Historical
Hunger Knows None of That
Alice had put the other Land Girls to shame with the way she worked. Two weeks in, she could harvest a field in twice the time it took girls who’d been here six months. She cut through wheat with the same poise and intensity she used to coerce long buttery notes from her fiddle; the golden cords bowing at every deft stroke. That she would trip over her own instrument? None of us could believe it.
By Amy Demien4 years ago in Fiction
Indigenous People Are More Than Background Noise
Today is International Womxn’s Day, where the strength of femininity is highlighted throughout the world. From many cultures, we have a common provider - Mother Earth. Our existence as a people, as many people from multiple backgrounds would be impossible without Mother Earth. The majority of tribes on Turtle Island have long been Matriarchal societies since the beginning of time. Colonization from it’s very essence, has been an attack on the sacred recognition of femininity. It is the Tipi that represents the womb of Mother Earth. Severing Indigenous people from our Matriarchal roots reinforces White Supremacy.
By Marcy Angeles 4 years ago in Fiction
Julian the Killer
When Julian was 15 years old, Sir John caught him wearing one of Lady Dolichena’s dresses, a gold and crimson floor-length gown with yellow and white roses embroidered around the puffed sleeves. He grabbed the boy by his braided hair, dragged him into the hallway and slammed him into a chair. Julian trembled in fear and started to weep, his black eyeliner running down his cheeks.
By Stephen Patrick4 years ago in Fiction
Holocaust Hope
Roger rented two rooms, one for himself and Yuri and the other for Erika. Yuri was profoundly relieved that he wouldn't have to battle the desire that had welled inside him ever since he and Erika had begun sharing a bed. Erika wondered how on earth Roger could afford it, as he didn't look particularly wealthy to her.
By Angela Denise Fortner Roberts4 years ago in Fiction
Holocaust Rescue
January 27, 1945 The explosion shocked Erika awake. She gasped as she stared into the blackness. The other inmates stirred, talking to one another, raising their voices. Someone's elbow poked her in the side, but she hardly felt it. She'd long ago grown accustomed to not having enough room to turn over.
By Angela Denise Fortner Roberts4 years ago in Fiction
The Color Of Love II
Andre hung from a rope tied to a tree's branch, a noose around his neck. His hands twitched spasmodically, a reflex reaction to the recent severing of his spinal cord. His otherwise limp, still body swayed to and fro in the slight breeze, his toes pointing downward. Several men on horseback rode around hooting and jeering, shaking their fists in exultation. I knew they were the same men who'd burned the cross in our front yard, although they hadn't even bothered to disguise themselves this time. Unable to move, nor even scream, I gasped in horror...
By Angela Denise Fortner Roberts4 years ago in Fiction
The Color Of Love
It was the cacophony, the loud whooping and jeering, that awakened me. It was then I saw the glowing yellow light through the curtains. I pushed them aside and gasped when I realized its origin - a wooden cross had been set ablaze.
By Angela Denise Fortner Roberts4 years ago in Fiction
Julian The Killer
Sir John Devilak believed in witches because he was a good and faithful Catholic and because he was married to one. Lady Dolichena was a wicked, power-mad schemer who was constantly plotting to maneuver her husband into the vacant Barony of Suffolk left by the spectacular suicide of Hugh Boyle. On the 26th of June, year of our Lord 1281, Boyle fashioned an 8-foot cross out of gunpowder imported from Muslim Spain. Then he wrapped his arms around it and had his valet light the fuse.
By Stephen Patrick4 years ago in Fiction
