Series
Worlds Collide
It was odd, this soft yet firm structure I was told to sleep on. I kept looking underneath it, for what I wasn't sure but it just seemed so bizarre. How did it keep itself upright while holding my weight at the same time? It wasn't made of stone like most things under the ocean which made me worry it would collapse. It didn't, though. That fact only perplexed me further.
By Heather Miller5 years ago in Fiction
Wildflower
Hannah’s brand-new SUV drove past the muddy road by the lake as she honked her horn a few times, watching the ducks, geese, and songbirds take flight. A deer looked up and saw the silver, metal mass before bolting. Dust and mud kicked up behind the vehicle’s massive wheels as Hannah slowed down to take in the familiar yet almost foreign environment.
By Demetria Head5 years ago in Fiction
The Lake
Ellie was cold. Colder than she had ever been. She hurried through the snow, but it was hard work. When her cousin, Mary-Anne, had asked if she wanted to go for a walk, this hadn’t been what she was expecting. Without warning, Ellie’s foot tripped on something unseen in the snow, and she landed, face first, in the soft powder. The shock of the cold and wet snow on her bare face caused her to suck in a sharp breath.
By Sonia Merkel5 years ago in Fiction
Adventures of Logan van Zant: CH II
The props of the Boeing 377 Stratocruiser kick on. A soft hum fills the cabin. Logan and Aurora sit in their seats awaiting take-off. Aurora flips through a magazine while Logan looks out the window. The hum of the engines reminds him of the countless hours of flight time and parachute jumps preparing for D-Day. His life in the Army Airborne Infantry was a time of fervor and terror. He looks across the wing; he remembers how his Gooney Bird was riddled with holes over Normandy, and how lucky he was to be alive. “How did any of us survive,” he mutters to himself.
By Jericho Osborne5 years ago in Fiction
Kayaking
Theres a calmness to kayaking, the way the sun feels on your skin, its hot but it’s a good heat, the kind that warms your soul and makes you feel like you are burning off all the negative energy from the days before. You can taste the salt on your lips, smell it in the slight breeze of the air. The paddle going through the water is an antidote for what your soul needs to heal. It is taking back all the stress you deal with every day and letting you surrender to nature. You can be yourself, alone, no one to answer to, no one to impress. No constant worrying about if you are doing everything right you can just breath, stroke, glide over the water and know it is not judging you. It did not notice if your stroke was off, if it could have been harder, better, stronger, it does not care, it still propelled you forward. The sound of the waves, the breeze brushing through the mangroves, the blue herons and pelicans that is the music to your soul and it calms you. There is an inner peace that washes over your whole body, just as the waves wash over the shore. The waves crashing into the shore are changing the erosion of the land with every smash into the sand and bringing new shells to the surface while taking others back out to sea. The same happens to your soul every time you go out on your kayak, whatever body of water you are on takes a part of your old self with it and emerges with new pieces for you to put forward.
By Tina Messler5 years ago in Fiction
Exordium
Faerie left her house before the sun came up in the morning. She was going to visit Ason today and she was so excited she had hardly slept the night before. She and Ason had met in the woods a couple of months ago while Faerie had been out checking animal traps with her guardian, Rey. Ason’s family had been refugees at the time and he had initially been suspicious of Faerie’s presence in the forest. By the end of their first meeting, though, Ason had given Faerie a beautiful heart-shaped locket to wear that had changed her life.
By Dawn Salois5 years ago in Fiction
Tales of the WildMan
Tamind peeked over the social shield of his large, wordy book to safely judge the other residents that populated the hearth of the small, isolated inn that would be his home for the night. What he saw disappointed him just as much as the last time he looked around to distract him from his dull tome. The simple innkeeper stood by the large fireplace stirring the leek and cabbage stew, the only item on tonight's menu aside from three day old bread and warm ale, his lazy eye and uneven moustache only added to the peasantly demeanour of the inns host.
By Lachlan Winks5 years ago in Fiction
The Lost Children: Homecoming
Amidst an ocean of fallow hay fields sits an old farmhouse, mostly unoccupied. Years of neglect have taken their toll on the old structure and left a mark on the surrounding grasslands. From the only window of the sole occupied room, an elderly woman sits to a warm glass of tea, memories for comfort and company.
By Thomas Hawkins5 years ago in Fiction
