Fantasy
Marla Medizza and the Miopsa mirror. Chapters twenty-three, twenty-four, and twenty-five.
Chapter twenty-three Fraught futures The lady turns around to face her. She is old, her face lined. But her eyes are the ones Marla knows. They are the eyes of her younger sister.
By Peter Culbert5 years ago in Fiction
Marla Medizza and the Miopsa mirror. Chapters twenty, twenty-one, and twenty-two.
Chapter twenty A time to be Lucky. They sail the sable sky. Night welcomes dawn. Dawn opens the door to the warm afternoon air. The heat of sunlight radiating against Marla’s skin. Babulous holds on tight, snuggling his furry head into her shoulder. His whiskers brush against her cheek, the touch comforting. She reaches around, placing her palm on his cheek, caressing him. Whatever Fuckus mountain has in store, she feels secure with Babulous by her side. To her, he is a protector, like her parents.
By Peter Culbert5 years ago in Fiction
Marla Medizza and the Miopsa mirror. The final chapter.
The final chapter Cornelius Darkus. An intense blaze of sunlight fills the bedroom as Marla wakes. Her thoughts draped in darkness, her fear paramount. She pushes her mule onto her foot and paces downstairs toward the kitchen.
By Peter Culbert5 years ago in Fiction
Forged in fire
The potent odor of garbage and sweat practically smacked Blithe in the face as she and her mother, Shena, walked the city street of Yusra on their way to a local spice shop. Blithe tightened her pink embroidered scarf around her nose and moved closer to her mother. The two traveled with their personal body guard Dante who lingered closely behind them. While Blithe kept her gaze mostly focused on the trash littered street below her feet her mother kept her head held high and walked with great haste.
By Ali Shafer 5 years ago in Fiction
Girl with the Golden Glow
The railcar stripped of internal luxuries floated above polished ground. The occupants clung to a bubble of color produced by glow receivers. Without glow, I looked toward the forest which ruptured the monotony of uniformed metallic architecture within the city. My internal monologue scripted a tale of colors blooming naturally. When I returned home, I lingered over blank paper thirsty for the flowing ink of my story. Instead, I abated into replicated steps to a plate of monochrome sustenance. A wide expanse of glow swallowed my motionless grandfather along with various copies of original glow items from the Goldens.
By Miranda Gusmano5 years ago in Fiction
