Dec 05

Ten Days of Winter, 1892

Editor's note: In the 11+ years of this site, I have shared only a couple of things on the belief that this is your site, not mine. But I am sharking this because, well, becaue I thought you might like to read/listen to it and, also, to see that some stories take a long time to develop. I'd love some feedback -- this is your chance! :) 

I wrote this piece of fiction for Winter Tales 2017 and it was presented by Vermont Stage in its shows Dec. 6-10, 2017 at FlynnSpace. (It also was going to be presented at a similar winter story show in East Montpelier on Dec. 16.)

Audio download:
TenDaysofWinter1892.mp3
Feb 13

The House

NOTE: This is part of the Sprout1 Challenge. This piece was written by an anonymous writer during Vermont Writes Day, and we loved how it started us thinking. How about you? If you would like to extend this story, please click the SPROUT button below and continue it. If you find lots of sprouts, and we hope you will over time, and you like where someone else has taken this, sprout that post. Have fun. And we thank whoever posted this on vermontwritesday.org on Friday, Feb. 10, 2017. (We have made a few edits, by the way.)
Feb 13

The Pendant

NOTE: This is part of the Sprout1 Challenge. This piece was written by an anonymous writer during Vermont Writes Day, and we loved how it started us thinking. How about you? If you would like to extend this story, please click the SPROUT button below and continue it. If you find lots of sprouts, and we hope you will over time, and you like where someone else has taken this, sprout that post. Have fun. And we thank whoever posted this on vermontwritesday.org on Friday, Feb. 10, 2017. (We have made a few edits, by the way.)

The old iron bell jangles as I step into the familiar shop. I wave to the owner, a kindly old gentleman, who smiles at me as he always does and says hello. He seems to appreciate my visits, even though I don't often buy anything. 

I make my way through a maze of old bookshelves and chairs, paintings, vases and other miscellaneous objects. I know almost all of it by memory and can tell whenever the store has sold something. 
Jun 18
H20.hollym's picture

Discovery of Strength

How to get home safely in a thunderstorm?
You're 3 miles away- clutching the slick metal frame of your bike as the thunderclouds collide sending tremors worming their way into the small spaces where the worry lies.

Burn it all in the pumping of your legs; feet pressed to the bike pedals.

When the car you don't see speeds out from the garage opening to your side, know later the non-magic of your nerves that drove you to clutch your brakes in a quick-instant; all blinding and fast like the strike of lightning above your head. Y
ou found a difference between your and the lightnings' moment of action.
You discovered the scale of consistency; reliability:
your taught muscles vs. the thin puddle gathered on the concrete; you launch the water droplets into the air.
The human force is a controlled cycle-
and you
are where yours begins
and ends.
Jun 17
Foxface's picture

To you

Walking down the path to my shcool sudenly a peice of paper flutters on to the pavement it reads 
Dear to whoo it my consern 
Run amd never return 

 
Jun 15

Starman

STAR
   I come from the stars.
   No, really, I do.
   I remember what it was like up there, shining so brightly along with all the other stars.
   We were family.
   Then, one day, my star fell. At least that is what I think happened. That is what it felt like…
   I woke up one day, just a small child lying beneath a tree. I was found by a policeman, and was soon adopted by an elderly couple. At first, I thought that everyone had once been stars, just like me. I soon realized that this was not the case. As far as I knew, I was the only Starman on earth.
 
BIRTHDAY
Jun 14
Balletdancer1010's picture

Israel-A Romeo and Juliet

Jun 14
Balletdancer1010's picture

Israel-A Romeo and Juliet

Jun 14
Balletdancer1010's picture

Israel- A Romeo and Juliet Story

Amir
It was a beautiful day. A sky that was as blue as a caribbean ocean. Clouds like mounds of cotton balls. Perfect weather for the wrong day.
This was something I had been planning for a while. Written every detail in my old, brown leather notebook. It was all I had thought about for months. I was going to end with a bang. Was I ready? No. Could my actions hurt many people, most of all me? Yes.







Comment if you want to read the rest!
Jun 14
Kikiclimbs05's picture

I am

I am trailing my fingers along the wall, tired, going home
I am sucking my on finger, the scratch made from a loose brick, sticking out from the wall
I am rememerbing all of the novels I've read, with the ladies who hide notes to their lovers behind crumbling, loose bricks
I am pulling the brick out, watching a piece of paper no bigger that a post-it fluttering to the ground
I am picking it up, unfolding it, smoothing it out
I am reading it
I am dropping the note, running home
I am reading the words. over and over again in my head
Go away, Natasha. You and your fantasy books, your swirling desires. I never loved you, Natasha Greene, and I know that you loved me, you sad pathetic excuse for a lover.
I am walking up to my house, The house that has Greene written on it in swirling calgiraphy over the front door
I am getting my key out, door opening already
I am hugging, being hugged

Jun 12
fiction 0 comments challenge: Key

The Key

I first realize I am alive when the hammer first comes down on me.  I look at myself through a mirror someone has put in front of me. I am glowing hot and the size of your hand.  The hammer comes down again pounding me into a flat square of metal. Then the person that was hammering me leaves.  I am left alone in the dark, cold room where the blacksmith does his work. It is a long night and in the morning I get bored.   Then some while later the blacksmith comes back down and works on other pieces of metal. Then he puts me in a box with other metal squares and seals the box.  It is dark for what seems like a lifetime, but then since I was only made yesterday it probably is. After what must be days there is a ripping noise. A finger of light streams down on us. Then blinding lights are above us as we slide out of the box.  Then rough fingers are on me taking me up and out of that dark box and laying us in rows on the counter. Then he leaves us and starts unpacking another box.
Jun 12

The Night Of The Union

I hear the bells from across the hill.  They are ringing and ringing. A fire. I can’t imagine what it would be like.  To wake up to find tongues of flames surrounding me. I feel sorrow for them. All the fires that have been in Dorne Valley this summer are uncountable.  It's just so dry here that it's hard to breathe. Then there is the union who always run around and set fires. It's a hard life out here and there is nothing any of us can do.  So we just have to make the best of what is left.

 
Jun 12
Foxface's picture

Why


Why write well that is a question that deserves an explanation why do I sit in a corner or up a tree with a notepad well I write to inspire I write to find a new world that nobody ever knew existed but most of all  write to find myself.I have never published anything but I have watched my Teacher read out loud stories to my class and the look on their faces the wonder and amazement from the story the twists and turns from the plot is all the feeling I need to know how those writers feel when they publish their books.
 
Jun 12
Foxface's picture

When


Dear the person who finds this letter,

I live in 2018 and my best guess is that Mr.Trump has confirmed a idiotic president and he wants to  build a wall did he? I hope you find a way to write back and that everyone is ok I also hope we stopped climate change and corruption.

HOPE is the only thing we have left other than a fallen government and people trying to stop school shootings and cancer.Will we all die from the sun or people killing each other.

Have we all died or is this not even getting read.

I hope we are all ok and alive.

From Unknown

 
 
Jun 11
Supersonisoph's picture

People of The Future

Jun 11
Supersonisoph's picture

People of The Future

Jun 11
Larrylovscats's picture

FRIENDS STICK TOGETHER

Jun 05
Phruskoci's picture

Maybe If

I have a pretty simple life. A great family: mom, dad, brother, sister. Great friends. Great activities: spring play, choir, Model UN. I’ve always been one of those people that people look up to: after all, I’m a straight A student, actually, no, I’m a straight A+ student with the occasional A. I’m successful with everything I do, and I try to be nice to everyone. But, uh, I don’t have a boyfriend. Of course, I’ve had crushes. Lots of them. I’ve texted guys, talked to guys, but I’m a generally awkward person and I’m not the prettiest one by all means. I fall into that wierd social category, and let me know if you know what I mean, where there’s the really popular pretty girls above me, and then there’s the not so popular, quiter, nerdy girls below me. So, of course the popular pretty girls all have boyfriends and the quiter, nerdy girls do to. They have their relationships with their friends. And then there’s me, in this akward place in the middle. Rung 5 on the social ladder.
Jun 04

The Note


March 18, 1934

I run, the wind stinging my face.  I want t get home fast because today my best friend from preschool is coming home.  We haven’t seen each other for 2 years since 5th grade. I run down the alley in between two walls of bricks.  I notice something as I am running so I slow down. I notice that there is a brick missing from the wall in its place is a piece of paper rolled so tightly you wouldn’t see it if it weren’t for the little edge sticking out.   I pulled it out and read it. It said:
Up in a tree

Captured by he
Stuck all alone

Never came home
Hope is lost

But not quite forgot
I took the note home to read again later and hurried on my way.  It was strange how I had found the note the day my friend was coming home. I later realized that it wasn’t the day that she came home, it was the day she didn’t.  
March 19, 1934
Jun 04
Kvance's picture

The first time

the 
The first time

By: Keegan Vance

 As she walked into the living room of her sons house. I could tell she was nerves and exited, she looked it. She was seeing her grandson maddox for the first.

Her husband paul and son michael where there to. I could tell she was thinking that her son was going to be a great dad. At that momentall she could think about was her son michael beening a little boy. Time flashed befor her michael was all grown up with his own little boy.

     It was very exiting for her, she was crying with exitment as she looked at maddox and counted his ten little fingers, he was just perfect.

 As her son walked in to the living room her eyes lit up, he was so cute he had big blue eyes and dark brown hair.