Holiday
Animal Farm — Chapter 3 (George Orwell)
With Manor Farm now transformed into Animal Farm, the animals waste no time in putting their new society into practice. They begin working enthusiastically in the fields, more motivated than ever under Mr. Jones. The pigs, thanks to their superior intelligence, take on leadership and planning roles, while the other animals throw themselves into physical labor. Boxer, a huge cart horse, becomes the farm's workhorse in both name and spirit. His personal motto - "I will work harder" - inspires everyone around him. Even the ducks and chickens do their best, picking up stray kernels of corn to ensure that nothing goes to waste. Although harvesting is difficult without human tools and skills, they manage better than expected, with greater success than ever before. There is a sense of pride and ownership in every mouthful of food they produce, which drives them to work harder and cooperate more willingly. The animals, for the first time, feel that their labor is truly for their own benefit, not for some master who steals the fruits of their labor.
By Echoes of Life8 months ago in Fiction
lucid. Content Warning.
There once was a family that had been struggling to reconnect. Arguments, silence, resentment—they had drifted apart, each locked in their own little world of pain. Hoping to mend their fractured bond, they decided to go away on a short holiday. A chance to reset. To be a family again.
By Sabrina Verwey8 months ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Forgotten Clock
In the sleepy town of Elderglow, nestled between rolling hills and a river that sang secrets to the stars, time had a peculiar habit of standing still. Not metaphorically, but literally. The townsfolk swore the old clock tower, perched on the edge of the square, hadn’t ticked in a century. Its hands, frozen at 3:17, cast long shadows that never shifted, as if the sun itself respected the clock’s stubborn refusal to move. The townspeople called it the Forgotten Clock, and they whispered that it held the soul of Elderglow, trapped in a moment no one could remember.
By Nauman Hassan Khan8 months ago in Fiction
May All Your Irises Be White. Content Warning.
I pissed off Amanda again. What’s new? I could never satisfy her. To be honest, I don’t even think I ever tried to. As the first child, she had to look up to me. I never had to request validation from her. But this argument was different. She wanted to partner up and move forward with the I Hate Rachel Herrmann Company. I simply could not. While the company promotes trauma recovery through the use of dark humor, I’d rather leave the more serious tasks to the professionals. Amanda believes the standard mental health treatments are corrupt and that this company will start a reform movement. She acts like Rachel Herrmann is the next Dorothea Dix. I could never have so much faith in just one person alone.
By Rachie Iris 8 months ago in Fiction
Seal rock
Finally the time had come, summer holiday time. A whole 14 days without work. I had been counting the days for many months, work wasn't going well so the break was needed. A long drive to the coast but always worth the effort. The worst part was the going home.
By ASHLEY SMITH8 months ago in Fiction
The Caroler's Gift
On a chilly December night, the streets of a town not so far from you or I lay quiet, blanketed in snow that glistened under the faint glow of street lamps. Small puffs of warm breath rose from a group of carolers huddled together on the steps of the church, laughing and shivering as they adjusted their scarves and gloves.
By Emily Albers8 months ago in Fiction
Seeing Is Believing
Joanie pulled her threadbare wool coat tighter around her as she walked, rubbing her numb, red nose with a sniff. Her feet were killing her after being on them all day, but sadly she couldn't go home yet. She still had one more shift to go. One more long, exhausting shift, to cap off the longest, most exhausting day of her life so far.
By Natalie Gray8 months ago in Fiction
Hoof Prints In The Snow!
Christmas always brings memories of my early childhood. The memories are filled with the expectations that if I am a “good little girl,” I will get that red bicycle on training wheels as well as the doll that I always wanted. I use to believed that when I awaken and dashed out of my bed they would be sitting under our cedar tree that was decorated with homemade ornaments. However, Christmas after Christmas left me disappointed again.
By Frankie Berry Wise8 months ago in Fiction
Vows Between Heartbeats
The storm arrived just past midnight. Rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers. Thunder rolled through the sky, loud enough to rattle picture frames. But inside the small house on Maple Street, it was warm, soft-lit, and silent—except for the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor beside the bed.
By Muhammad Wisal8 months ago in Fiction
