Nov 09
22donam's picture

This guy asked me to join his club

"Mate, this guy just asked me yesterday if I wanted to join his club."

"Woah, what'd ya say?"

"Well obviously I asked him what it was about, you know?"

"Don't tell me it was some kinda cult or somethin' freaky like that."

"Geez no, he said it was a book club."

"Oh yeah? Sounds chill."

"And then I asked him if you could come, cause I thought you would love to go."

"Aww that's sweet."

"But then this jerk is like "No way your friend's got issues" 





"Haha oml, thanks for that"

"No problem mate, anyone that's got beef with you has got beef with me"
Oct 19

The Jump

The Jump
My feet crunched the snow as my thick boots led me toward the hill. It was mid-winter, a warmer day than most, and the tramping was making my forehead sweat. My friend Clementine was ahead of me, my short legs and puffy snowsuit weighing me down-and slowing me down. Finally, I reached the top of the hill. I sat down, not caring if my butt got wet or not. Mindlessly, my mittens picked up a ball of snow and packed it evenly. This was the best packing snow of the winter. It was the perfect mixture of wet and fluffy, a combination rare at least to Vermont. Judson, another friend, was thinking the same thing.
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:
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 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 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 27
fiction challenge: Rescuer
geno's picture

Peter and the Fox

It was believed by the citizens of the city that this forest was the best of them all. There were a handful of trails, and each one was long and safe. It was the perfect hiking trail for a family that had no experience in hiking -- a tourist attraction for the ones that were new. The odd part about one of the trails was that there was a path that led up a mountain. It was a mountain that was tall and dangerous. It was an unspoken rule of the people of the town to not go on this trail. There were sections without railing, and the risk was far greater than the reward. There were only two types of people who went up the mountain: the ones that didn't know anything about the trail, and the bravest hikers with years of experience. This family was the first kind.
Jun 21
fiction challenge: Rescuer
miss_phee's picture

The Crow Father

    It wasn’t supposed to be like this. After all, Dad promised that it’d be a short walk. It’d be over soon.

    I should learn that all of his words are nothing more than empty lies to fill the void of his heart. Family bonding trips are the worst thing that could ever grace this world, especially when your mom forced you to be with your deadbeat father, to try to mend the bond that was previously shattered. 

    He went to get the milk and didn’t come back one too many times. Too embarrassed to show his face around after it turned out his son and only child didn’t have any notable power to speak of. After all, my dad is an avian hybrid. Beautiful golden wings protruding from my dad’s back showed that. It shone perfectly in every angle of the light. That’s probably one of the reasons why my dad became a model. A superficial, shallow model.
Jun 21
fiction challenge: Writing 2022

Hugo and the Shadow

From a distance, way out on one of the shaky space matter found in the Kuiper Belt nearby Neptune, the earth had looked pretty and pristine when the aliens were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of it from the night sky. Initially, flitting through the dark their little white spaceship privately owned, the Flimlite family had become nearly ecstatic at the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to travel to planet Earth.

They’d been given the wonderful opportunity because of Ambassador Flimlite’s authority and royal status. Now, however, thought young Hugo the alien, Earth was really quite ugly. When the family arrived, they were privately escorted into a glimmering rococo mansion, where they settled in and set off to observe the strange planet.

As he was too young to explore, Hugo remained crumpled in his room day after day, forced to succumb to every one of his father, the Ambassador’s, rules, although boredom overwhelmed him.
Jun 21

Into the mushroom forest we go

Jun 18
fiction challenge: Fable

The Village

Deep in an earthy valley of roots and trees
Sat a small village of burrows and dens
Wildlife of all kind called the village home
From deer to fishercat to little house wrens

A happy family of white-tailed deer
Lived in the bustling center of the town
A happy mother, father, and a curious young
Who, peculiarly, often bore a frown

She wandered through the village
On one bright summer morning
To play with some hopeful friends
Colors and beauty they were adorning

Yet today as the deer took a risk
And considered playing with others new
They merely gawked at her appearance
She would have stayed away if only she'd knew

However, determined to fit in
With the pretty-appearing crowd
She marched away into the forest
Her soft footsteps never loud
On a mission she was for beauty
Just wanted to become one of them
She searched the trees and the leaves
Jun 17
fiction challenge: Writing 2022

Seeds of Hope

The time of sitting crumpled at a desk had finally come to a close as she skipped from the school's wide doorway into the luscious daylight. The sun sprinkled down on the pressure and stress, vanishing it with its glow. Although summer seemed open and wide and perfect for being outside and letting go, she found herself sitting crumpled, once more, on the old cushy couch, gazing at a screen again. She wished she had something to be inspired by, for skipping around in the forest was wonderful, but the lack of motivation slowly tore out her remaining ounces of happiness as she succumbed. Just out the window, the garden was empty. Layers of yellowed hay blanketed its surface, and little pouches of seeds sat on a near, waiting.
Jun 15
fiction challenge: Message

golden boy

you know, i always thought he had it easy. compared to me, anyway. like, think about it. our parents weren't planning on two kids, they only wanted one, and they had this big dream of the perfect kid. the kind of kid you see on television. good at sports, they probably were planning when mom was pregnant. but the right kind of sports, of course. they should play an instrument. they should be a senator, like your grandpa, carrying the family legacy. they should be smart. they should be sophisticated. they should listen to us because parents are right, of course, and the kid'll know that. 

they got that kid, alright. just came with an unwanted passenger. 

here is the dilemma: if you have two children, and one of them is everything you wished for, and the other is . . . decidedly not, how do you treat them? 

my parents' decision: pretend they don't exist. 

Jun 14

Mae Potter a Harry Potter fan-fiction part two!

Part two

Mae’s last month with the Coopers was strange. They still cared for her, but it was clear they were keeping some distance. Mae kept to her room, not sure how to explain Hogwarts to her muggle parents. She had a calendar on which she was counting down the days to September first. On the last day of august, mea decided she better speak to the Coopers about getting to kings cross the next day. So she went downstairs to the living room, where Ms. and Mr. Cooper were watching the evening news.
“Mom, Dad?”
They turned to look at Mae, turning down the volume on the tv. 
    “Would it be ok if you gave me a lift to kings cross tomorrow at 11?” Mae asked, hope plain on her tan face. 


“Why?” Mr. Cooper asked


    “My ticket for Hogwarts says to board the Hogwarts Express at 11:00 at king cross. Station 9 and three quarters.”
    “Never heard of that station, but if your ticket says that, yes I can”
Jun 14

Mae Potter a Harry Potter fanfiction


Alice and Myles Cooper were fairly normal people, they led pretty boring lives.

Ms. Cooper volunteered for their church every week. She was tall and blond. Mr Cooper worked for a housing company. He was short and very annoyed about it, although his hair made up for a few inches. The cooper had a son who was in college. 


One day Ms. Cooper woke up early, she looked out the window and saw an owl sitting on her garden wall.  Huh? She thought. Ms. Cooper pulled out her computer and brought up the website of the local adoption organization, Ms. Cooper kept coming back to this one girl. She seemed to be around five years old, her hair was black and everywhere, her eyes were a brilliant green and there was a dusting of freckles over her nose. Ms. Cooper read the description, Mae Potter, five years old, born July 2. 

Ms. Cooper shook Mr. Cooper awake. 
“I want to meet Mae.” 
“Today?” Mr. Cooper blinked.
Jun 14


Little Red's basket lay discarded on the ground. Her bonnet twenty paces further, a slashing of cloak twenty paces after that. It was only natural that the village would pronounce her dead. Another year, another girl lost. Her family would mourn, yes, but the mother was young and the father was blessed with three sons, so they weren't heartbroken, just mildly peeved. 
Jun 13
fiction challenge: Message
miss_phee's picture


Journal #1: 

The letter was sent to me early this morning. It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light either. The paper was almost yellowing, as if the ink slowly sucked the life out of the paper to give its stems, its words vitality. The black ink popped out of the page, but the ink was also runny, and there were a few splotches of something. I don’t know what. Tears? 

Awful. The letter was awful. It was sent to me early this morning, and yet I took the entire day to just open it. It’s dark. It’s cold. I don’t want this letter. I don’t want it. You can’t make me.  

Journal #2: 

I read the obituary this morning. The air was fresh. The moss was dewey and soft under my feet. This place is calm. Peaceful, even. I should come back more often. The light shines right on my face and warms it up, but my feet are still cold. Why are my feet cold. What good would it do to have my feet cold? 
Jun 07

Calliope's Odyssey Chapter 1

I walk through my garden in the chilly night air. Shivering, I look longingly back towards my house, wishing I could just grab a cardigan from my room and be done with it.

But then I remember just how dire my situation is. I remember that I'm running away from home--from Mom and Dad, from my sister Abby, from everything I love. My clothes, my shoes, my books--even my diary, the thing that started this whole disaster in the first place. So I can't go back; not to grab a cardigan, not for anything. 

Suddenly, a light from inside blinds my vision. I see that my older sister, Abby, has turned on a lamp in her bedroom. I thought everyone had gone to sleep so I was in the clear, but I guess not.

Because Abby is staring right at me.
Jun 04


A butterfly sits on your shoulder. Its wings slowly, slowly open, slowly, slowly shut.

Joy is so much more worthy than we treat it as being. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I ask you.

I laugh, and it’s a little desperate, but it’s real.

Isn’t life better than death?

 Trust and happiness, than fear?

“I suppose,” you say.


Today, butterflies cover every inch of my arms and shoulders, my head and neck. Tiny spider-legs prick my arms but draw no blood, a spindle without sleep, joy with no repercussions, no fall to comment sardonically on the ascent. They tangle my hair and I am glad for it, for the wildness. I laugh, a church bell in the woods, tree-filtered dawn blossoming across my cheeks. 

This is what we should write about, I think, something warm and clear expanding like a balloon in my chest, lifting my feet, fluttering like silken wings brushing skin. 
Jun 01
fiction challenge: Writing 2022
ashleyvillanueva's picture

Dead by Daylight

I never imagined I would be face to face with the person who has done all of this. There’s blood. I hadn’t seen the image of blood on me in a long time. Was I doing it again? It was back. That fear was back. 

“There was another murder last night” sighed Sherriff John the second I stepped into the office.

 No response. I can’t bear living like this. I have to find them. 

“Another night with no luck I suppose, by the look on your face” murmured Sheriff John. 

“I just don't get it. Why are they doing all this? Who are they? When will they stop?” I exclaimed.  

I can't deal with this anymore. It was finally getting to me. All the stress and agony were building up.

 “It’s every night now. There has to be a pattern” I persuaded the Sheriff. 

At that exact moment, it hit me. It had to be done. I have to do what I have to do in order to figure this out.
Jun 01

Secrets of the Lake

"Why?" Anna screamed, staring at the lake below. The cool, clear surface rippled. No sign of Iris. No sign of anyone or anything, let alone her sister.

Anna casted her eyes towards the rock on the side of the lake, its gray surface shiny from the ceaseless rain. It was at least ten feet high, towering above Anna's measely five. Iris was that tall, too. How could she have been so stupid, climbing that rock? Near a deeper-than-deep lake, in the middle of a stronger-than-strong thunderstorm?