Lee Scruggs III4 years ago in Fiction
A Terrible Thing Has Happened
Note: Inspired by the children who found Virginia Woolf's body in The River Ouse in 1941 during World War II. The Title, ‘A Terrible Thing Has Happened’, is taken from the letter Leonard Woolf, Virginia Woolf’s husband wrote after her suicide.
By Natascha Graham4 years ago in Fiction
A Lesson in Composition
Late Autumn, 1797, Wiltshire. The wind came east over the fields and forests alike and brought with it a wicked scent of the death of autumn. The twilight-lit reeds that covered the hills blew with a fierceness that signaled the impending snowfall that was shortly to arrive. The kitchen window panes at Fonthill House were alive with percussion from the lively nearby tree branches gently tapping on the ancient glass but inside the kitchen staff did not notice over the noisy bustle of the dinner preparations for the Beckford family and their guests. The Beckford's 'Fonthill House' sat on the western slope of one large hill among nearly 5000 acres of land dotted with dense forest just outside Gifford. The eminent and sprawling Elizabethan house was home to Lady Maria Beckford and her grown son, William Beckford, known in close circles as Will.
By Tiffany Morgan4 years ago in Fiction
Flash Fiction 7.31.21: Sweet Talk of the Lived
PART I. Life ain’t sweet grandson. At my age all my senses betray me, acting on memories, uninterested in my will, or the time on my wrist. Sound and sight were once my trusted accomplices, confirming instinct and action. But now, the sound of a freight train crack-cracking along, sends my mind echoing back. I get by, ignoring that, but it's the hiss, the whispering end, that makes me.
By Rob Jackson4 years ago in Fiction
