Horror
The Blinding Dark. Content Warning.
There was a dark place on the edge of the marsh. No one could quite describe precisely how it was dark. It wasn’t that there was a persistent shadow, and it had nothing to do with the underbrush. One couldn’t really call it a thicket. Every aspect of it could be seen clearly: every branch and leaf and blade of reed grass. Nor did the fog tend to gather there in excess. If anything, it wasn’t necessarily a visual darkness, but rather a feeling.
By Ophelia Keane Braeden9 days ago in Fiction
Beneath the Blood-Red Sky
Dearest Count, I am afraid to tell you that I will not be able to fulfil my duties. I had thought I would kneel at your feet as you darkened the bright city lights of London with your terror, feasting upon the crimson sustenance so readily offered by wench and gentleman alike.
By Paul Stewart9 days ago in Fiction
The Coin That Wouldn’t Leave
The man found the coin on the sidewalk after the St. Patrick’s Day parade ended. The street was still littered with green confetti, plastic beads, and crushed beer cans. Crowds were thinning out as people staggered toward bars or rides home.
By V-Ink Stories9 days ago in Fiction
The Parade That Never Ends
The woman had only meant to watch the parade for a few minutes. She was in the city for a short business trip, staying in a downtown hotel overlooking several busy streets. When she stepped outside that afternoon, the entire district had been transformed for St. Patrick’s Day.Green banners hung from every streetlight.
By V-Ink Stories9 days ago in Fiction
Rock And Roll
His name was Eddie Funsull, they took him one night, put him in a van and took him away. They didn't like him, his music, or the way he looked. He stood out. He was one of the few Black guys in the Goth rock scene in town. But it wasn't because he was Black that they took him, it was the fact that he wasn't afraid to be what he sang about. Rock Music was his life. He lived for it. When he took the stage, it was as if he transcended time and space, as if he wasn't part of human existence. He'd sing of love lost, love yet to be, he'd sing of the freedom of existing beyond the constraints of conformity, about being that creature that we all longed to be but feared because of the doldrums of life, family, and its traditions.
By John Scipio9 days ago in Fiction
Terminus
The crisp April air bites like it has teeth and a vendetta, the sun rises as my feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, the burn is building in my lungs, and the sky is righteous and clear in every direction. Silence and stillness all around me, the world sliding by like a painting; this is the best way to start any morning. Neon signs dominate the once suburban skyline,
By S. A. Crawford9 days ago in Fiction
