Fable

Red
Little Red Riding Hood cocked the hammer on her .38 special and took aim at the pretty splotch of crimson painted on Wolf’s chest.
By Patti Larsen4 years ago in Fiction
In search of a better metaphor
When I was a boy, I learned the tale of the Boy Who Cried Wolf. It served me as a lesson in the value of telling the truth.
By Marc Beam4 years ago in Fiction
McGreevy's Death
"So he yelled out to death, he leaned his head way back and cupped hands over his mouth and the noise started out right under his belly and rolled around gathering strength. The noise climbed slow, up and up, not holding back at all but rather building momentum and power until it blasted out of his throat nearly dragging his lungs out behind it in the sheer power of the expelled air. He said:
By David Bulley4 years ago in Fiction
Love Lost
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away there lived a witch. One day she was visited by a very, handsome, young prince, who was lost in her forest and looking for his princess. The witch invited him in to have a cup of tea and a snack, while she drew him a map and sent him on his way. As she watched him and drew the map to an enchanted cabin that she had at the edge of the forest, she fell more and more in love with this charming prince. She knew that he would never love her, but she wanted just 24 hours with him to try to get him to know the real person that she was instead of the witch that he saw. So she sent him to the other cabin with an apple and a wish for a safe journey to find all that he ever wanted. She watched him ride off with true love in her heart and a plan in her head. She drank a potion that made her into a beautiful princess, then waved her wand which landed her in her enchanted cabin. It was far enough into the woods, to make the prince think he was lost again, so he knocked on the door to ask directions. When she opened the door, his eyes got wide with amazement at the beauty before him. Instead of directions, he asked for a glass of water because he was so parched from such a long journey from his kingdom.
By T. K. Wilson4 years ago in Fiction
Sacre' bleu, C'est un Loup Garou!
When I was a child, camping out in the deep rural Maine wilderness was nothing short of magical. It always began by stepping off of the bus on the last day of school to see our old station wagon packed to the gills with camping gear and supplies. It seemed like my feet had barely touched the ground before the old Buick's heavy door thunked closed behind me, and we began the long journey to Old Town and beyond.
By J. A. Rossignol4 years ago in Fiction
Tales of a Wicked Fox
October nights are always silver in rain clouds and mountain mist. It carries the bitter death of suns and the edges of swords flicking in starlight. Slow drags of incense and steam curl from stone teapots while paper lanterns and paper dolls decorate the windowsills. They sound like teeth cracking open a forbidden elixir and silver skirts trailing against whitened grass, like the sigh of the moon creaking under the weight of a mortal-made-divine woman as her hands reach down for her lover. October nights are the thin smoke of burnt offerings, silver tears of children, and tales spun from the mouths of wild foxes.
By alissa 4 years ago in Fiction
Fall chills
Pulling back my less-than-fresh sheets and flinging my resting legs, I stare. Amazed by the human's internal clock. How little it knows and how fast it learns. The cold that stalked me throughout the night nips and pinches at my skin. It begs, it wants my warmth. What remains of my cocoon is slowly falling into its trap. My enticing bed begs me to return, to save it from the stealthy killer.
By Rambler's Society4 years ago in Fiction
Lisa The Parrot
"You need to calm down." Said Tom Goat; Lisa's husband, when Lisa the Parrot got the news that her only daughter who lives in the next city was very sick and had a short time to live because the disease was incurable. No one knew what this disease was all about. Poor Lisa wept and prayed then decided to visit her daughter. She was a very poor middle-aged woman and had nothing to carry to her dying daughter but an egg. She said to her husband Tom, "At least let me take this egg to her, let her eat before she has her final rest." She decided to take the route through the farms to reach early.
By Ngenwuthe4 years ago in Fiction
Achilles and Penthesilea
Young Pelides, whose hands yet reeked with death, Having purloined Troy’s finest son of breath, Beheld Patroclus’ husk in flames consumed,
By Kyle McDonald4 years ago in Fiction
The next life
I was healthy enough to you know live a little longer at least. But now I'm stuck here in what they call "limbo" giving therapy sessions to restless souls so that they may have the chance to move on or go into the light. I was told that by doing this I will learn the reason of why I'm still here. In all honesty, I don't think I'm making any progress.
By The normal mom4 years ago in Fiction
Cloud Ants and Deluge
Ants seldom admit defeat, and they never surrender to death. All other manner of Things That Crawl would be consumed by the rising river when the rains come; indeed, a falling gob of rain alone may crush a butterfly and doom her to drown.
By MA Snell4 years ago in Fiction
Clouds
Jason loved watching the clouds he could spend hours doing it all day. He could name all the different kinds as well. Turning them into shapes that were not really there. Or were they? In his mind they were always there. Pitted against the dark background. And turned into something that he could see forever. They floated on there own currents up there in the sky and sometimes they were mean. As in a terrifying thunderstorms. Bouncing around each other. And meaningful complications that they possessed.
By Alex Jennett4 years ago in Fiction