Fantasy
The Old Barn
Old Barn House I Can believed we left the big city to move to the middle of nowhere! Couldn’t gran just leave us money like all the other old people do. What the hell were we going to do with a farm? The closest I’ve come to wild animals is seeing pigeons on the subway and in the streets, and I know better than to mess with those crazy birds. Why on earth would she think we could handle a farm? Of course, my gran went batshit crazy with dementia or something in her teens, so I guess its her attorney to blame.
By Geralene S5 years ago in Fiction
The Life of a Barn
I am old now, but I remember the day I was born. I was built close to a pretty farmhouse. A dozen men in overalls hammering and painting for days in the cold. I was new and fresh, a traditional red barn with white beams and a little window above the double doors. Inside hay was laid out for animals who would call me their home. To the right, along the wall were small stables for the larger tenants and one large, open stable to the left for birthing babies and roaming chickens. I never understood why the chickens were able to roam, and the horses and cows were trapped in a tiny cabinet. There was a loft up top that held extra food and hay. It took a ladder to reach it. I had an incredible view. In front, I saw a pretty, white fence, and behind it, green hills and quaint dirt roads tangled and looped through each other. The sun shone into the small top window, and the rays were spliced into dozens more that lit the home of these creatures.
By Jessica Mathews5 years ago in Fiction
The Old Barn's Photo Session
Lily was laying on her back, taking pictures of wildflowers from underneath. She was trying to capture the sunlight through the petals. She was also patiently and peacefully watching the clouds as they went by, waiting for the perfect, puffy backdrop. Her back began to ache, and the sunlight was no longer revealing the intimate details. So she packed up her equipment and headed out.
By Ted Lacksonen5 years ago in Fiction
The Attack on Ardholm
Lucas Cainswright shifted his weight uneasily on the tree branch he was perched upon, squinting against the setting sun. He had been up here for hours and, despite his most fervent wishes, had exhausted all pretenses of a comfortable watch when night had begun to fall. He distinctly remembered Joss telling him this would be a simple reconnaissance mission. "Just a quick there and back." he'd said. The fact that Joss had bribed Lucas with free weapons-work without provocation should have tipped him off. Instead, here he was, in the dead of night, some eighty feet off the ground, still watching the settlement that lay a half-mile to the north.
By Chris Restoule5 years ago in Fiction
Welcome To The Summer School Barn Party
We are holding a summer barn party at my barn based in England for the parents of my son's school. There is no dress-code, but feel free to dress as you wish. We all need to let our hair down after a long term of country school runs. Early morning stints on the early morning country roads is more intense at times than city traffic. Well, you can't really move a herd of cows faster than they want to go. Huge tractors cannot get into another lane easily and there tend to be no lanes, apart from one lane with two way traffic. Watch out you don't end up in a ditch. There is a certain skill in countryside living. I have tried all sides of the coin from city high risers to country estates. Now it's time to bring you into my country barn for a Summer Party is on the cards. It's the end of term, coming soon.
By Yvette Louise Melech5 years ago in Fiction
Aunt Millie's Warning
‘Sandra, where are you going?’ Millie asked out of breath and five steps behind her twin. ‘Here,’ she called back. Up ahead of them was the old barn their parents said they could never go into, but Sandra was a daredevil. She just had to go where she’d been told she couldn’t. Millie was more than a little frightened, she knew what went bump in the night, and their parents never told them why they couldn’t go into the barn. It’d also been at the centre of every horror story Sandra ever told.
By Karen Eastland 5 years ago in Fiction
