Short Story
The White Hare's Revenge
Tobias Cullen had always been a quiet boy, meek and timid, with wide, innocent eyes that rarely made contact with others. He lived on a small, isolated farm at the edge of the village of Dunsfield, a place where the ground was barren, and the seasons seemed to pass by in slow, cruel cycles. He had been tormented by the villagers for as long as he could remember—called names, pushed into ditches, humiliated at every turn. They called him "the hare," mocking his pale skin and slight frame. Every Easter, when the town came alive with celebration and laughter, Tobias was forgotten. His existence was as invisible to them as the soft whispers of the wind.
By V-Ink Stories5 days ago in Fiction
The Last Sunrise
The town of Red Hollow had long since abandoned the joy of Easter. What had once been a celebration of spring and renewal had turned into a time of terror. Every year, as Easter morning dawned, the sun would rise blood-red, bathing the land in its eerie glow.
By V-Ink Stories5 days ago in Fiction
Part of Me
My love and I have been trapped inside of our respective houses like rats in a cage ever since the start of the pandemic. An ocean separates us, but distance is no challenge to our love. Text messaging, email- these things are so impersonal and cold. She and I are old souls both, and prefer the method of the old-fashioned letter. It takes longer, but the heart grows fonder with delayed gratification, to put a new spin on an old, tired phrase. I've certainly found it true in any case.
By Raistlin Allen5 days ago in Fiction
Unaccounted Dreams
Lydia sat on the edge of the sofa, never completely relaxed nor ready for anything either. She sipped tea politely listening to Erika's mumbling. Money on the brain. That's all she thinks of. Lydia knew they had everything needed or could ever want, but no, Erika always wanted more.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)5 days ago in Fiction
Pot Belly
The sour smell of the basement resembled a garbage disposal. Flies, sweaty from the scorching summer, circled the fruits and vegetables, munching on flour and potatoes before settling on the compost bucket. They dined there for a while, finding solace and freedom from human hands and a break from the endless circling air. After all, they were regulars, and that demanded respect.
By Moon Desert5 days ago in Fiction
Romantic Picnic For Two
The evening air hung heavy and hot, unseasonably warm for April. As the sun sank down, hovering just over the mountains in the distance, its angry glare blinded Tanya as she walked westward. Cursing herself for forgetting her sunglasses, she shifted the weight of the pack on her shoulders, letting a rivulet of sweat slip down her spine. Her feet angrily protested her choice to place fashion over function as the leather of her sandals chafed the back of her heel and sides of her toes. But Tanya didn't stop or slow. She moved forward, watching the trees in the distance grow closer with each step.
By A. J. Schoenfeld6 days ago in Fiction
