Fan Fiction
Nuptials
"You are a very good cook, as well as being a very beautiful woman," Saeon praised Ines after he had eaten more than she could in three days. Ines managed to mumble a soft thank you as she sat at her desk looking at her journal. She was fumbling and nervous now that he had finished eating. What was next? Would he be as bad as Wizard? Would he leave her alone and go on back to his duty in New City? She hoped that it would be the latter. She had no plan but this one at least couldn't sense her. He seemed to be a normal man. Very muscular body and young. Even younger than Wizard had been. If he tried anything she could at least hide from him in her mountain. He stood up. Ines stood up as well. He picked up his dishes he had used and put them in the sink. Well, at least he didn't regard her as a servant. "Woman, you seem to be real jumpy," he walked over to where she stood, frozen. "I hope you don't think that I would harm you. I'll do the dishes and then maybe we can talk a while before we bed." Ines rushed over to the sink and opened up the dishwasher saying, "No, I got it. Maybe you'd like to watch a movie. It won't take me long to clean the kitchen." "Woman. come here," he commanded, expecting her to obey. He needed to calm her down. She was as nervous as a mouse in a cage waiting for what it's fate would be. As she walked over to where he stood, she never lifted her head. When she stood about three steps in front of him, she stopped. "Look at me," he said as he put both his hands on her arms. She lifted her head as he stepped closer to her and there she met his gaze. His eyes and his touch calmed her. He was affected. His eyes were like green lights transmitting his will into her mind through her eyes. He pulled her to him and kissed her gently, pulling her deeper into his will. "Where do we wash and bed, " he asked, softly. She led him into her bedroom.
By Nelly Black5 years ago in Fiction
Anemoia
They corral them all up in this classroom silence, low murmurs and the occasional hushed chiding breaking up the sentence of monotony that their individual afflictions have earned them. They wallow in their labels as though they are comfort blankets that swaddle them gently and keep them safe. No one here is any different from the other. They’ve all been fucked over, fucked up, or just plain fucked by someone they once loved, and while most of the guilty parties are running free, these poor bastards pay for the cost of someone else’s sins every single day.
By Kai K Colby5 years ago in Fiction
THE GREEN LIGHT INCIDENT
I'm writing a story that I promised myself that I would never share with anyone. However, I think that you and I are friends, so I’m going to share it with you. You must promise not to tell anyone. I don’t want to get in trouble with the authorities. I’m the Chronicler and I collect and tell stories from people I meet and from predicaments that I have personally experienced.
By Fabian Ellis5 years ago in Fiction
Scorned Pt. 13
Potomac General – Penelope, Fran and Dave paced the waiting room floor. Derek had been rushed back to the hospital for examination and testing for pain that he’d been hiding for the last few weeks. The doctors had given them several scenarios; some good and some not so good. They wanted to be hopeful, but hope had often been the enemy in their line of work.
By Cynthia Fields5 years ago in Fiction
Sleeping With Your Basketball
Dribbling my basketball up Main Street in Thomaston, Maine, heading to the academy yard to shoot around, I had to stop several times to catch my breath, and to yank the towel from my back pocket and wipe the sweat from my face and forehead. No kids around to make up teams, or even one to play HORSE with, but it didn’t stop me. I was, in my mind, the most valuable player on my team of one. Today I would be shirts instead of skins, because my 74 years old belly would scare small children and disapproving adults. Even the squirrels stood up on their haunches, to see what this ballooning blob of bloated blubber was up to on such a hot day. Thinking “no varmint ever called me Porky”, I started with a layup from the left side and it hit the bottom of the rim and came back at me quickly. Still got those cat-like reflexes Porky, I said under my breath, and dropped back a few feet and popped one in from halfway to the foul line. The sound was music to my ears, swish, nothing but net or on this day nothing but chain, either way, there’s a shot of dopamine to my brain that makes me want to do a Fred Astaire (with a dribble in the middle) across the court and do a quick turnaround jumper, swish, another surge of dopamine (also known as the happy hormone or the feel-good hormone). I can go about ten minutes non-stop, but this pesky COPD, blocks my air supply and so, before I get to my panic mode, I stop. This day I was prepared, I had my over one shoulder back pack, and it contained 4 bottles of Poland Springs (what else I’m in Maine), some bug spray, though any “squitos” today would drown or slide right off my Adonis/Buddha body, toothpicks (don’t know why), my cell phone and little notebook, which I use to keep track of how long of what I did and what it was, to be converted to calories lost, when I get home to my laptop and its My Fitness Window, and to jot down thoughts that come to me while doing, well, anything, the idea being to find the perfect alignment of words and phrases that would make me famous someday, hopefully not posthumously, and pushing for the run on sentence record. The best item out of my back pack cost 34.99, a telescoping portable stool, which I’m sitting on now. From previous experience, I know that 10 minutes of constant shooting around, with no stopping, can burn approximately 90 calories, so I make a note. I’m going to try for 60 minutes today, at least that’s what my head says. Taking 2 puffs on my Proventil (Albuterol Sulfate), and grunting while standing, round two, coming up, and I dribble left-handed to the right side of the foul line and quickly hoist up the kind of shot you use as the shot clock runs out, and boink off the front of the rim, and the ball goes, of course, running down the school yard toward Route 1. Ah, a good chance to try my sprinting technique, and makes the best use of this second ten-minute vignette. On the way back to the court, I dribble, and almost send the ball back to the road, trying to do a behind the back move that was so easy, years ago. Seems there was a lot less to go around then.
By David X. Sheehan5 years ago in Fiction
The Water Affected
He knew that he couldn't help the man. He knew that the man couldn't survive this. Maybe he would just tell him the truth so that he could make peace with whatever or whoever he believed in that might give him comfort. Stone was ruthless. That's why he was sent on this mission. That's why Stone had to die. He would kill just to build his ego and put fear into his gang. The would never disobey him. Even though Stone was dead now, his last victim would be breathing his last in just a few minutes. Such a horrible way to die.
By Nelly Black5 years ago in Fiction
The Heart of Snowmar
Tomar pats the freshly turned dirt with his shovel and wipes his brow before letting out a sigh of relief. “There,” he says to himself. Almost to make this all feel more real, “the last of the Tomar Emeralds are hidden.” Confident that nobody saw him he traveled home using what little residual power the emeralds left within him. His driving his pink convertible something, it helped him cope with his burdens. The burdens of all that power he possessed. The wind flowing around him, he could feel the inhuman speeds he was able to make the car travel at. Weaving carelessly through traffic.
By Unabated Lemon5 years ago in Fiction
The LOGO
Another rave review. Just when recording superstar Luther Pendergrass thought that he had reached the pinnacle of success in the music industry, another door swung open for him. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and passing it up wasn't going to be an option for "LP". He was given a very large sum of money from the guy who gave him his first break in the music industry, and continued to mentor and guide him along on his musical journey.
By Fred D Donaldson5 years ago in Fiction
The perfect person
I can control anything, but my emotions. That is how I will start my speech. But before I can write, I must sleep. For a girl of seventeen years old, I seem to have life down packed. Good grades- check! Good Family- Check! And a Fairly decent part time job- check! I was on track to having a great career and going to a great school. The only thing wrong in my life was you. I had never known love or made time for. I was so self-absorbed in my own success that when you came I lost all control. Emotions overtook me and I felt trapped in someone else’s body. I was a puppet with someone else pulling the strings. And this all started, the summer of 2014.
By Shannon Manning5 years ago in Fiction
