Excerpt
Water
As a boy, I lived close to a raging river. If I kept my bedroom window open at night I could hear the waters tumbling over and over as they roared and rumbled into infinity, for not a half mile from my home an enormous waterfall thundered over a high cliff forming a deep swirling pool of dark water on the rocks below. This river was said to be fed by a hundred streams.
By Dan Glover4 years ago in Fiction
Acceptance
At one time I worked for a factory owned by a big corporation. I was in charge of making sure production goals were met each month. Everyone in the factory knew my name. I was the one they would come to when trouble brewed. I could be counted on. People called me mister and sir.
By Dan Glover4 years ago in Fiction
Guilt (Chapter 1 Only)
Guilt wasn’t usually a problem that a do-gooder would’ve had, right? They wouldn’t get torn apart over events they couldn’t change. They would smile just as much on the inside as they do on the outside. A good person wouldn’t have to keep looking over their shoulder, watching and waiting until either the hidden enemy wins or someone chooses to bail them out.
By Samantha Rhyalynn Hendrix4 years ago in Fiction
TALKING ROCK TALES
Granite and Sandi Stone "I was the foundation of the everything, you know." Grani let out a deep sigh. The sparkles that were his eyes flickered so that anyone far below or far away could see him. Sandy, who sat right at his feet, sighed along with her friend. They were much alike. Alike, except that Grani had been here longer. Grani had been pushed from the far distances up north. He had seen the place called, THE BOWELS and even had stories to tell about the time the COLD CUT came across. He had truly been around in time. With time, he had grown harder than anything Sandi could imagine.
By CarmenJimersonCross4 years ago in Fiction
The White Ripper
4. In her upscale home in the gated community of Rinconada Hills in Los Gatos in Silicon Valley, a home she deleted from Google Maps and Map Quest, cyber genius Vicky Volker sat before her three computer screens and searched the Internet for the next racist pig or pigs for Clyde to kill.
By Keith Seewald4 years ago in Fiction
Dear Mutti
Saturday, October 9, 1937 Dear Mama, I’ve started working. I was able to start working within the first few days after Eitan was fired. It’s hard being a working woman. I’m always so tired, but obviously that’s just par for course these days. Eitan has been staying home with Ruth while I work, so I’m glad we didn’t have to get someone else to watch her. We wouldn’t be able to afford it, which is why I’ve always stayed home with her.
By Emery Pine4 years ago in Fiction
Synth: Chapter 1
Sometimes, two people, from opposite ends of the Earth, from drastically different lives, find themselves in the same place at the same time. There’s something that led them there. Maybe it was a niggle within them, an intuitive pull that made no sense. Or if you were Klara Kraljev, it was a need for a cosy little nook in a cafe in Copenhagen where she could read to the percussion of baristas making coffees, the scent of the fresh brews mixed with toasted sandwiches-to-go, the sight of locals coming and going. She adored observing people from behind her latest read. Their clothes, their mannerisms, their usual orders; whether they greeted the barista with a grumble, whilst on their phone, or with a boisterous hello followed by a rundown of their last twenty-four hours. Some people observe, and then forget about what they saw. Klara observed, and used what she saw as inspiration for characters in her own novels. Perhaps it was the way someone did their hair one day, or it was the conversation they had with their friend as they waited for their order to be ready, or it was the ideas these real-life characters prompted in Klara’s mind when they walked out the door and into the rest of their day. She loved to guess where they would go, what they would do, the sort of people they would meet on their travels. It baffled her that there were people who didn’t do the same, who didn’t constantly have plots, ideas, conversations between characters in her head, or spur of the moment ideas at 1am for a new novel idea. What went on in their brains instead?
By Monique Kostelac4 years ago in Fiction
Healing
Excerpt from the book I'll never write #8 It was a cold Monday morning. The kind that almost felt cruel as the chill seeped into the skin underneath the layers of fabric. Christine had not experienced this for as long as she could remember. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept through the night and woke rested. It was as if she had spent the last 12 months in a limbo-state. She was only half there for the last 365 days. The pain kept her awake most nights and only medication could send her to sleep. More often than not though, she would wake not feeling rested. Waking slowly off medication is not the same nor is it as nice as waking to the golden morning light. The understated shadows that were being formed by the shutter style blinds told her it was mid morning. The birds chirping that once annoyed her now held contentment and delight. She felt calm, content and desire. Desire of wanting to get up and face the day. Even if it was just for a cup of tea.
By Chiara Ann Vicary4 years ago in Fiction
Intrinsic Knowledge
They had reached a mutual agreement. An agreement that would alter both their lives for the rest of their lives. A functional family business carried generation to generation is the dream of many American families... families not much unlike theirs. For a parent to have a son or daughter follow in his or her footsteps is a century old tradition representative of familial pride. Surely, the bond struck here in the auspicious sterility of her kitchen would be no less than those of earlier entrepreneurial families. always eager to please their every whim, to meet their approval by any means necessary. Now, her recently regained father, the missing link in her life had come to her unsought... self motivated... self-determined asking her to come into business with him. This, in her opinion, was the highest honor a child could receive. The opportunity of being ally...cohort in an already successful business operated by one's parent. She intuitively gathered all information readily accessible to her in this elated state. Questions of intent and predetermined matters of business flew rampantly through her mind.
By CarmenJimersonCross4 years ago in Fiction
