Fantasy
Cryssarina
Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t. Mark Twain Dear Twain knew what he was writing, but I wonder if he knew how much he was right. As some of you know by now, I met my first muse on Medium during the last week of November 2020, less than four months after joining this unusual online writing and reading platform. She fell in love with my words, I fell in love with hers, and from then onwards, I was captivated by her, writing mostly about my love for her, her love for me, and our difficulties getting to be together, which generated the image of my muse living on the Moon. She lived so far from me that it was as if she lived on the Moon. She already had a life and thus imagination took me to her in Prague and elsewhere in space. At one point, I even despised the poor Moon but never the Sun and other stars that seemed to understand my plight with their rays and brightnesses.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Fiction
Dystopian Gods of Amara
Asherah was still sitting in her palace room surrounded with emptiness and memories of times gone by. She fiddled with the heart shaped necklace around her neck – her birth right and felt the power surging around her hands. She remembered the good old days when she, Yam and El first met, and how they had saved the universe. The first war.... Her reverie broken; a booming knock came to the door.
By Karen Quinn5 years ago in Fiction
The Magic Window
Sophie loved exploring, and today, she was making her way through brush and forest to find new places that remained yet unknown and undiscovered by her. Her best friend, Abby, had ditched her in favor of shopping with her Mother, but Sophie much preferred trekking through the woods any day to picking out a new outfit to wear.
By Cindy Calder5 years ago in Fiction
7 Days
Cold. This body is so cold. So many things hit me at once. In addition to the cold, I feel extreme hunger, something smells rancid, and someone is poking my arm. Tentatively, I open my eyes. The person standing over me seems pleased – I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m awake or because he thinks he’s responsible for reviving me. The younger man smells bad, but I think I’m the one who smells rancid.
By Julie Lacksonen5 years ago in Fiction
Despair and Desolation under the Gemini Stars
In her chest there are two holes. Rather than an absence of something it is instead a heavy presence, a burden so obviously seen by the drag in her slender shoulders, the hollows under her eyes and the stooping of her posture. One hole she named Despair, the other is named Desolation. Despair nestled into the girl’s heart at an early age, first shaking hands with her in her elder child years. It fills the void that was created when her family perished from sickness.
By Eloise Robertson 5 years ago in Fiction
7 Days
The transformation is complete. I take a gasping breath. Who am I this time? I quickly look around. I’m in a kitchen. People around me are working at the many counters, some mixing dough, others putting finishing touches on creations. I look down. I’m wearing an apron and my male hands are covered in flour. In front of me is some sugar cookie dough rolled out. It’s a bakery. I reason that it may be easier to pretend I know what I’m doing than if this had been a full restaurant kitchen, with many recipes to learn on the fly. I realize baking can be a sophisticated and delicate craft, but hopefully I’m not expected to be at that level. I remember being a teenaged girl about 40 weeks ago, give or take. I was watching my grandmother make cookies. I take the cookie cutter and start pressing it in the dough, trying keep the circles close to have less dough to reroll. Just when I’m feeling proud of myself for jumping right into the situation, a woman walks up behind me and yells, “Walters, pick up the pace! You should have had two batches in the oven by now. Either finish or I’ll hire the next homeless person who comes through the door begging for a handout.” She’s intense, with her hair pulled back severely in a bun, arms behind her back like a drill sergeant. I’m thankful that customers are not privy to this rant.
By Julie Lacksonen5 years ago in Fiction
HIGH WATCH
The fighting atop Highcliff was over . The heroes had won a great victory by surprising the Tarnakian Army in their own slave encampment. The prize for victory was more than to win a plot of land for humanity; to ambush the Tarnakian savages at their own camp had liberated the slaves as well.
By Kent Brindley5 years ago in Fiction
A girl and her stars
Once upon a time there was a girl. A fiery, red headed girl that gazed inquisitively into the stars. The sky was a navy sea of tiny, brightly lit, white & yellow glowing orbs. She wondered if there was more. More to life, to herself, to others and what it all meant.
By Vanessa R. Powell5 years ago in Fiction
