powered by your voice
Feb 13
in fiction 0 Comments challenge: Sprout1

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.)

The night is dark and rainy, as usual in this part of the world. I live on an old cobblestone street. The houses are faded and aged, most have peeling paint and drooping porches. Most of the houses are separated only by a thin alley, and when you walk down them, your footsteps seem to echo. Each house, even my own, is gloomy in its own way, a sign of changing times. Once they heralded the vibrant life here, my parents say, when there were jobs and purpose, but now many are vacant and forgotten.
Feb 13
in fiction 0 Comments challenge: Sprout1

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. 
Jul 22


I want to go outside.
I want to go outside. Please.
Why do you want to go outside?
So I can play in the grass. So I can see all the bugs. So I can pick flowers to put in your hair.
In my hair?
Yeah, in your hair. I would decorate it with orange and purple flowers.
I could get you some flowers if you want.
I want to come with you though. I want to go outside.
Ok....we can go outside.
Let's go outside.
Jul 22
Ink Scribe's picture

To be named

I watched, transfixed, at the beauty before me. A woman with dark hair, her dress lit by the stage light, leapt into the air, did a spin followed by a gorgeous scissor leap, and landed gracefully on the stage. The music quickenened, and the soloist responded, flying into a series of jumps and turns that defied gravity. Her timing was perfect, her movements precise, the music lifting her, filling her, until she became a creature of the air. Her dance had the affect of a siren's song; no one could look away. I stared in awe as the woman turned to the audience and ended her performance, her passion flooding every inch of her face. And then the room thundered in applause, everyone cheering wildly in the opera as Yseult Vasseur left the stage.
Jul 21
Fiona Ella's picture

houseboat life - p30-40

oh, right: fair warning. mild language in this part. or mildly strong, depending on your standards/threshold. 



The home is tall and austere. Children mill about in the backyard, looking depressed.

I did grow up in care—if it’s any consolation, I didn’t lie about that bit.

A MAN and WOMAN appear at the gates. The man is tall and austere and angry-looking, the woman grey and narrow and vague. They beckon to YOUNG SADIE (8).

Only I did know my parents. They lived right down the road from the home. Picked it in particular because of that, to leave me on the doorstep of.


Conrad breaks in.

They could still face you after they abandoned you?

Sucks, don’t it? Some people are awful.

She’s still distant, and falls back into her story.


Sadie sits in an uncomfortable-looking armchair across from her parents. She’s older now, maybe 15. Her father sits across from her; his mouth moves soundlessly as he talks. He gets more and more animated during Nina’s voiceover.

Jul 21
in fiction, humor 0 Comments challenge: Wings
15hensandarooster's picture

Diving out of Illusion


It was the morning of my birthday. I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Here were the cracks, forming animals, birds, and flowers. There was even a sort of fairy, with wings of delicately caked plaster. How I longed to fly, like that fairy! If someone could give me a gift of WINGS!!! I imagined myself doing cartwheels in the air. Wohoo!!!

But, no one had invented gravity defying accessories for people, so it must just be a dream that lies deep in my heart.

I rolled over and stretched,  preparing to dress, comb my hair, and get ready for my birthday ‘surprise’ party, when something fell off the edge of my bed. I picked it up: was my brother littering the room with useless junk AGAIN?

I glanced at the paper. It was scribbled on with weird old-fashioned handwriting. It wasn’t my brother’s or anyone else’s I knew. Looking closely at the note, I read:

Hello, Lucky person.
You have hereafter claimed the MAGIC ability of KALUMARTIKA. You will have the ability to sprout wings! However, they will appear whenever anyone says fly.
The Monster of Paaparas

It must be a joke… Right?  But what if this is real magic?

“There’s no way to know except to test it out,” I concluded, my heart pounding with excitement and a tad bit of skepticism. This was the best birthday ever! I clutched the note in my hand and got ready for breakfast.
Jul 21
Fiona Ella's picture

houseboat life - p20-30

this is probably about where it starts getting messy and awful. just a warning. 


Nina gets off of the boat in a hurry, followed by Conrad and Etienne and Hazel, and then Charlotte.


The fire station is small and full of busy people. The door bangs open and Gemma Veale barges in.



Gemma pushes open the door of a disordered office.


IDA LAWSON, 29, a short and pugnacious brunette with a messy ponytail, looks up from her desk.


She doesn’t sound pleased.

That’s Mrs. Veale to you.

Gemma, Mrs. Veale, whatever. What
do you want?

I have a small favor to ask you.

Ida’s none too pleased by this either. She throws Gemma a look of extreme frustration and leans across her desk to listen.


A police officer opens the door, ushers them in, and then leaves. He slams the door shut behind him with a loud CLANG.

The police station is deserted. Everybody takes seats in the corner, as far away from the empty desk as possible, and waits.
Jul 21


  Bare feet barely touch the ground as legs spring forward, propelled by arms covered in goosebumps and lungs filled with damp air.  A girl races ahead, pale cheeks flushed a lively hue and light eyes sparkling vivaciously under her dark brows.  The course grass scratches across her legs and her skirts tangle about her knees as the wind howls and tears across the landscape savagely.  She's persued by a boy with dark hair, wild like the landscape, who's face is streaked with the same mud that is caked upon the girl's hands.  He follows dutifully, persistantly, closing the lengths of quivering grassland between them.  Striding forward with strong bounds, reaching for the fleeting girl as he does so, a hint of a smile upon his lips as she twists away with a laugh half lost in the vast emptiness surrounding them.  Her clothing flutters about her like the wings of the larks circling overhead as if she might leap from the rocks they now approach, and fly, stretching her arms outward and taking to the sky, disappearing amongst the abyss of mist closing in around them.  The boy reaches for the earthy tones of fabric that whip behind her, grazing a soft bit of sleeve just below her elbow.  Instead of pulling her back he matches his pace with her own, clambering along beside her as she climbs the crude shards of rock that potrude from the earth in uneven shapes.
Jul 20
Fiona Ella's picture

houseboat life - pages (approximately) 10-20

so, it's not split into chapters or whatever so pages are the best i can do. some of the end breaks are in bad places. but this is the next ten pages, just about. hopefully not horrible. feedback, please


Lighting slices across the sky. The rain starts a moment later, driving and vicious and pouring. Lights go in several houses. The storm has arrived, and it has arrived with force.

Lighting strikes again, and this time the lights all go out.


Rain is blowing onto Charlotte’s face through an open window. She is asleep, but wakes up as she is drenched.

She gets up and closes the window with difficulty.

Through the window, rain is gushing through the gutters in torrents. Charlotte can distantly hear waves CRASHING.


There are no lights on in the living room—power’s out. A few flashlights here and there. Emma is by the door, pulling on her mackintosh and boots.


Emma looks up. She sighs.

Go back to bed, Charlotte.

My window was open. The bed’s all wet.

Then … you can get in my bed. The lighthouse is out and there’s a ferry coming through tonight and I promised to help Dick Maynard.
Jul 20
Fiona Ella's picture

houseboat life - first ten pages - got SERIOUS misgivings about posting this

first of all, i couldn't tag both fiction and visual, which it is both, so i just said fiction. double genre tag thing. 
second, i'm 
really worried about posting this. it's the first draft, almost completely unedited (i cut out a superfluous character and changed some lines, but that's it) of the screenplay i've been working on this year. i'm a little worried it's still too young and fragile to expose to anyone in general, but i know it's pretty terrible and reading miscellaneous screenplay blogs isn't helping me enough, i know the story needs to be tightened up a lot and it has a lot of flaws and there are some outright plot holes and i think nina might even be completely impossible to like as a person. but i think i need feedback if i'm going to revise it. 
this is just the first ten pages, to see if anyone wants to read the rest or is curious. it's 107 pages at the moment, so there's a lot to put up. 
just please. PLEASE. i really need feedback. a lot of it. 
note: i messed with the formatting a little bit. most notably italicizing action lines. in google docs it's clear what's dialogue and what's not and all that but the text box is messing up the format. the changes are just to make it more clear.


Jul 20
MoonyanaBandit's picture

The Orpanage- Book Chapter2- Vincents story

Chapter 2

​is that a giant soap bubble?!

​They silently drove for a few hours. The woods became darker as they went on. Then something bizzare happened- all around little gold specks began forming! Then they drove about a foot and came  out to a dock. It was a very small dock, not all that big.
"This is where you wanted to take me?" Vincent asked, completely confused.
​"Not here. This is how we get to it!"
​The dock was wooden, and it looked slightly rotted. Boats of every type were lined up, tied to the poles which stuck up high They walked down the dock to the very last boat. It was a rather small tug boat, enough to hold a few small family's or a lot of small people. On top of it was a women in a heavy yellow rainjacket. She had a long, bright red scarf, heavy boots, copper goggles with green glass and her hair tied up in 5 different buns, each the size of 7 tennis balls.
​"We would like a ride my old friend!" yelled Vincents doctor up to the women.
​"Well where do you want to go?" the women shouted back down.
​"To the forgotten land that was pushed out to sea!"
​The women smiled a big smile when she heard.
​"Then get on! Put on your seatbelts and don't take them off till we're there!" ordered the women.
​They got on and put on the seatbelts.
​"Whats the big deal? Its a tug boat! They're pretty slow!" Vincent said, leaving the seatbelts a bit loose.
Jul 20
eulusivepurplepanda's picture

Mirror of the Broken Hearted pt. 4 (Finale)

https://youngwritersproject.org/node/14025: Link to part 1
https://youngwritersproject.org/node/15061: Link to part 1 1/2
https://youngwritersproject.org/node/15100: Link to part 2
https://youngwritersproject.org/node/16084: Link to part 3

We set out into hills. The sun glossed the countryside for miles into the farthest reaches of the village, and into the Fields beyond. Dawn was breaking against a dark blue night as a low fog swirled the land. I walked beside Emiko hand and hand. Hills and low valleys stretched the land all the way to the mountains. I stretched out a finger “That’s where were going.”
“The mountains?” Asked Emiko. I nodded confirming
Jul 19

Dental nightmares

I hate the dentist. Not the actual person, mind you, though I have hated a few. Like Dr. Marquis de Sade. A second cousin to Freddie Kruegger. I think he got his dental license from K-Mart. And went to Macy's University. I went to him for an emergency root canal. The tooth was infected so the novocaine didn't take that well. Horrible. Normally when they do a root canal like that they have you come back to make sure the infection is gone and to make sure the root is clean. He took some x-rays. He shook his head. "Oh goodness, your nerve has regenerated." Huh? He then insisted that I still had nerve in there and that he thought he'd gotten it all and the only way he could be sure would be ... if I was OK to NOT have novocaine. So I could tell him if I felt anything. I could. And I did. And that  is why I did not like Dr. Marquis de Sade, the dentist from Baltimore. I wanted to do a root canal on his tooth.

But I digress. I generally like the dentists as people. They're usually cheery and try to make you feel OK. They are a little insecure as a rule. They know everyone hates them. So they try to be nice. My current dentist is actually very nice. A friend, really. I've known him for years. And his assistants give me warm rocks to hold and a heated neck wrap; they give me hand massages when he puts the novocaine in and, sometimes, when he is doing some major excavations in a molar. 
Jul 19
MoonyanaBandit's picture

The Orpanage- Book Chapter1- Vincents story

Chapter 1                                                                                                        Authors note- these chapters are ment for 13 and up! Enjoy!        

   ​Nightmares that reacurr really suck!

​Vincent woke up at 4 o'clock in the morning in a sweat puddle. Vincent is 6 foot 6 with purple skin, long purple hair usually in a ponytail and white eyes. He woke up do to a reacurring nightmare that had happened every day for 4 years, ever since he had turned 12. He was staying at his doctors house because she believed she knew how to fix it.
​"Are you awake Vinny?" she yelled up in a worried tone.
​"I- yes... I'm up..." he replied in his deep, raspy voice. Vincent is known as "Special". He survived having a metal endoskeleton fused to all over his body accept his face- and yes its extreamly painful. All the doctors said he should've bled to death and yet- he didn't.
So, knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep he got up and got dressed and went downstairs. He sat down at the kitchen table.
​"Tea?" asked his doctor. She was quite a pretty women, with half moon glassesc and red hair. Her eyes were a deep scarlet, and her teeth bright white.
​"Sure... tea sounds nice..."  Vincent replied, staring down at the table. He leaned back then lurched forward. It hurt to lean back.
Jul 19
MoonyanaBandit's picture

The Orpanage- Book One Introduction

The Orpanage- Vincents Story


​Do you believe in magic and storybooks? Do you believe in devils and gods?
​Heres a better question-
Do you believe that the world has things that you don't believe exist?

​Let me tell you something- the world isn't what it seems to be... and if you search long enough you could find something spectacular!​ 
​If you go deep into the woods at 8 o'clock you might manage to find a dock that wasn't there last time you went... there will be boats lined up. Sailboats and submarines. If you go to the end of the dock you will find a beat up tug boat. There will be a women there in a heavy rain jacket, here hair up in five bit hair buns. She will be wearing copper goggles with green glass, heavy boots and a long, red scarf. If you say to her that you want a ride she'll ask you where to. If you answer correctly, you will go to an island at an amount of speed seemingly impossible- answer wrong and she will throw you off the boat into the freezing water. Then the dock will be gone and you'll have to wait three years exactly to find the dock again.
​However, the island you go to will be strange and wonderful the people there even stranger... their appearences could look normal or strange. But this seemingly different world is protected by a massive bubble thats stronger than diamond and steel. But you might be able to pass through.