She had all her life planned already: the job she wanted, how her husband would look, four children (two pairs of twins), a large house and a dog's breed... She will definitely work on all of this soon. Very soon. But now she had to wake up, brush her teeth and go to kindergarten.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Olga Moyseyenko and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Green Dragon
Kosha was lying on the lake bank and admiring her reflection. She has just shed her skin last night and she came here to get a full image of her new guise: the new skin was perfectly green which meant she was fully mature dragon now. Kosha tried to see reflection of each the scale, she really enjoyed her new look and new feelings. She was thinking about staying at this place for a night: to check the reflection with different light, when she was disturbed by some strange sound in the forest. First she just ignored it - anyway no one could harm her here, and it was not worth her attention. But as the sound repeated something alarmed inside of her. The dragon decided to have a look, what was happening there, and what she saw was the last thing she was expected to see so deep in the forest: it was a girl! A little girl, maybe two or three (or four) years old (Kosha never knew how to specify human's child's age). She worn very nice emerald cloth, which made her hardly noticeable in the woods. And she was totally alone. No trace of adults were around.
By Olga Moyseyenko3 years ago in Fiction
A Love Forboding
The chipped stone slope caused unbearable footing. I slid, skirting on my heels. I cast my shield, relinquishing my guard to stay upright. Left with my double-edge and a prayer to the maker, I skated toward my objective. The earthly stubble gave way to solid ground. I found myself restored, a trail of dust in my wake.
By James U. Rizzi6 days ago in Fiction
The Chronos Key
Ethan had a knack for finding treasures in the mundane. Most people saw dusty junk at Mrs. Gable’s annual garage sale; Ethan saw potential. This year, his eye landed on a tarnished brass pocket watch, nestled between a chipped ceramic cat and a stack of yellowed National Geographics. It was heavy, intricately engraved with gears and suns and moons, and utterly silent. No tick, no hum.
By Alicia Leneaa day ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.