Fantasy
Helmut's Locket
Garrison meandered along the aisles of shops lined on Canal Street; searching for the gift. He stepped into "El mundo de Curiosidades de Vanessa". He grinned gleefully, "What a ridiculously long name"-he thought. Vanessa's store was stocked with plenty of bespoke N'awlins style ballroom masks, and the typical charming baubles of bluish-green tinted glass figurines we don't seem to have enough of. If we were ever to be a lost and forgotten world, I guarantee the first artifact to resurface would be a little blue glass bird- reminiscent of the 70's show, "The Partridge Family". Ah, beautiful Keith- see, you remember.
By Vanessa Pholeuanghong (Taris)5 years ago in Fiction
The Hidden Ones
It is the year 2027 and wars have destroyed the world. Food is scarce, cities are crumbling and burning and only a few million people left on earth. Even worse are the demons, they are everywhere. As I stand at the entrance to our underground bunker, watching for threats, I think back on how all of this started. My group inside the bunker is preparing for the next trek out to find more humans and supplies. We must be careful because demons and entities walk the earth realm in broad daylight. They hunt for food, for them that is humans. My name is Astra, I am a demon hunter. My group and myself knew about and hunted demons walking our realm long before they broke through the veil. Then, many humans were not aware of demons. My group, along with some other groups, knew this was coming. We had been preparing, although knowing this was coming still did not prepare us for when it actually came. This is the end times; it had been prophesized in many forms throughout many cultures. And it was before us. It is the last cycle for humanity.
By Tasha Brock5 years ago in Fiction
Locked in Shadow
The glittering silver chain slithered over Moira’s shoulder and between her breasts. Beloved in the life that came before, her necklace dug tight where it bound her from neck to thigh before lashing around the waist. Snug around her neck back then, the necklace now stretched long enough to chain her to the edge of the glowing blue pool.
By David Marshall5 years ago in Fiction
The Pigknuckles
Near the town that would soon be called Thermogate lived an old farmer. Phil Pigknuckle was his name. He made his living keeping … chickens. Phil Pigknuckle was a widower, left to take care of his five daughters after his wife succumbed to the fever a few years prior. From eldest to youngest, Catherine, Agnes, Patricia, Polly and Morgan were all beautiful young ladies. Some with red hair like Phil the others with black hair like their mother. All with hazel-green eyes, as unique and beautiful as their dead mother’s. The girls would travel together all over the lands surrounding the budding new town. They would do anything to stay away from their father as much as possible.
By Garrison Vereen II5 years ago in Fiction
The Gift
I suppose it would be best to start by explaining how we even got to this point so there is an understanding of how the world is the way it is now. I woke up and prepared to head to work just like any other day of my predictable life. My life as Gwen gossip columnist by day and boring homebody by night. Little did I know my life would become anything but predictable. Who would have thought that everything in the world as we knew it would get turned upside down by a simple piece of jewelry? So, like I said, it was a normal day, I got ready for work and arrived at the office fifteen minutes early like I did every day. I made myself a cup of coffee with the normal vanilla creamer no sugar. I sat down to start working on editing my first article of that day so it would be submitted to the editor before lunch time. When the world was normal, I wrote for a newspaper in my city. I loved writing from the moment I learned how and even though I was writing articles about scandals of our local socialites, which I did not particularly like to be a gossip, I was still writing and that is all that mattered.
By Vanessa Waag5 years ago in Fiction
Tracker A003:
It is not quite light out when I pull my boots on and shove my arms into my jacket sleeves. I shuffle down to the silo. This is my last day before I start my first mission. My Guardian is already there. He looks up when I enter, nods, and turns his head back to the wall, covered in screens of live faces and bodies in motion. I am early by seven minutes, but in order to have an edge against the other two Trackers, I am always early. It is a hard role to fill-to be destined for greatness. When I wanted to be a silly child, I had to be poised. When I wanted to be carefree, I had to act controlled. When I wanted to play, I worked. When I wanted to forget, I was called to remember. When I was too tired to think, I was made to be wise. There was no rest from preparing to save a world I didn’t know; a world that took my childhood, and yet promised me nothing in return.
By Shanti Mateika5 years ago in Fiction
The Power of Painting in Year 3000
It's the year 3000 and sheesh, did THAT escalate. Back before time travelling was part of the equation; the human race dealt with racial equality issues, global controversy, Jeff Besos and Elon Musk competing for world domination, white supremacy (but I guess that falls under racial equality issues) and people murdering each other for money. Nowadays if you’re human, you’re lucky to be alive and you fall under one category: the human race. The thing is, I was born in the age where humans caused problems for each other and through time travel along with a fated meeting I am now in year 3000 with a mission to save the human race. Before I get into the details of that I need to explain the current disposition of the world.
By Patrick Oleson5 years ago in Fiction
How To Make A Ghost
The first thing I noticed was not the long darkness, or the peaceful oblivion, or the empty coldness predicted by so many works of fiction. It was the absence of my heart beat. The small, fluttering, fragile thing in its cage of bone that had been my most faithful companion since before I was alive, had died. The reliable, steady rhythm of my life ceased, and in its place throbbed blank desertion.
By Jackson Howling5 years ago in Fiction
Resin, Second Chance
Early morning dew clung to the grass of a goat field. The herd had been moved away to provide an open space to work in. Jake and Peter were at the edge of the badlands about two miles south of Vacilia. A cool mid-spring breeze blew across Peter’s face as he concentrated on the melon sized rock that sat on the grass twenty feet away.
By Andy Ahart5 years ago in Fiction
