short story
Barn Owl
I was stuck. In between a rock and a ridged place. I was prey to great eyes that scanned my environment. Writhing to peel myself away from my plight. Lungs burning from exertion. Above, she lurked. I could hear the scratching on the beam about me as she paced. Those eyes. I knew those huge dark eyes would be watching. I knew she would be listening for my breath, for my squirm.
By Rohann Chas Coffey4 years ago in Earth
The Lair of the Baobhan Sith
There isn't much of the supernatural in the Scottish Highlands, but for the baobhan sith. Much like a banshee and vampire mixed, but is actually a dark fae, the baobhan sith is always a woman. She makes her home in the moors and swamps, drifting near enough to civilization to eat at night, calling out to those who taste of blood. Her hooves crunch the bones of the devoured, wayward souls that litter the Highland moors. On April 15, 1743, the trees fade into open grassland as the sun sinks below the horizon. A white and brown barn owl flies overhead, searching for it's dinner.
By DarkRandall4 years ago in Earth
The Light of Civilization (and the Shadows it Stole)
Before you, my life made sense. It was natural to hunt at night. A flash of feathers and razor-sharp talons. A single swift blow, an all-encompassing pain, and then the calming invitation of joining the stillness of a cold, dead night. I was a pale-white reaper cloaked in darkness, unseen until the fate of my prey is sealed.
By Zoe Becker4 years ago in Earth
Bird, Rattlesnake, and Rain
I miss the shortgrass prairie. I miss the landscape falling apart into broken red rocks, in a blaze in early September. I miss the scorching sunlight, gusts of wind and low-flying hawks, and chirps from prairie dog towns. I miss abrupt, stony cascades, where no water ever does cascade, except in flash floods.
By Sarah Dendy4 years ago in Earth
Legend of Today
There was a legend, from a long time ago. When the sun and the moon touched, and the mighty rivers flowed into each other. Time would not be mentioned, except by the movement of the clouds, and the fruit on the trees. The humming bird would sing its tune, so merry and bright, yet swaying from the bees in the dead of night. Coyotes would howl, trying to find their pack, yet the wind chimed to the glory of a smoke stack.
By Doreena Starr 4 years ago in Earth
