Fantasy
Vessels (Part 4)
Ashira grumbled as she exited the temple. She didn’t understand why she had to leave the catacombs. She knew Jeshed worked with the dead and it was he who had told her that she didn’t have anything to fear from them; that she should be more afraid of crocodiles when playing near the river. But Jeshed also said that a girl shouldn’t be present during certain rituals. He then finished by saying he couldn’t let her be on her own in the temple, to undoubtedly pester the other priests. Thus, she had been exiled from the calm coolness of her home and ousted into the loud brightness of the day.
By Rachael Dunn5 years ago in Fiction
Blades Free Weekend
It’s been a long day, I thought as I finally turned onto my street. Oddly quit too. I don’t even recall seeing Edgar and Destiny at lunch or the rest of the day now that I think about it. They must have done me the honor of skipping school right before lunch. Although I didn’t see them, it didn’t stop me from feeling paranoid all day. I kept thinking I'd come around a corner and run right into one or both of them and get the whole day's worth of torture then and there. It made for a very long and stressful day.
By Kelsey Ranae Wood5 years ago in Fiction
A Witch's Story
Although very simple, this story came to me after a very excitingly active evening with the fae. I have attempted to record myself reading it multiple times, and between the wind in my current location, and not enough space on my device, I have decided to type it here, and will continue to work on the reading as I move around along my journey.
By Jami Larson5 years ago in Fiction
A Ravens Sky
Each steel cage lines up precisely along the edge of the transmutation-circle. It’s the kind of perfection better meant for an eerie painting rather than present existence. I’m careful as I step over the white-dusted line. It wasn’t enough for Eden to draw over the wood, she chipped into it to create a permanent etching of her unholy circle. The chalk is darker in certain areas, and lighter in the others. Eden must have grown impatient with her own hand. The drawing stretches across the room, barely leaving a gap between itself and the walls. Every symbol within it is illegible to me – me not having the required knowledge to understand the unspoken language. She explained the process, but her words went right over my head. But her voice – her soft, feminine voice – spoke so fondly of her alchemy, treating it as a separate entity in need of affection.
By Rebecca Ontiveros5 years ago in Fiction
The Captain is Not Dead
The sombre slosh of the sea is soothing. The song of silence embraces her. Soft, her hair dances with the tide, entangled in the icy coolness. Bubbles of air weave between her fingers. The trim of her dress drifts lazily around her ankles, tugging lightly with the current. The surface is just above her, wide and vast as a desert of water. She closes her eyes as she sinks, not wanting to let go of the bliss of the shock, not wanting to remember...
By Jasmine Duff5 years ago in Fiction
lords of water
In a another dimension on a earth a lot like this one. There are some individuals that have a power that involves water. Each one of their powers is different except each one’s power involves water. The government there has classified these people as the lords of water.
By Zachary Blanchard 5 years ago in Fiction
Severance Package
When the dragons of Craigheight came to raid the Raithwall Peninsula, they expected to find the Raithwall tribe to be there, either willing to surrender and join their horde--their only hope for survival--or prepared to fight in a vain attempt to keep their territory--the preferred option for some of Craigheight's greatest warriors. The truth of the matter, the Raithwall tribe surrendering would have been anti-climatic, and the Craigheights might want to butcher them all for their cowardice. If they fought back, it would have been at least with a warrior's dignity that they were slain.
By Grant Alexander Brown5 years ago in Fiction
Graves of swords and roses. Content Warning.
Swords. Swords, swords and more swords. It was all the eye could see. Stretching for miles, they had been planted in the ground by their tip and each blade of steel had a ring of roses placed over the handle. They were like monuments and the roses were the epitaphs.
By Euan Brennan5 years ago in Fiction
The Dream of an Old Dog
Once upon a time, over the river and through the woods, past grandmother’s house in an abandoned cottage, there lived a stray dog. This lost cur didn’t have a name, or possessions. The only things he had were fleas, a single friend (a fellow outcast like himself) and a dream. And his dream was to eat a piece of chocolate cake. Years passed and the dog grew old and his dream slowly faded.
By Chris Plog5 years ago in Fiction
Where it all ends
Despite what man and science may tell us, the end of the world can begin in only one way and in one place. With the first of creation. God and the Devil. The first and His favorite child. Yes, God is the father of us all, but Bambino Numero Uno was Old Scratch, the Morningstar, the Dark One and a bunch of other old names that the Sunday school crowd long ago stopped whispering in favor of money management and the languages of love.
By Josh Walker Beavers5 years ago in Fiction
