Love
Mea Viridis Daemonium
"There."A distant sigh of relief from Samara is heard, "That's the last of it." Setting down the red soaked paint brush next to her freshly painted summoning circle. Looking towards the book of summonings to make sure it's correctly painted on the wooden floor below. "Looks correct to me... Hopefully this works correctly." Standing up from the cold creaky floor panels, Samara brushes her knees off, picking up the book of summonings holding it open on both forearms the chant begins, "Daemon, esto subjecto voluntati meae! Attenrobendum eos, ad consiendrum, ad ligandum eos, potiter et solvendum, et ad, congregontum eos, coram me!"
By Connor Davis5 years ago in Fiction
Found Love at the Nashville Underground
It's loud at the Nashville Underground on Broadway. I’m glad to be here along with a lot of apprehension. Things on the social scene have been rather quiet and I sure do need a good time with a good looking cowboy. After Brad dumped me, literally at the altar, I’ve had a tough time crawling out of my self-pity. Yet, here I am at the Underground taking a chance.
By pamela mayer5 years ago in Fiction
You are wrong about the song
Sitting at my balcony, I could see the gondolas sailing from the bottom of the street in Venice. I could hear a serenade being played to a loved one at the distance, sometimes muffled by the soft waves hitting the building; disturbing the buildings near by. The splashing of the paddle were an addition to the uniform sounds being taken away by the warm breeze just passing by in between the houses.
By Chacha Jaramillo5 years ago in Fiction
Strangers on a Train
‘Trains, man do I hate riding some trains. I like exotic train rides. Like the ones that go through the Rockies or the Smokies. The ones in Europe are the most romantic train rides I think anyone could every take. But this train from New Jersey to New York has gotten to be the longest, bumpiest ride of my life. I swear! And I know it maybe just me. Everyone else looks so comfortable and relaxed. Maybe I am just spoiled!’ Courtney thought to herself as she sat once again at 5 o’clock on her morning commute from her home across the river in New Jersey to downtown Manhattan.
By Ireland Lorelei 5 years ago in Fiction
Small Town Heartache
They broke up in a small town where everybody knew everybody. But he did not know that when they broke up, she was going to find somebody so soon. He did not realize that he would soon have to see them everywhere he went. And when he did think about her moving on with someone, he did not think it would be someone that he knew.
By Amanda J Mollett5 years ago in Fiction
Stupid Little Hearts
I can feel the incredible weight of the antebellum door as I turn the knob. I wonder how many people have passed into this building in the past two hundred-fifty years. Pirates, slaves, barkeeps, business men and now myself. A tiny bell tinkles heralding my arrival.
By Daniel Charles Porter5 years ago in Fiction
The Great "Modern Man"
The sea was earl gray and the afternoon misty. They were searching for oysters, not pearls, the birds. That’s why they were called Oystercatchers. The wise ones weren’t concerned with the bright and shiny prize inside, they just sought after what nourished them. Though the climate changed, by washed-up sands, by wind-built dunes and storms destroying them, by people and pollution, no matter the changing agent, this would always be home. This was their nature: to swoop down and catch their oysters, retelling the endless tales of their ancestors.
By Emily Paul 5 years ago in Fiction
Fragility of Life
Finally my career was taking off after all the years of effort and hard work. I always knew that my support system weren't just blowing smoke when they told me how talented I am. I graduated first in my class and started my own law firm three years after practicing at a small town office. I never stopped at the first feeling of achievement. I always knew there would be more.
By Scott Sinderson5 years ago in Fiction
Blue raspberry slushy
Alice Smithson was madly in love Owen Anderson. Her best friend Owen Anderson. In fact, she had been in love with him since second grade. Since he came trailing into their classroom half way through the semester with baggy denim jeans and unbrushed, shoddy ginger hair. Owen had hazel irises that went unrivalled by anything she had ever seen, a puddle of melted pine dancing with a flurry of bright stars and a bundle of newfound hope. He had a soft sloping nose, her fingers itching to run down it softly and across the patchy pink that covered his plump, freckle dusted cheeks. The clothes he wore hung limply around his frame, obvious hand me downs by the already darkened marks that wrapped messily around his cream trainers.
By Abby louise5 years ago in Fiction
