Fable
Marigold’s Ballad
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Marigold dreamt of hazy blues and reds and yellows high in the clouds, even as every night she would awaken at exactly midnight to this strange violet phenomenon. It was trying to tell her something, but she didn’t know what.
By Melissa Ingoldsby4 years ago in Fiction
Beauty of the Beast
In a fecund land ripe with reachable riches, in which the ever untroubled natives need only extend fingers to pick the sweetest fruits of overgrowing abundance, or their arms into the overflowing rivers to pluck fat fish for their dinners with their bare hands, life is entirely carefree. The robust, sun-kissed boys and girls run and play all day upon the lushly green, flowering hills, and hide and seek with the hares and hedgehogs of the sheltering forest, knowing no fear. Their fathers and mothers too are much as their children, as the little work to be done not completed by nature is done by noon each day. Thus, making merry, drinking their wine early and often, imitating the wild rabbits in the frequency of their lovemaking, many a break is taken from the pleasure of the bedchambers, whereof new children are sprung in troves, that the pleasure of youth may be mirrored by even the aged, all ages running and whooping and laughing, knowing only the moment’s joy, not what the advanced nations call maturity.
By Nick Jameson4 years ago in Fiction
A Mouse Called Rosie
Will was only three months old when Rosie first appeared. It was a moment Will’s mother Rachel would be proud of, being that she was the kind of woman who often stayed up all night to make sure the house was clean. What Rosie’s appearance meant to Rachel was that she really wasn’t the great home maker she strives to be. With Rosie being a mouse, a field mouse no doubt from the large field of grass behind Rachel’s house.
By Chloe Medeiros4 years ago in Fiction
Jack Tales
Jack and his family were dirt farmers, out a-ways in Nevada, where there weren’t no big cities, just little towns that nobody never heard of no-ways. Literally, they farmed dirt. Oh, they’d tried to grow things in the dirt, but nothing ever did. Jack’s Momma kept chickens and some goats, so at least they had milk and eggs, though Jack got mighty tired of always eating eggs for every meal. For a while, she had a passel of sheep and a sheepdog or two, but eventually the dogs must’ve got tired of all them eggs, ate the sheep and headed off to find greener pastures. Jack sometimes saw them dogs a mile or so down the road, so evidently they didn’t have to look too hard for them greener fields.
By Shawna Clawson Chambers4 years ago in Fiction
Scene 18
To canvass what must not be dared finds you in a corner—no reliance on the obvious or for what we know is right, sadly. Whether you know the exact right call to action, falling back on the chair knowing opportunity prevails after a touch of hard work and intelligence was soothing. Honorable it be for such opportunity of advancement, you have no choice but to feel grateful. Very fruitful your attempts if failed sometimes appeared to be no accident, and that is where one starts to think, freely. Bees taking their own and showing them how to make honey instead of instinct guiding them was highly frowned upon among the rest of the hive. What about authority? Not the worker bees for they are the most honest, shall I dare continue?
By Ali Ryerse4 years ago in Fiction
Escaping The Rivers Of Styx
She died in my arms today at 11:11am. I made it back just in time to hold her and watch the foam rise from her mouth like some sick parasite consuming her. My heart shattered into a million pieces at that moment. I should have been there for her, I should have seen the signs. The last thing she left behind was a poem.
By Kenneth cruz4 years ago in Fiction
A bedtime story
Once upon a time a long time ago their lived a beautiful fairy by the name of Marigold, or Mari for short. Mari, like most fairy's, lived in the garden. Specifically in a pear tree. It was a beautiful slender tree with fat juicy red pears at the end of summer that all of the girls and boys loved to pluck and eat and any that they left behind became feasts for the bunnies and squirrelies and wormies.
By Miriam Rhodes4 years ago in Fiction
