Fable
By the Light of Fire and Stars
The sun lulled a lazy pink fog over the cobbled-streets. It sunk, like an orbed fishing hook, into the lake that parted the city. A gentle gust of wind swept under the dying leaves that had been bundled in the trenches, and scattered them across town like stepping stones.
By Rachel M.J4 years ago in Fiction
19 Percent: 1941
Frozen. Cemented into the relentless Mother Gaia, there lay against the beach , a mermaid. It was late November in Northern Ontario and ice was building against the edges of the towns and country lakes. The bay of one of these lakes carried among the trees, a cottage of which had seen many magical people and treasures. However, the secrets left there stayed blind in front of the sight of skeptics and fakes. This enchanted place remained under the solitary care of Henry, who had long since lived his best days, loved with all his heart, spoken his wisest words, and pursued the path that was the most true to his soul.
By Katelyn Marie Clair4 years ago in Fiction
Fire and Ice Both Burn
1998 Only silence filled the drive home. The man clenched his jaw, eyes fixed on the road, but even the icy air from the open window couldn't clear the heavy fog in his chest. The woman stared down at the hospital band on her wrist. The empty car seat sat in the back, a silent and haunting weight. He had clicked off the radio the minute they had gotten into the car as if he was going to speak. He did not.
By Shelby Larsen4 years ago in Fiction
Part 4: Golinda's searches of the Pilgrim Soul
Kat had been seeing and hearing things again. Shapes appeared in the grains of wood, swirls of marble and shape of clouds. Pareidolia often happened when she felt her life force move through the general, intellectual, moral and cultural zeitgeist of an era. She felt a well of forces hit each other causing relativity storms. During this lifetime she had weathered many such storms, and knew that she needed to slow down to appreciate the source of the spirit.
By Katherine D. Graham4 years ago in Fiction
The Chase
She had been chasing the fox for three days now. She hadn’t meant to, in the beginning. Her only wish was to get a closer look. He had flashed past the corner of her eye, his fur rippling in bursts of scarlet and orange as he rolled through a patch of sunlight. She had never been so enchanted before as she was when watching that little fox scurry through the underbrush of her forest.
By Caitlin Mitchell4 years ago in Fiction
Woodrow Wordsworth
What are words worth? Are they more precious when they are spoken or when they are written down? Or is it truly the thought that precedes the words that is priceless and unique? Can you buy and sell them or are they just worthless noise that never truly gets understood? Words for thought I suppose... Today I recount the fable of the world's youngest ever guru. He lives in the imagination that is in each and every one of us but has been covered up as we grow up. It lies dormant in the recesses of our childhood mind just aching to be awakened by spontaneous thought and joy; Revisited in a flash of music or a long-forgotten toy.
By robert rowe4 years ago in Fiction
