Series
City of Angels
The rich earthy aroma of the smoke from the lit cigar neatly perched on the edge of the crystal ashtray filled the room. His voice echoed off of the dimly lit walls, its timbre emphasizing the gravitas of his persona and the authority of his reputation. He was undoubtedly one of the most acknowledged private detectives north of the rust belt. And yet, his personality was straight out of the 1950’s, as though he didn’t miss a beat in the subsequent decades. Nevertheless, his work spoke for itself, which is why there was usually a line of people out the door waiting to hire him for his expertise in missing persons cases. Today, however, was a different story, as the office was eerily empty, and the only sound that broke the silence was his somber voice as he answered a call from a potential client.
By Mir Shajee5 years ago in Fiction
Chapter two
The madness was unreal. My head underwater I wasn't even fighting to get back to the surface. I witnessed a star in the eye of infinity. I was consumed by the ultimate power. The demons summoned procured the gates of hell. A symbol of devouring destruction. I was damned. I was forsaken.
By Samuel Bitner5 years ago in Fiction
Selection (ch.1)
Joey Wylie bounded down the street, the wind rushing through his auburn hair and piercing into his young green eyes. Excitement was coursing through his long, lanky limbs like electricity. For today was the day! It was his first day of being 13, which meant that THE Mr Bruce Bleu was going to teach him how to mow the lawn.
By Naomi Spooner5 years ago in Fiction
Heirs to Olympus: Light of Day
On a hot July day, I was walking down the street with my best friend, Maria. We were on our way home from the gym. We had been working out every day that summer, training our bodies and minds to become as strong as possible. We were training so intensely because we had a goal very few have, to become superheroes.
By Terrance L Williams Jr5 years ago in Fiction
The Adventures of Logan van Zant
He places the brown package on the office desk. The parcel is a cigar box wrapped in weathered paper and frayed twine. Export stamps from Europe and the Americas are peppered across it. “What did Cornelius send this time?” he thought. The package is addressed to: Professor Logan van Zant, Brown University, History Dept.,Providence, Rhode Island, United States; From: Uncle Cornelius, Parts Unknown. “Parts unknown? Always the eccentric, Uncle,” Logan laughs. He often receives oddities from his uncle’s adventures from across the world.
By Jericho Osborne5 years ago in Fiction
The Man
Characters: Milo: Milo is a student at the University of College. He takes school seriously, and rarely steps outside his box. He lives alone in a four-person apartment, and only uses one bedroom and the kitchen. The living room is bland and lacking furniture. The other three bedrooms have the doors wide open and nothing but dust behind them. He had three roommates, for three years. They were friends. They all left and moved into a three-person apartment without him. They were friends. Milo is alone.
By Jaden Patterson5 years ago in Fiction
Improper Mage - Ch 2
A long line of carriages waited along the drive to Sancta Vallis Castle, named for the capital city it resided in, stood imposingly at the point of the valley their city was protected by. Constructed of grey stone and pointed spires atop each of the many towers, the castle had been created from the image of power. Grand and sturdy, the castle stood for many centuries as a symbol of solidarity among the races of Triaedian.
By Taylor Westwood5 years ago in Fiction
Brown Paper Box
Boston Massachusetts, 2022 Zachary is sitting in the driveway inside of his idling, government issued, green Ford Fusion sedan smoking a cigarette and listening to the Dave and Chuck the Freak morning show. Satisfied with their discussion on asshole of the day, a crude discussion about another billionaire calling himself an astronaut after making a quick fifteen minute visit into space, he kills the radio as well as the car. Removing the dangling keys from the ignition, he pulls down the sun visor and removes a laminated memorial prayer card clipped to the mirror flap. As he stares hard at the old face on the card, he reaches down into a secret compartment beneath his seat and pulls out a silver flask with a faded Marine Corp sticker on the front. He unscrews the tin cap and takes a long gulp. With a heavy sigh he twists the cap back onto the flask, returns it to its hiding place then stares hard at himself through the mirror of the sun visor. Slamming the visor shut he reaches into his pants right pocket, removes a pack of evergreen chewing gum and pops two pieces inside of his dry mouth. Chewing vigorously, he gathers his cellphone from the magnetic dashboard dock, stuffs the prayer card into the breast pocket of his blue button-down dress shirt and exits the vehicle.
By Kale Sinclair5 years ago in Fiction
His
The dreams are vivid. There I am. Walking…. no... running. Why is he chasing me? The ground is wet. Where are my shoes? Ouch, the twigs are sharp. I’m in the woods? Help! Help! Why can’t I scream? My voice! It’s gone. Still running. It smells like fresh rain in these woods. I’ve never been here. There! Behind that tree. I crouch. I am trying to catch my breath; but trying to be quiet. I still hear his footsteps. He slowed down. I close my eyes but then realize I need to see where he is. I peek my head around the corner; not there. I look up, not there. I see a little dent for me to climb in the tree; should I do it? Yes! Nakeya save your life and climb this tree! This tree is old, the bark smells like pine but it isn’t a pine tree. I climb silently up the tree, thank God there are a lot of branches and leaves. I think I’m safe. I can see him now. He looks familiar. Wait….it can’t be…. he’s dead! I saw him die. I try to talk, still no voice. Got dammit! Why can’t I speak! This isn’t happening. Someone wake me up. SOMEONE HELP!
By Nakeya Skinner5 years ago in Fiction
Improper Mage
Liana Monroe sat upon a wooden stool in front of a sunny window in her sister’s room reading a thick and heavy tome. Leather bindings frayed at the edges which were older than any relative she recalled having owned this book. The pages were worn from use, but the words were no less easy to read because of it.
By Taylor Westwood5 years ago in Fiction
