Fantasy
Two Sisters and a Barn
Benedicta Hicchecok held the notice from the township concerning her barn and sighed. Yes, the barn looked run down, and, yes, it needed repair, but she was no contractor and rather liked her deadly barn. It dissuaded people from getting nosey about what she had going on in there.
By Kat Dehring5 years ago in Fiction
Yee Naaldlooshii
The warmth of the morning sun bathes Joseph’s complexion as he gazes vacantly through the bay window. Desolation overcomes him when his estranged grandparents took him in a week ago. He yearns for what was, but knows it’s impossible… Not without his mother.
By AM Ghandour 5 years ago in Fiction
Unokk Rice Stew and the Rite of Un-Khir
Despite the trials and tribulations one faces on a daily basis in the red sands of Zhagrizia, there are a few choice pleasures one can always depend upon to melt away the stresses of the locals’ nomadic lifestyle. I had the utmost pleasure of traveling with a caravan alongside my translator, Braddoch, a Zhagrizian native who moved to the Issidorn Empire when he was young. Amid the dozens of lessons in nomad culture he taught me daily, he always instilled in me the importance of desert cuisine. The nomads have a peculiar way of viewing the desert, not just as an arid wasteland of endless dunes and mirages like us Imperial folk. No, the Zhagrizians view the desert as the physical embodiment of their goddess, Zhagri, for whom the country was named. In local myths, she is always portrayed as harsh, but fair, granting her boons only to those who use their wisdom and intelligence to prove themselves worthy of them. And just like her, the desert itself rewards only the hardiest and smartest foragers and hunters. Even farms and produce can survive the sandstorms and the giant wildlife, if the farmers themselves are resourceful enough.
By Chris Heller5 years ago in Fiction
Watch Your Tongue
By the flickering of candle light, Elizabeth finds the recipe she needs. Her lover has grown suspicious; accusing truths, yes, but his fears are based upon lies. She has walked the earth longer, she is wiser, she is cautious. The men of this realm fear the power of a woman, and no matter how much she plays the part of complacency, she cannot hide the fire that burns through her soul. These men, they see her blackened lips and midnight hair and are driven crazy with desires that terrify them. And so she must be a witch, a devil in disguise, using her evil ways to seduce their hearts as she forces them to betray their wives, their morals. 'Destroy the seductress before it's too late!' she'd hear them cry, but she could only scoff at their ignorance. She'd never waste good magic on the affections of a boy, what a pathetic cause that would be.
By Jade Hadfield5 years ago in Fiction
Chaos and The Old Barn
Chaos and The Old Barn by James Palfi The multiverse is more than one universe. There was a theory our universe was created via the big bang via more than one multiverse overlapping. However, with nature it is more likely for something to happen if there is less energy required. These multiverses are not infinite. There was the first cause nothing that gave rise to the first multiverse that blossomed like a boiling pot of water. The first bubble and then all the other bubbles is a simple analogy that shows these other universes being created and being destroyed, this is a story about the first cause, Chaos.
By James Palfi5 years ago in Fiction
Waypoint
My boots crunched loudly as I made my way across the sun dried grass, hearing the cicadas scream out their war cries into the fading light of twilight, heading toward the old barn. The once red paint faded and chipped away to a sun bleached pink in some spots, while most of the walls were nothing more then weather worn planks. I never thought I'd be back here, never thought I'd even be contemplating stepping foot inside that rickety barn ever again. On the outside it looked like one stiff breeze might blow the whole thing down, but I knew the truth of what lay behind those tightly closed doors.
By S. R. Jenkins 5 years ago in Fiction
Survivor
Her hands trembled. Exhaustion racked her body. Dusty air choked her lungs as cobwebs clung to her hair and face. The skin on her hands was cracked and bleeding, her muscles groaning in protest of every movement. Her clothes were torn and the pack she wore held on by the merest threads. Her rifle lay at her feet, its stock cracked, its ammunition spent. She sat against the rotting beams of the hayloft she cowered in, sucking in air, trying to stifle every cough and groan. Her body begged her to rest, to cease its struggle, to simply drift off into unconsciousness. But she could not, for it was still out there, and she knew it would come for her soon.
By Chris Restoule5 years ago in Fiction
Oculus
Frannie absently scratched at her neck disturbing the sweaty curls that stuck to it. The trail she walked was old but following the faint path allowed her the opportunity to think. The last week had been miserable, she was hot and hungry and filthy, but she was safe. Her days were filled with relentless walking and parched landscape, the nights were uncomfortable out in the open and the quality of sound in the darkness was fearful without the barrier that even a thin blanket would provide. She had hoped that at some point she might find some linens hanging on a line snapping cheerfully in a soft breeze, but the intense humidity kept the clothes lines empty. This disappointment had Frannie wrinkling her brow and deciding her number one priority was to find a place to shelter.
By Sarah Snider5 years ago in Fiction
Strange Bouquet
The bouquet of yellow flowers on his bed were what Wyatt was expecting. Marigolds, if memory served him right. Beautiful flowers that he constantly got in October and always on his pillow. For what? He had no real idea. It all started when he was around eighteen years old. With absolutely no card or anything on them. Just the flowers laid neatly on top of his pillow.
By Raphael Fontenelle5 years ago in Fiction
Deathjaw
In a tavern long ago was told a pirate tale, but for this story it’s hard to say exactly how to begin. Many claim this legend is false, but many swear it’s true. It’s a story that’s been passed down from sailor to sailor, a story that was told by Pirates.
By Stephen Portis5 years ago in Fiction
