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. 
Jul 15


"What do you mean you can't help me?" The child asked, his brown eyes already flooding with tears. His voice was small, timid, frightened. He was so young, it was hard for me to tell him.

"I'm sorry, I can't," I told him, coming down to a knee - he was now a few inches taller than I was. My bare knee touched the cold ground and I shivered involuntarily. "I can't help you."

The boy wiped at his tears, his claw-like hands nearly slicing open his cheeks. His hands, unlike those of a 'normal' child, had fused with his twin, Terry, in the womb. His whole body had reminders of his unborn sister. Terry's face on the back of his head was crying too. Noiselessly. Her arms had fused to his, her legs, her back. Even reaching for the rusted dinner fork was a reminder that he was the only to survive.
Jul 15

The Aticle (heading??) Settings

The year is 2018. The city is Copenhagen, Denmark. The city is like any city, but this year it’s filled with a buzz. Something about everything is smiley and full of colour.The city is rarely rainy it seems to be bright and hot for an insane amount of time. The trees take longer to gather their green but once they do they keep it. The birds that fly outside chirp in the morning (kind of like in a fairy tale only real life). People seem giddier then usual, which doesn’t say much but still. There is a skip in peoples step.

(pictures provided are of specifics relating to location)
Jul 13


"I would cut my mouth if it meant I could swallow the world."
When you said that all those years ago, I laughed it off. I thought you were joking, that it was another Eila thing. I didn't notice your face then. Your eyes were hard, jaw set. Your hand trembled, but I didn't see that either.
When you were admitted to that mental hospital, everyone was whispering. You dropped out of school and I couldn't walk home with you. I worried that you'd finally gone too far, cut too deep. You knew I could never stop you with my words and I could never touch you. I didn't want to hurt you, but instead, you hurt yourself.
I saw you again a year later. I'd moved on, or so I thought. I found different friends, ones who didn't have histories with eating disorders, schizophrenia, or self-harming tendencies. When I saw you again, my eyes widened. The whole hall quieted as you moved through, people making a path for you. Our eyes met and mine widened. 
Your eyes were dead. 

Jul 11

Wolves Without Teeth

"It's perfectly strange
You run in my veins
How can I keep you
Inside my lungs?"
Of Monsters and Men, "Wolves Without Teeth"

"Mama, who is that?" My voice was quiet, so small. I was so young when I first met Alexander. I didn't meet him, not exactly. I just...saw him out of the corner of my eye and stopped to look closer. He'd turned, seen me, and grinned. Mother pulled me away.
"A family friend. You'll meet him soon, Chier, don't worry."
I worried. 

It took years of pestering my parents to see that strange being again. I was fourteen when Mom pulled out the dark stone.
"This is him, honey. Now he's yours. Don't call his name until you need him. He will only come when you're in danger." Her smile was genuine as she closed my fingers over the palm-sized stone. "Never let him go."
I didn't.
Jul 10

The Ancients

There was a time when the ancients were revered.
No more.
Now we burn their huts, tear their temples to the ground. We destroy their culture, squashing it into the ground. Then we turn our backs and forget.
They never forgot. 
The ancients we so desecrated tear open our bodies, pouring our souls onto the ground. Our eyes are wide open as we are possessed and made to see and feel what they have, those fearsome gods. Every inch of my being is set on fire and doused with more gasoline. I cannot even scream as my body becomes someone else's.
I pay for my ancestors' mistake, all those years ago. As my body hits the floor, my eyes are unseeing, skin unfeeling, limbs unmoving. As my soul floats above, it is grabbed by those same gods and torn to shreds, just as they had been so long ago. It feels like yesterday to them that my great-great-grandfather burned one of their priestesses, although not without forcefully enjoying her first. 

Jul 09

The Swineherds Tale: A Rebellious Epic

An apology: I just realized that a word in the second stanza was mistyped as a word relating to an individual of a certain religous group, which can sometimes be viewed as disrespectful. I sincerely apoligize for any discomfort or offense this accident may have caused, none was intended. If you as a reader ever find something in my writing offensive, please let me know, as that is far from my intentions. It is important to me to respect all those who respect others. 

Crowned with olive branches,
the tangy scent of oil still clinging to their leaves,
the elders, cloud robed and faced,
gathered in meeting.

One rose,
as if to appoint himself
the central jewel in a tarnished crown,
but was intercepted by a hurled pig’s tail

Which lodged itself
between the twisted ruddy lip framing his mouth.
The storm clouds of Zeus himself
Jul 07


The monsters are always watching from their nooks and crannies, their peering eyes staring right through me, paralyzing my every nerve. No matter how hard I close the closet door, they look out from the cracks. Staring at me, staring at everything around me. 
Their eyes are the color of smoke, the explosion that had scarred me so horribly, and my little girl's eyes. They are the black of night, the color of burnt flesh, the color of the stars. I had named them all.
Jesse's eyes are almost always closed, only opening in the dead of night.
Flame is always moving, always fixated on me. I could see each of its seven eyes when I awoke to scream from another nightmare.
Claire's are the ones that haunt me the most, the eyes of my daughter. They always seem to be crying.
Dusk is barely noticeable from the darkness, constantly moving and covering the window and the moonlight. It scares me the most.
Jul 06
nolans's picture

Ice Cream Disaster

It's one of the hottest days of summer we have had. The sweat is dripping down my neck and soaking my shirt. But it's okay because I'm next in line to get an ice cold dillicous creamy. It's a long line, I have been waiting for over five minuets and can't wait to take my ice cream into the shade and cool off. I peek over the lady infront of me's shoulder to see what is taking so long and then I see it. She is taking penny by penny out of her purse. With each clank on the counter the employee adds one number. They're at fifty five and the ice cream is two dollars and thirty cents just for a small. I dont know what to do, with each number they count the sun beats down on me twice as hard. I can't do this any longer, I need my ice cream!
Jul 06

Abigail King

Name _ Abigail King
Age _ 24
Nationality _ French/Irish
D.O.B _ Oct 9th 1994
Hair colour _ Deep brown
Eye colour _ Brown
Face _ Pretty
Make up _ Minimal
Personality _ Caring, trust worthy, sweet, academic, fun, observant, creative
Hobbies _ Volunteering, writing, music, shopping
Favourite colour _ Deep purple
Favourite song _ Blue Suede Shoes by Elvis Presley
Favourite pair of shoes _ white leather converse
Favourite guitar _ Gibson ’73 Hummingbird
Biggest fear _ Not living life to the fullest
Future career _ Writer
Favourite toy as a kid _ Slinky         
Jul 05

Decision Time - The Wildlands

mostly serious tone with some sorrow-filled times. some friendly encounters but should more aptly describe the harshness of life on the Plains.

end goal doesn't come around to full fruition until the refugees arrive from the Jeso, Tribunai, etc. Starts as hate for the Kaso in Meche and Crysto, and to an extension Matt.

middling pace. fast in some parts, slower in others. Fast in Lune's execution, slow during decision making. Fast in battle sequences but slower during more tender moments. Altogether timeskip after Meche's rape. Slow to special moments?

POV changes between the main 5. Writes in first person for the one that's recounting the events into Lomone''s journal. After a certain point, forget the journal and dive straight into the action. Especially for battle sequences, no one's going to write how blood splattered.
Jul 05
Ink Scribe's picture

The Undertaker's Dove

Jul 04


this is a blurb with my two characters, julio and ravilo. julio is a half-cat, so that's why he has a tail.
sorry about writing about them so much, i just love my sons

He'd poked his eye again with the stupid pen.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Julio sighed loudly, looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked horrendous - black dripping down his face, eyes red and swollen with tears, those same tears cutting tracts through the ink. He let the pen drop onto the bathroom counter, not caring that the white was now splattered with black.
He took a makeup-remover wipe from the mini shelf next to him and wiped his failures away. "I should have asked Kjaje," he murmured as he cleaned his face and then the counter. He dried off with a towel before starting again.
"Steady..steady.." He repeated the mantra over and over again as he ran the felt-tip across his eyelid. "Almost.."

Jul 03
fiction 1 comment challenge: Say

I love you x I want to forget

I'm sorry I can never tell you how much I appreciate you.
You deal with so much and sometimes I can't help but feel sad.
When I fall, you'll be the one crying so hard you won't be able to see.
I love you. Your laughs make it all seem better. I just wish you'd return my hugs.
You care so much and spend your time to make everyone seem better.
You're just the right height for me to plop my head on yours, though you'd never put up with it.
You love your cats most of all, but I hope my gift to you is something you sleep next to and not keep on a shelf.
I don't feel bad about giving that plushie to you, I feel bad about not giving you more.
Thank you, so much.
I love you.


I want to forget you so badly.
When school starts again, I'll be seeing you again.
I don't want to. I just want to let you fade even more.
I don't have any of your things anymore. I'm glad I don't and I'm glad that I'm blank again.
Jul 03


Floodlights lit up the area, bathing the foliage with red. I trembled behind the fallen log, holding the package close to my chest. I can't let them find me.
"Come out, or we'll have no choice but to gas you," someone called, their voice distorted with their mask. I heard the chink of a canister being readied, the click of a gun being cocked. "Now."
I didn't respond, instead mapping out the ways I could escape. There's another fallen log..a creek..I could flat-out run..but not with that rifle. They'd shoot me down.
Three." The same voice counted, the crackle of leaves under his feet drawing near. "Two.."
I got up, my boots digging into the soil as I cursed my luck. I grabbed something from beneath my vest and tossed it behind me, smoke lighting the area in a flash. I flipped down my glasses, the suction cups around the lenses adhering to my face as the software booted up. 

Jul 02
GabriellaF's picture

Camilla the Superhero

Camila has always been a funny girl, she always wore glasses, and she hated attention. She was almost never noticed in high school and not in college, and she liked that in some ways. Her best friend Lily was her rock and was practically her sister. All the craziness started when Camila broke her glasses, being clumsy and falling down two flights of stairs of her apartment building. Her glasses broke, and she was expecting not to be able to see but what surprised her was she could see clearly. She could see more than clearly.
"Crap!" Camila yelled
She got up and grabbed her glasses; then she ran into her apartment. Sitting on the couch was Lily and oh was she happy about that.
"Help Me!" Camila screamed shoving the glasses at Lily
"Oh, you need help fixing them? I cant fix them I have no clue how" Lily said confused
"No! I mean I can see!
Jul 02


1 - 

A lush forest, filled with nothing but trees and peace. A bird chirps, its red plumage bright against the dark green of the trees. In a clearing sits a small stone home, the whitewashed walls such a contrast to its surroundings. The blue sky above is clear. Dead leaves on the forest floor hide many things. The home's door is open, a warm light from a candle in the window. Night has not yet fallen, but it is coming as the sky fades with an orange hue.

2 -
Jul 02

A short blurb

Her slight smile, her loving gaze. They both made sure my eyes followed her every move.
"You know I love you, right?" She asked, her metal legs hugging the branch beneath her. The tree beneath us swayed in the light breeze. With it, her long silver hair trailed in the wind and the red flower matching her lips shivered behind her ear.
"Of course I know, how couldn't I?" I chuckled, straddling the same branch. Her smile widened and she leaned over to hug me, the smell of lilies coming too.
"Alys..Thank you, for everything. You gave me all of this. Without you, I might have died." She pulled back, holding my face in her hands. Her green eyes were serious as they looked into mine. "Why did you save me that day?"
"Because you looked so helpless. A person should never be helpless," I responded, letting out a breath. Her hands dropped and her eyes looked away. "Besides, no one should stay locked up forever."