Historical
The Devil and The Debutant
William John Cavendish-Scott-Bentinck, 5th Duke of Portland, or as his “friends” liked to call him Lord John, was in the midst of one of his fits. A flash, a crash, and a glint of fire had sent him far from where he stood. It was not real and yet he was stuck; lost in a remembered world he must fight his way out of.
By E. J. Strange5 years ago in Fiction
Glory
“John, it’s me, Glory. Guess where I am? I came back to the farm to say goodbye to this old barn. Tomorrow a big-business chicken farming corporation will tear it down and turn this land into a factory farm with hundreds of chickens that will never see the light of day. Can you believe that?”
By Nancy Brisson5 years ago in Fiction
We'll Meet Again
There was only one rule when Juliette visited her grandparent’s farm growing up... “Don’t go near the old barn!” Juliette had grumbled and asked why on many occasions, but it was the one question she’d never received an answer to, her Grandpa Albert leaving the room and Grandma Edie humming instead and staring off into space.
By Elissa Dawson5 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
iii Magda was the first one to see him. She’d heard the sickening thud as he landed on the carpeted floor, and turned to see him trying to sit up before he fainted. Her scream echoed through the open foyer. She was at his side before she knew what she was doing—panic stricken—not knowing what to do, or how she should hold him. His face was ashen, his lips turning blue, and then she looked down the length of his body seeing the damage to his leg.
By ben woestenburg5 years ago in Fiction
The Bludding
The Gathering happened only once a decade. We traveled over mountains or along winding fjords, only the elderly and the women with suckling babes left behind. I was a swaddling bairn the last time, so this was my first Gathering, and I had talked about nothing else for weeks.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
Dancing Through Time
I dipped my brush into the powder blue paint, and ran the edges across the lip of my paint can to remove any excess. The brush felt heavy in my hand as I reached up to swipe it across the old wood once more. I had painted half a wall in the run down barn on our land. My arthritic fingers throbbed from the labor, so I balanced the brush carefully across the can’s rim to give myself a break.
By Shelby Rider5 years ago in Fiction
Iron Scales
His feet ached. Isaac and about a dozen others like him had trekked from Lafayette, Louisiana to the borders of Texas. Three hundred miles on foot; barefoot. They were accompanied by four overseers over the course of five days, occasionally being tossed an apple along the way to keep their energy up.
By Joachim Mizrahi 5 years ago in Fiction
The Rose
~ June 12, 1637 ~ The tavern door opened, and everyone braced themselves against the chilling wind and rain. An unseasonable cold front had moved through the area. Through the door came a big man, whose size seemed to make his own door as he entered sideways. He quickly shut the door, pulled off his hood and surveyed the people in the room. Through the darkness and smoke, he saw the woman behind the bar. He was not interested in anyone else.
By James Bell5 years ago in Fiction
