Classical

First World Problems
The American passenger said angrily into his phone, ‘Within the blasted marmalade!’ Fahad glanced in the mirror, appraising the man for a sense of the words. What was he speaking of with such emotion? Why would an orange jam deserve such anger? The passenger was well-dressed for the heat, a businessman clearly, though his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and the tie dangled drunkenly. Dark hair, closely cut, a Movado at his wrist, wedding ring.
By Bernard Bleske4 years ago in Fiction
Path of Least Resistance. V+ Fiction Award Winner.
In the morning, I took the little stone with me into the living room, where Keith was on the sofa, watching television. At the time, Keith and I lived in a downtown two bedroom, under the constant press of traffic, working factory and service jobs to pay the rent and buy the beer and all that lazy nothingness. A couple of college dropouts waiting for something to happen to us.
By Bernard Bleske4 years ago in Fiction
California Bay Laurel
It needed something. Daphne stirred the pot again, took a sip from the spoon. Salt, pepper, thyme, a splash of red wine, the lamb stew was good. She wanted it outstanding. Tonight, her guests would feast on hummus, the stew, couscous, with harsh retsina to drink, thick coffee and baklava for dessert. Back in California now, after spending the summer on a dig sponsored by the University of California at Berkeley.
By Michele J Drier4 years ago in Fiction
Orisha Obatala
A very long time ago, Olodumare, the God of all gods looked down from his golden throne in heaven. All he saw a vast area of emptiness and nothingness. He wanted more colour in the world and wanted to make you and me and all the rest of the beautiful people in the world today. So, he sent for all his sons and daughters the Orishas, they were the gods and goddesses that lived with Him in his big, beautiful palace in Heaven
By Barbara Ogunyemi4 years ago in Fiction
Still Life with Woman and Chateau
Still Life with Woman and Chateau There were sixty-five rooms in the house and Sarah Almant had a relationship with each of them. When her husband, the great moralist writer Arthur Almant died two decades before, she did not for a moment consider giving up the house; it was as much a part of her personal legacy and creative life as the magnificent alliance she'd shared with her husband for more than forty years. Besides, he was buried near the main house, and she could never conceive of a circumstance that would make it right to move him.
By Robert Rifkin4 years ago in Fiction
Lucifer – The Son of Satan
Rohan was in a rush to go back to the house, so he called Uber to get there as quickly as possible. He was employed by a big corporation. He worked the night shift there for over six months. Rohan was content with his family, which included his wife, Kaveri, and their five-year-old kid.
By Brandsandu4 years ago in Fiction
Out Damn'd Pox
As he did every evening, Mr. Edwards drained the kettle, doused the fire, swept the ashes, the hearth, the mantle. He barred the windows and stuffed the drafty cracks with oakum. He applied his make-up, pulled on his garter and hosiery, his kid gloves, and fixed the bustle of his dress. It was time to go to work.
By Trevor Copp4 years ago in Fiction
A Special Day
God I loved days like this. It was dim in my apartment, the light subdued by the clouds that were letting loose a gentle rain. I hadn’t turned on the lights. Every morning I turned on every light, pulled back every curtain and filled the space with bright. But not today, this special day, this wonderful, wet day so foreign to California.
By Cara Loften4 years ago in Fiction
Marsyas Flayed
Marsyas Flayed Our pilgrimage from Phrygia to Mount Nysa is long, the Sun fierce as we move southerly. But anticipation of the god’s presence colors the mood and eases the walk. And what delightful company I have! My priestess Kybele—in fact a goddess, embodiment of the Great Mother—strides beside me. (Only when we pass by settlements does she climb into her chair to be carried, for the sake of appearance.)
By Trevor Anthony McGregor4 years ago in Fiction
Who Created Flash Fiction?
Theophrastus Many believe Chekhov created the modern-day short story. But, I am referring to who created the "micro-story" later renamed as "flash fiction?"
By Arlo Hennings4 years ago in Fiction
The Odyssey: The Powerful and Emotionally Flooded Father and Son Re-union
In the epic poem The Odyssey by Homer, Odysseus is presented as the main character, who desires to return to his home, Ithaca, where his wife and son are awaiting his return patiently even after twenty years of him missing. In book 16, line 193 the well-anticipated reunion between father and son is described by Homer in detail. Through the Homeric language in this passage, it is evident how everything Odysseus has been through was leading up to this beautiful reunion that holds great significance in the poem because, at the end of book 16, Telemachus and Odysseus plan their revenge against the suitors together to finally regain their well-deserved honor and glory.
By Natalie G.4 years ago in Fiction
Drink
When the first soldier came to taste Ana's wine, I asked my mother when the man would first hear of mine. "Patience, my beautiful daughter," he tells me. "Let the age of the wine, and it is rich, and be stronger than its oak tree." But the first soldier who tasted took my sister Ana, even though her wine was still young and sweet, perhaps because she liked that taste.
By Son Sim4 years ago in Fiction