Mystery
Whispering Death (part 2)
Drina repeated the name in her thoughts. Hestar, it was a beautiful name. Silently they stared at one another, Hestar slowly leaning in closer towards her lips. The view of her beauty was all she could see at that moment. Her lips were full and lush, calling Drina to taste them. All Drina could hear was the pounding of her heartbeat and the soft stir of Ocan beside her. Ocan! Turning her head, pulled away from Hestar to check if her sister was still asleep. Thankfully she had readjusted as Drina let out her held breath. It was not as if she held it secret from her sister for her attraction to other women, it was more that she needed to be wary of her emotions. To kiss Hestar might aid her in unleashing her powers and after having them crammed deep within her could be dangerous. Ocan was a reminder of her need to continue to protect her.
By Turan Turnip5 years ago in Fiction
A Paper Parcel
Bright yellow daffodils brushed against the house in the wind. I could smell the sweet and subtle aroma, mixing with the dozens of other flowers in the garden, my garden. I had a lot of time on my hands as a widow, plenty of plants to be potted. The rest of the yard was sectioned off for various fruits and vegetables. The tomatoes were coming in lovely, plump and red. My tea was still hot and steaming and I dropped a couple sugar cubes in with a plop. The tinking teaspoon swirled around, spreading the sweetness. The first sip was always the most perfect, before it all settled. Everything was perfect, really. Only it didn’t feel that way, something was missing. I couldn’t put my finger on it for the longest until that day the world came crashing down on me.
By Kyle Shafer5 years ago in Fiction
The Day the Box Came
I remember the day the box came to us. All of us. It was the year 2026. Sixty years ago. I was 5 years old. Things had gotten really bad back then. Soon after news broke out about the existence of a new strain of coronavirus in 2024, an anonymous group of skilled computer hackers decided they had had enough. They chose to join forces and find a way to change things. This group ultimately gained access to every nation’s deepest, darkest secrets. For the next few weeks, new intel was daily released to the world. This intel was irrefutable proof of the existence of cures to every fatal ailment previously known to be incurable. That’s when the Sick Wars started.
By Kei'Jei Beretta5 years ago in Fiction
Secrets
Darcy stared at the clock, watching the second hand tick by with mechanical uniformity. The reliability of the mechanism soothed her nerves, contrasting starkly with the uncertainty of the task before her. Her attention had been glued to the clock since 7:04, when she'd poured herself a shot of whiskey and settled it purposefully on the table before her and beside a small, grubby package hastily folded in brown paper and tied with fraying twine. The face of the package was addressed in a neat handwriting Darcy hadn't seen in over twenty years.
By Rachelle Ray5 years ago in Fiction
The Arbiter
This is a continuation of the first Vocal Creators Saloon story. Before reading this installment, please be sure to read the first seven parts that precede it, each written by a different member of the Vocal Creators Saloon Facebook Group: Part 1: Knife Skills Part 2: The Right Thing Part 3: Death Has an Order Part 4: Karma Part 5: Best Laid Plans Part 6: The Devil's Glare Part 7: To Trust, or Not to Trust
By Sarahmarie Specht-Bird5 years ago in Fiction
Fast Forward
The precision of the fold was uncanny. Every corner came to a sharp point, every edge matched up perfectly to the adjacent one, every detail meticulously cared for and doted over. So much time was spent on the details of the wrapping. It was perfect! Oddly, with the care taken to obsessively ensure that the wrapping was pristine, the twine was carelessly wrapped around. First in a horizontal fashion and vertically, with the thread crossing itself on the bottom and hastily tied into a sloppy, uneven bow on the top. There was a layer of dust covering it. It had been sitting on that shelf for quite some time, untouched, unopened. I imagined lifting it off the shelf to reveal a diagonal facing rectangle shape where it had blocked the dust from the shelf. I wanted to blow the layer of dust off the top and examine the package more closely, but every time I would reach out to touch it, I was denied with a swift whack to my hand.
By C.L. Deslongchamp 5 years ago in Fiction
