Fantasy
Stardust
This story was inspired from the imagem above, by Heba Amen Can you even imagine what it is like to fall from the sky and see the stars right in front of you? It was like an adventure, feeling your eyes fixed on mine. I was hoping that you had the same feeling, but your wild nature gives me chills. Your smile said goodbye to me, and you've become part of my dreamland.
By Sofia Duarte5 years ago in Fiction
The Dye In The Night.
As he trekked forward to the stone wall, Oisín couldn’t help looking over his shoulder at the Abbey in the distance. If he was quick, he could return home before dawn, leaving Brother Raymond none-the-wiser. Bumping into the wall tore his eyes away from the towers and huts, returning him to the journey ahead. Though the wall was low enough to mount over but high enough to keep the ewes in their field, he was struck by what the interlocking rocks represented.
By Conor Matthews5 years ago in Fiction
The Nobel Prize Lecture
The following is an official transcript of the Nobel lecture given on Dec. 10, 20--: Ladies and gentlemen, your majesties, and my fellow laureates: I must say that I still feel as though I have been having a long and beautiful dream these last few months. Nothing can prepare the writer for the moment – a vivid point of realization - when he discovers that his chosen profession was not a mistake or a whim that would have been best left to adolescence. For that, I thank the academy. I thank you all.
By Kendall Defoe 5 years ago in Fiction
Cryssarina
Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t. Mark Twain Dear Twain knew what he was writing, but I wonder if he knew how much he was right. As some of you know by now, I met my first muse on Medium during the last week of November 2020, less than four months after joining this unusual online writing and reading platform. She fell in love with my words, I fell in love with hers, and from then onwards, I was captivated by her, writing mostly about my love for her, her love for me, and our difficulties getting to be together, which generated the image of my muse living on the Moon. She lived so far from me that it was as if she lived on the Moon. She already had a life and thus imagination took me to her in Prague and elsewhere in space. At one point, I even despised the poor Moon but never the Sun and other stars that seemed to understand my plight with their rays and brightnesses.
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Fiction
Dystopian Gods of Amara
Asherah was still sitting in her palace room surrounded with emptiness and memories of times gone by. She fiddled with the heart shaped necklace around her neck – her birth right and felt the power surging around her hands. She remembered the good old days when she, Yam and El first met, and how they had saved the universe. The first war.... Her reverie broken; a booming knock came to the door.
By Karen Quinn5 years ago in Fiction
The Magic Window
Sophie loved exploring, and today, she was making her way through brush and forest to find new places that remained yet unknown and undiscovered by her. Her best friend, Abby, had ditched her in favor of shopping with her Mother, but Sophie much preferred trekking through the woods any day to picking out a new outfit to wear.
By Cindy Calder5 years ago in Fiction
7 Days
Cold. This body is so cold. So many things hit me at once. In addition to the cold, I feel extreme hunger, something smells rancid, and someone is poking my arm. Tentatively, I open my eyes. The person standing over me seems pleased – I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m awake or because he thinks he’s responsible for reviving me. The younger man smells bad, but I think I’m the one who smells rancid.
By Julie Lacksonen5 years ago in Fiction
Despair and Desolation under the Gemini Stars
In her chest there are two holes. Rather than an absence of something it is instead a heavy presence, a burden so obviously seen by the drag in her slender shoulders, the hollows under her eyes and the stooping of her posture. One hole she named Despair, the other is named Desolation. Despair nestled into the girl’s heart at an early age, first shaking hands with her in her elder child years. It fills the void that was created when her family perished from sickness.
By Eloise Robertson 5 years ago in Fiction
7 Days
The transformation is complete. I take a gasping breath. Who am I this time? I quickly look around. I’m in a kitchen. People around me are working at the many counters, some mixing dough, others putting finishing touches on creations. I look down. I’m wearing an apron and my male hands are covered in flour. In front of me is some sugar cookie dough rolled out. It’s a bakery. I reason that it may be easier to pretend I know what I’m doing than if this had been a full restaurant kitchen, with many recipes to learn on the fly. I realize baking can be a sophisticated and delicate craft, but hopefully I’m not expected to be at that level. I remember being a teenaged girl about 40 weeks ago, give or take. I was watching my grandmother make cookies. I take the cookie cutter and start pressing it in the dough, trying keep the circles close to have less dough to reroll. Just when I’m feeling proud of myself for jumping right into the situation, a woman walks up behind me and yells, “Walters, pick up the pace! You should have had two batches in the oven by now. Either finish or I’ll hire the next homeless person who comes through the door begging for a handout.” She’s intense, with her hair pulled back severely in a bun, arms behind her back like a drill sergeant. I’m thankful that customers are not privy to this rant.
By Julie Lacksonen5 years ago in Fiction
