Historical

Through the Jungle, and Other Ways to Escape
Mom’s guy ran out of benzos, so I wanted to take Paul anywhere but back home after school. When her pills wore off, at best she’d run water over the soap bars to expose the listening devices she was convinced were hidden inside. At worst, she’d decide that Paul and I were minions of Satan sent to spy on her. Better for us to stay out of her hair, in case it went the second way.
By Lissa Bay4 years ago in Fiction
Braids and Coils
The gathering was small this year. Many tribes stayed home, or very close to home, to defend and rebuild. Many, many people were taken by the raids from the outsiders. Most should be buried with their ancestors now...well, those that could be found. Many younglings were missing as well. It did not bode well, though the outsiders had now been quiet for the last few months.
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Fiction
Nine Days Queen
It was the most nerve wrecking day of her life. The sun had barely risen over central England and it was casting beams of light so crisp that they almost seemed solid fixtures in the morning space. Anxiety plagued her chest and stomach as she attempted to control her breathing. The air was an usual coolness; the moisture of dew still spread about all the grass. The news she had just received was so overwhelming yet there are some who would no doubt enjoy to be in her shoes at this moment. Her small hands gripped at the lengthy cloth of her dress out of sheer nervousness as she stood at the back garden to her family’s home.
By Jermain Parker4 years ago in Fiction
A Harvest of Misery
‘Survival was a moral as well as a physical struggle.’ - Timothy Snyder on the Holodomor Mikhail ‘Misha’ Matkin awakened to the crowing of the village cocks, though by now they had become so enfeebled he was sure they would perish before the harvest even ended.
By George Line4 years ago in Fiction
Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves
In the old days, in one of the faraway countries, there was a good-hearted, poor man who spent his day by being a woodcutter. Every day early, he prayed the dawn prayer, present and carrying his axe, and heading towards the forest, in which he cut trees and pruned them, and sold firewood that he extracted from his work. hard; This man was known as Ali Baba, and he had one full-brother named Qasim, who was well off and had no financial problems, yet he was very greedy and greedy.
By Samara Ben4 years ago in Fiction
Don’t Pass Me Bye
The snow gently cascaded from the foggy night sky, blanketing the countrysides of England as Cillian Shaw jerked restlessly back and fourth on the crammed train with his fellow countrymen. On the outside he was trying to look clam, he was happy to be coming home. More honestly though to be on the ground; not a target in sky, where more bullets soared through the horizon than birds. But inside, his mind was a battlefield.
By Victoria Bezzeg4 years ago in Fiction
Rotterdam
The sun rays are shinning down on the streets of Rotterdam, to be precise piercing through the debris, to strike the blood doused ground. Not more than 23 minutes ago, the Dutch troops had everything under control and were defending their port from the German forces. Buildings were reduced to ashes and the bombings had set the sky ablaze. Human remains were left scattered, thousands were dead in a war they weren't fighting. Amidst the commotion, a lad of 19 years, with cobalt teal colors on his chest was crashed against a collapsed bookstore. The badges on his uniform were slightly visible as the blood gushing out of his arm was drenching him, he could breathe for only a few more minutes. Those around him were all dead, he knew the air in his lungs wouldn't be enough to take him miles in search for help. He was bound to breathe his last, and what broke him more was that he had orders to be delivered to the navy regiments to hold their fire till further directives. The river of Meuse was now in red, he recalled his captain's unwavering words.
By Harshini4 years ago in Fiction
One Final Kick At the Can
What can I say the night seemed out of place like walking into a room and catching static from everyone who notices you walk in, except, that there was no one around this Christmas. The light filtered off the streetlights like some kind of wild flurry of dust that resembled to him like so much flour drifting in the air. Blowing by in the light to come falling softly to the ground covering the paved streets and sidewalks with its fine dust.
By Juniper Jones4 years ago in Fiction
Birth of a Nation
Birth Of A Nation (Vol.1) (The Great Awakening) Chapter 1 “Slow your ass down!” An older man walking down the sidewalk said as he was nearly knocked over.
By All Life4 years ago in Fiction
Plague Dr
Venice, the Floating City of Italy, reached its most significant prominence at the dawn of Rome's 15th-century "Resurrection".
By Michael Anthony Alberta4 years ago in Fiction
The Diary of a Shakespeare Groupie
April 2nd, 1600 Dear Diary, 'Tis another night spent at The Globe. They've charged us working men two pennies to see the first performance of His play Richard III. Two pennies is a day's wage at the tannery, which means that I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, but 'tis worth it to see another play from England's greatest playwright. 'Tis only my mind that needs sustenance, and tonight my mind has amply supped on language so beautifully spoken by the stage's finest players. Aye, what was language before him?
By Maggie Blaha4 years ago in Fiction
Last Climb
Grandpa Gene was not the typical grumpy old man that most kids talk about when they are going over to visit their grandparents. In fact, not once did I ever hear him utter gruffly, “You kids get off my lawn.” Grandpa had a smile that always made you feel welcome. When you first arrived at his house his lanky frame would grab you up in a tight hug.
By Don Money4 years ago in Fiction