0: Nameless Faces

Submitted by Heather Jones on Sat, 12/01/2018 - 22:59

The world is made up of much more than brave heroes and spineless fools. Every person in every land, of every color, of every psyche - cold or hot, black or white, sad or glad, good or ill - are part of a great story; a rolling, thundering epic, starring nameless faces and every soul who has ever inhaled even a single breath. Invisible people you'll never meet, forgotten by time, stolen away in a gust of wind just outside of your temporal reach.

Shards of Color Flickered Part 2

Submitted by Aurelia on Mon, 10/22/2018 - 06:14

“I don’t like the feel of these woods,” Darcy said offhandedly.

She said it more to cut the tension than anything, because they were walking along, single file and silent, between foreboding trees laced with dark moss that made what light could struggle through very dim. Darien rolled his eyes at her, because they had walked far worse paths before without flinching, but Miaela gave her a grateful look for saying what they were all thinking.

“It’s not far now,” Morgan told them defensively.

Shards of Color Flickered

Submitted by Aurelia on Tue, 10/16/2018 - 17:48

Once upon a time, fairies roamed the land side by side with humans, the only obvious difference the flecks of changing color in their eyes.

That was a very long time ago now.

Once upon a more recent time, there was a brother and sister. Their names were Darien and Darcy, and they traveled the land, having adventures and rescuing people and generally having a good time. Generally.

They wore contacts that made their eyes dark blue.

The Color Black

Submitted by Libby on Thu, 04/19/2018 - 06:26

I didn’t want to go to school. None of us did, not even Bud, who loved his books. They told us that Rain Valley School was integrated—whites and blacks, all learning under the same roof, taught by the same teacher—a white teacher. At Faith Baptist School in California, segregation was law. We were taught in the black building, and they were taught in the white one.

The Evil Laugh of Arthur

Submitted by James on Tue, 01/12/2016 - 05:47

The evil laugh of Arthur
Descended down the stair;
It made the night seem darker,
And warned me to beware...

Lest craziness engulf me,
Consuming all my brain:
And nothing then be left me,
Save conscience gone insane.

The evil laugh of Arthur
It fills this house's halls,
When he's up late, much farther
Than wisdom e're allows.

His friends will moan, thus pleading,
"Oh, Arthur, please, forbear!
Cease and desist thy leading,
Of all unto despair!"

A Campout in the Woods (the Sequel to "A Hunt in the Woods")

Submitted by j. Glen pollard on Fri, 11/15/2013 - 00:55

Yesterday, I took my little sister to the woods for the night. We were supposed to sleep in our small but sturdy tent. A summer wind blew across our hot and tired face.

As we walked to find a perfect spot, my sister let out a loud and horrified scream. She jumped up and down till I grabbed her by her small hands and calmed her down. She told me she just saw an ugly dwarf behind a creepy tree.

He Never Stopped, a Short Story

Submitted by Kay J Fields on Sat, 08/03/2013 - 19:25

(Author's Note: I don't write many short stories, but my local writing group had a prompt for the first line of a story, and I took it and used it, along with a germ of an idea taken from an Andrew Peterson song, Coral Castle,"'I don't need her love to love her all I can." I love the way it turned out, one of the few shorts I'm actually proud of. Enjoy! ~Kay)



Submitted by Hannah W. on Thu, 05/06/2010 - 16:23

**Two poems, unrelated except for they both have something to do with North, and both were written while I listened to a song called North. 1 is inspired by a character from a novel I'm working on, and 2 is just part of an idea that may one day become a novel, who knows.**

And There Were Three: Chapter Eighteen

Submitted by Clare Marie on Sat, 09/26/2009 - 18:16

"Settle down, Elinor.  My poor head can hardly think with all your gibbering."

Eltar and Elinor were spending a few quiet hours in their room, waiting for the pouring rain to cease; rather, Eltar was trying to do so, and Elinor was making it impossible.  Since Bettle had sent messengers to Emperor Armir of the Elves, her tongue would not stop clacking, chattering about what elves were like, and what they wear, and what their manners are, and what they eat.  A magpie would soon grow weary of her talk, to her brother's mind.