Fable
Iron Rookery
The stars weren’t out yet. She passed the time with hope. Hope is a thing of the future, where she was from, and it felt surreal to travel back only to sit around and wait. Her name was Saire (sigh-EAR) and she nestled atop the Arrol Gantry, 228ft in the air.
By Matthew Daniels4 years ago in Fiction
Timpul trece
Time passes in front of my eyes ... yes, we argue, we hide, we lie, we offend and this is not perfect. Everything you do hurts me a lot, no matter if it's the first words or gestures ... even a "I love you" hurts me, I feel like you're saying it just because I told you first or out of obligation not to I feel bad, not that there won't be days when I tell you I love you and you just tell me no matter what your time ...
By Bogdan Elena4 years ago in Fiction
The Man, The House, and The Gnome
Once upon a time there lived a man who inherited his ancestral house. The house was a Victorian style, with enough bedrooms and living space for comfort, but not so spacious as to feel empty when there were no guests. The person, named Adam, loved everything about the house. He loved the rooms, and the back yard spaces, he loved the kitchen and living space, he especially loved that the house’s age gave his parties a kind of extravagant flare more modern homes lacked.
By Judah LoVato4 years ago in Fiction
Curses
I should take a moment here and introduce myself as narrator of this story and take the focus from its current location and shift it a little. You see, I am writing this from a comfortable future and not only have memory and timeline issues but also benefit from the added bonus of removing associated trauma from my head with each victorious completion of a chapter, thus removing my associated limbic response and fundamentally altering the, already shoddy, memory, allowing me the blessed peace of having that particular incident in my life finally stored properly and no longer haunting me with flashbacks or intrusive interruptions to what should be (but isn’t ) regular cognitive function.
By Richard Thompson4 years ago in Fiction
Some Day My Prince Will Go
It was pretty scary watching the witch sing "Happy Birthday". Instead of being pursed in disapproval, as usual, her mouth stretched into a smile so wide it made me think of strychnine. Meanwhile, her eyes stayed as cold and unblinking as a hawk, with a nose to match. She wore the inevitable silky blouse, twenty years out of date and buttoned right up to her wrinkled neck, but today it was little-girl pink. Even her trousers were pink. The outfit clashed hideously with her strident plum hair, and I couldn't help thinking it was going to get stained when she shinnied down the tower.
By Rajya laxmi4 years ago in Fiction
