Raistlin Allen
Achievements (36)
Stories (111)
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Still Life
On an evening like any other, Edgar was ironing his clothes for the Big Day, when he had a troubling thought. Thoughts were not common for Edgar, let alone troubling ones. Usually, he bumped along from A to B to C in a lovely soup of apathy. The thought was this: What is the Big Day?
By Raistlin Allen5 days ago in Fiction
A Destination Needs A Dreamer. Top Story - March 2026.
Gatlin heard the violin every evening on the commute back from work. Wending between warm rushing bodies on the subway, eyes forward, bag clasped protectively at her side, she drank it in at the same time as she didn't slow. It was probably the best part of her day. The shivering strains crescendoed and collapsed, tugging at something in her core. She'd never seen the violinist, but whoever he was, he was clearly a master, clearly professionally trained. The music always seemed to be coming from somewhere further down the track, around a bend, just out of eyeshot. She'd come to think fancifully that it was something only she could hear. She’d come to think of it as her future, calling.
By Raistlin Allen5 days ago in Fiction
Rolling Away The Stone. Runner-Up in What the Myth Gets Wrong Challenge.
Nathan was 100 percent done with Jericho. When he'd left Jerusalem Friday morning, he'd been full of pep and vigor, ready to take his first break of longer than a day since the Lord knew when. The Nathan who lay in his bed at the Right Thyme Inn listening to his neighbors fuck loudly for the second night in a row felt a little differently about things.
By Raistlin Allen12 days ago in Fiction
All You Can Eat
A swelling classical tune piped through the single speaker in the top corner of the box of a room. Marge, from her spot across from Tony, bobbed her head, stilling the quivering up-and-down motion of her knee that'd been happening on and off ever since Mark left. Tony caught her eye, licking his lips and placing his used napkin down on his plate so gently it was like he was laying the delicate corpse of a dove to rest. He smiled tightly.
By Raistlin Allen19 days ago in Fiction
Part of Me. Runner-Up in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
My love and I have been trapped inside of our respective houses like rats in a cage ever since the start of the pandemic. An ocean separates us, but distance is no challenge to our love. Text messaging, email- these things are so impersonal and cold. She and I are old souls both, and prefer the method of the old-fashioned letter. It takes longer, but the heart grows fonder with delayed gratification, to put a new spin on an old, tired phrase. I've certainly found it true in any case.
By Raistlin Allenabout a month ago in Fiction
room for rage. Runner-Up in Instructions for a Feeling Challenge. Top Story - February 2026.
let it out. . start with the plates: break them. watch them shatter on graffiti-covered concrete. scream. scream until you've shredded your voice, your lungs, your throat to
By Raistlin Allenabout a month ago in Poets
Why I'm Glad My Twin Sister Died. Honorable Mention in Craft Over Catharsis Challenge.
The most unusual or unexpected feeling I have ever had was feeling glad my twin sister Holly died. Holly died last year when she was hit by a drunk driver trick-or-treating with her friends. I stayed home because I was sick and also I knew I was 'fifth-wheeling' because the group was all her friends and I knew no one would miss me. I did cry at first but mostly I am happy she's gone. I have never told anyone about this unusual feeling because I think my mom and dad would be mad and everybody would like me less than they already do. Why I feel glad Holly is dead is because of 3 main reasons which are that we were too similar (looks only), we were too different, and because after she died people are nicer to me. In this essay I will go into more detail about all of these reasons.
By Raistlin Allen2 months ago in Fiction
2025, In So Many Words
About a year ago, I posted my first piece here on Vocal in years. In Making it Hard to Fail, I talked about my goals for the new year in response to a challenge prompt. My goal was simple: to write for 15 minutes a day. No more was required, though as I suspected (and found in executing this plan) more did often follow.
By Raistlin Allen2 months ago in Writers
Spellslinger
The desert stretches its dry mouth out before me, dust filling my lungs as the light filters from the sky. I can see, just barely, the outlines of the next town on the horizon, and I lean forward and stroke Silas's mane. "Almost there, boy," I whisper, hoping the heat of the bodies I sense with the probing fingers of my magic isn't an illusion. This inhospitable land can do strange things to a person over time, and I've already been on the road for days.
By Raistlin Allen2 months ago in Fiction
