I Tried To Open The Door
The Door That Wouldn't Open
I knocked and I knocked, and I knocked again. The door still wouldn't budge.
"Hello!, I screamed into the letterbox.
It was silent.
I peered inside the letterbox, and all I saw was a dark void.
I tried to push the door open.
"Go away, I'm washing my hair!" The door screamed at me, then it threw me to the ground, and now I am asleep.
"Doors don't have hair," I said to myself, waking in my bed.
Confused, I went back to sleep,
And behind the door, was a ghost of a young lady who was brushing her hair!
About the Creator
Carol Ann Townend
I'm a writer who doesn't believe in sticking with one niche.
My book Please Stay! is out now
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More stories from Carol Ann Townend and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Salt in her Voice
The myth says mermaids sing to lure sailors to their death. But why? The ocean is huge. Only 5 percent has been discovered by man. Why would a creature of the sea with that much space to roam ever care about the fate of men on ships? The answer, as it turns out, is not a simple one at all. The truth about the myth is older than the tides. Long ago before the first ship ever cut across the surface, the sea made a pact with the sky. The sky would take the souls of the drowned. Anyone who died in storms or any quiet accidents of the deep would have their soul lifted upward to the Heavens while the bodies would remain below, feeding the oceans endless hunger. The greedy sea however wanted more souls than the sky would claim. So it created mermaids. It gave them beautiful voices woven from currents and moonlight. It commanded them to sing. "Bring forth the ones who float where they should sink." it instructed them. So they did. They never killed out of malice but out of obligation. They sung to summon, not to seduce. A mermaid's voice could loosen the tether between the body and soul, making any man step willingly into the water. The sea would take the body and the sky would take the soul. Balance maintained.
By Sara Wilson3 days ago in Fiction
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 Storiesa day ago in Fiction
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