Adventure

The way we grow
Each day, and at varying times of the day, Sienna would stroll up and down The Terrace. It was a ritual of hers to wake in the dark and to feel the abyss of time. To have the privilege to roll out from beneath the sheets, stretch her limbs and then to feel the connection of the earth underfoot. She would dress exactly how she felt (in shades of black and blue), sweep her hair into a ponytail, and apply a natural, slightly ethereal-smelling fragrance. Sienna strung a golden chain around her neck that had small constellations and the sun engraved into the pendant. Next, she would grab her buttermilk-coloured reusable ceramic coffee and bound out the front door of the plain house.
By Emma Donovan5 years ago in Fiction
Continuation of The Power of Painting in Year 3,000/ Part D
After a stupendous battle like THAT we all had to take some time to breathe and absorb our surroundings. We hiked a big trek through the Foggy forest and found ourselves half way there to Mrs. Hardwares shop, where we would find Augusto and another elder from the village. I kept thinking about grandma Italia and her button statement as the awkward silence blew through the emptiness in my noggin.
By Patrick Oleson5 years ago in Fiction
Our July Wandering
The light around the bend grew in intensity. I didn’t have time to focus on the pain of my feet slapping against the pavement. Converse and adrenaline kept me flying down the country road. The moon and appearing headlights were enough to illuminate my soon to be cover. Jumping feet first into the bush I landed squarely on the slim figure of my buddy Zak, already crouched down.
By Donald Shrode5 years ago in Fiction
The Legacy
"Ohhhhh." Groan "Ohhhhh." Moan “Jimmy! Hush! I can’t tell what they’re saying!” Jimmy hushed. Sarah leaned her ear against the barely cracked open door to listen to their parents out in the hall.
By Katy Doran-McNamara5 years ago in Fiction
Nighttime Secrets
I’ve always loved walking around the city at night. When the crowds have all but disappeared and the noise of the city has quieted to a whisper. When the only light comes from the moon and the stars. When the sun has set I am finally free, if only for a little while. No one is awake to ask me questions, to seek my guidance on anything. I enjoy my role as queen, but it can be exhausting. To have thousands of people looking to me for answers and watching my every move. It is absolutely terrifying if I am being completely honest. I am not allowed to make mistakes, too many people depend on me. I cannot say anything wrong, I have to constantly watch what I say so as not to offend anyone. I have always had a short temper, and keeping that in check has been a skill I never thought I could possess. That is why I love the night time. It is when I can be me. No pretenses, no acting confident and calm when I really just want to go hide in my room and cry. Night brings a taste of the freedom I will never have.
By E. C. Mira5 years ago in Fiction
Eloise
Eloise stared out over the fields, lost in thought. The last 24 hours had proven to be unlike anything she had ever experienced before - and that was saying something. She had never lived a boring life.
By Jill Szaroz5 years ago in Fiction
I knew it!
Half an hour before I clock out and go home. I have to close the store tonight alone. Normally I don’t mind, but Wednesday nights are the worst. Everything is just so slow. I guess everyone is saving their money for the weekend.
By Nelson Fitzgerald5 years ago in Fiction
The Waking City
It is a snowy, blustery day. Cold, crisp, clear skies over the city skyline of New York City. Snow flurries from the sky as the wind kicks up. We see gusts of freezing air blow past the Chrysler Building, down through streets of honking cabs “hey, c’mon, get outta the way” and miserable looking pedestrians, who crowd into the tunnels of the subways pack. All of a sudden, their winter coats trapping them in boxes of body odor and heat stuffed together on their morning commute. Down through the tunnels, a blast of laundry mixed with hot garbage and the sweet smell of the hot nuts stands. Going through the hellish wasteland in Times Square, following snow again, over the Brooklyn Bridge through neighborhoods where families tuck their little bundled infants through strollers and walk down little lanes of trees. Back through neighborhoods, where, again, little corner stores sell hot bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches to morning commuters, a vendor yells through the streets “A bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich, the best thing you ever fucking ate. It cost what? $2.50 That’s a deal.” Following the wind and it’s early to mid-December morning in New York City. A city where so many people dream of coming and making a life for themselves. And it’s always felt a little bit like maybe, just around the corner, there’s a little bit of magic.
By Ben Green5 years ago in Fiction
Willow's Beginning
QUICK NOTE: Anything in just BOLD and ITALIC is everyone but Emilie. Hers is BOLD, ITACLIC and UNDERLINED!!! You'd think my heart would be pounding in my ears as I watch my death approaching. But you would be wrong. I've know it was a long time coming. But maybe I should start over. Start from the beginning of this. The beginning of my end so to speak. Well, my first end anyway.
By Jade Alexis Belyeu5 years ago in Fiction
Before She Kidnaps
“I got your gun! Now I give the orders!” Both the woman and the much larger man stood in a darkened, windowless room, lit only by wan firelight flickering in from some unseen exterior source. It was chilly, but not near as deathly cold as outside; a fact to which the female could well attest.
By Timothy James Turnipseed5 years ago in Fiction
Whirlwind
Sitting atop the most experienced cowpony her father owned Annie watched in horror as the herd began to stampede. There were easily in excess of a thousand head of longhorn/brahma mix. Annie was set up for evening watch, most of the herd had settled in for the night so this should have been a simple stretch of watch. Out of seemingly nowhere a bolt of lightening cracked, a deafening sound as it split the old ponderosa pine down the middle. The mare had jumped but stayed in place, the cattle began lowing, then raging in full stampede mode, heading in a southern direction, back toward home. But home was already sixty miles away.
By Gayle5 years ago in Fiction
Oh Captain, My Captain
It was hot in the flat graveyard as our fathers glided easily over the browning grass as they took the body of our beloved August to his final resting place. They had done it as a service to the rest of us, knowing that we wouldn’t have been able to endure it. Disposing of the dead had always upset me, and it wasn’t until a few months later that I came to learn they didn’t even bury that sleek bullet of a casket draped in ivy, magnolias, and marigolds. In fact, August hadn’t even been in it at all as we stood there sweating as Gus, high as a kite, leaned on it in despair in the viewing room. They had cremated him. After we left the gravesite, they buried a small urn of his ashes and took the rest home to spread them out across the water. You can’t imagine how much better I felt having learned that—that it wasn’t a trapped and wired and patched up August in that box.
By M.C. Finch 5 years ago in Fiction