Fantasy
Beneath the surface
"Put that down dear..."She trailed off. "Lost things from before..." I could see her pondering her next words, turning them over in her mind, analyzing them carefully, as to choose the best ones. Right as I was about to put my unwanted two cents in, without skipping a beat she jumped right back into it, " ..Simply are not meant to be found. That's why they're called lost things. Isn't that right, dear?"
By Seminole Fraley5 years ago in Fiction
The White House by the Sea
What will become of the world, little one? How will we make and unmake things Until they are strange and new? * They lived in the white house on the outcrop by the sea. The wind was always blowing and the days were always a half-darkness of dense grey clouds, syltasi’va in the tongue of their grandmother. Always, the clouds.
By Conor McCammon5 years ago in Fiction
Bound
The many times I have walked down this corridor, never have I ever been this angry and grateful. "Why did you decide on me," I asked after about ten minutes of suspenseful silence. ' No reply. Of course, I should have known. If you are not one of them, you are not worth a word.' "Well, anyways , thank you." " You're welcome. Now listen, I am going to go ahead and inform you of some of the things you will need to know about Vanaura. She loves playing games, and unlike most of the Opal clan, she is more sensitive. . . " At that word, I recalled all the rumors I had heard about her ability. What would she sense in me? My hatred for the way things were set up, or perhaps she would sense I hate being a prisoner. The questions just continued to race through my mind as Danq continued escorting me. I realized where he led me when I heard him knock. The screech the hinges made made me cringe and know they had yet to be oiled this month. We both walked in, our "prizes" were practicing for the next annual trade. Andreo, David, and Vanaura were all sitting at the jeweled table. Every clan had one that was decorated in the oldest gems that they had at their disposal.
By Cody Kennedy5 years ago in Fiction
Déjà vu
Always being pulled shut lazily, the curtains had a habit of never fully closing. The morning light had just began to fall through the gap, making particles of dust look as though they were waltzing through the air. Every morning started the exact same. It stood still; the outside world still asleep. And then just like clockwork he rolled over. I have about two minutes of watching the sun dance on his face before he woke up. My favourite moment of every single day. His eyes open, dazed by the bright sun. I watch him, entranced by the colours of his now waking eyes. Burnt pools of honey staring back at me. Filled with so much…soul? The familiarity of his eyes still giving me butterflies, this is what is feels like to be falling in love. And for a moment, it’s like maybe he remembers who I am. Then like a switch turning off the moments over, the soul in his eyes disappear, still the colour of honey but now somewhat colder. A feeling of uneasy washes over me, this is the moment I hate of everyday. As the sun has finished rising and reality sets in.
By Leigh Williams5 years ago in Fiction
The Wish
‘The spread of the disease caused the infrastructures of cities everywhere to crumble like clockwork at a breakneck speed. Large swaths of the population became sick, in sync with their vaccination priority. Senior citizens succumbed first, then medical professionals, first responders and essential service workers, followed by the rest of the adult population. and finally Children 12-17. chaos and panic took root as an ever increasing number of people began to get sick, turning once smart, intelligent, fully functioning members of society into empty,mindless bags of meat, quickly forgetting everything including how to drink, eat and eventually breath. Both the soon to be dead and the dead littered the streets. The World Health Organisation was able to use the emergency broadcast system to inform the public that this seemed to be a long term side effect of the vaccine and they were working on a cure. But that was just the one time and radio stations had gone dead weeks ago.’
By Rick MacCormack5 years ago in Fiction
A letter to my child
Firstly, if this letter is reaching you, it means that I didn’t make it back. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry that even when I was trying my best, it still wasn’t good enough. Secondly, it means that your Aunt Claire has decided that you are now ready to take over the fight. You’ll get further than any of us ever did.
By Leigh Williams5 years ago in Fiction
Wandering
Try as I might, I never succeed. Standing at the edge of glory just to have it ripped away. I laughed. How had I been so foolish to think this world would be any different? My body shook from blood loss. After 78 lives, I would think I would be used to the feeling. Torture though never lost its unpleasantness. The light from the fire moved in time with my heart. I guessed it would only be a few more minutes.
By Sarah Gaspar5 years ago in Fiction
Sir Theodore Edward Donald Dennis Yetman Bear
When I was a young girl, I was given a teddy bear as a gift for Christmas. I would tuck the bear in with me every time I went to bed. It just made everything feel calmer at bedtime and the comfort it gave to have something there to kind of protect me. The bear I had been given I passed down to my children and it helps them as well.
By Rose Wright5 years ago in Fiction
Costume Jewelry II
That was not knocking on the front door upstairs, it was outright banging. Three young women stood frozen in place for what seemed an hour, expecting gunfire. Standing there in fear and dread, Barb replayed the moments they spent in that other dimension. Her mind could not process what they had just experienced. It seemed to her they had spent the best part of a lazy, carefree afternoon in that lovely, sunny meadow. She asked herself silently, “Why did my watch record only a minute of lapsed time?” The more she pondered the question, the more questions presented themselves. The banging on the door persisted, alternated with a heavy hand on the buzzer. The banging sounded like a hammer on wood. As suddenly as it began, the noise from upstairs abated.
By David Zinke aka ZINK5 years ago in Fiction
