Fable

The Fable of Hilary Soames
Before our story begins, here is a short spooky poem to set the scene: Are you sitting comfortably? *** The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. At first, its flame was barely perceptible. A flicker. A glint. A nervous tremble in a pitch-black night.
By Caroline Jane4 years ago in Fiction
The disappearance of the elephant
I learned about the missing elephant from the town's elephant house from the newspaper. On this day, as usual, I was awakened by an alarm clock set to 6:30. Then I went to the kitchen to make coffee, bake slices of bread, turn on the FM radio, and spread the morning newspaper on the dining table with slices of bread. I always read the newspaper in order from the first page, so it took me a while to get to the story about the missing elephants. The first page covered the issue of trade friction between Japan and the U.S. and strategic defense ideas, followed by the domestic politics section, the international politics section, the economics section, the readers' letters section, the readers' column, the real estate advertising section, the sports section, and then the local section.
By sissytisha4 years ago in Fiction
The Timeless paint
In my old house in the west of the city, there is an old wooden lap chair. The so-called circle chair is our dialect there, in fact, that is a small family's tai shi chair.
By sissytisha4 years ago in Fiction
Fever
I had a cold as a child. If it is small, it means that it is like nothing during the day, and it will not be delayed. The mother poured the white wine into a small bowl, lit the match and threw it into the wine bowl, and a blue ethereal flame quickly rose from the mouth of the bowl. When the burnt-out matchstick lost its vitality and left thin black marks on the bottom of the bowl, my mother dipped a little bit of hot wine and rubbed my chest, back, head core, armpits with the palm of your hand... …
By david4 years ago in Fiction
The lust
Why should love be measured by loss? Between those two words - love, loss - bit on each side of them, is how all of this happens in the first place: the other word: desire.
By Jackmama4 years ago in Fiction
Tale 10: Infernal Pack (part 1)
Infernal Pack The small group which had headed out from the village and upon their journey in the late afternoon, as the sun began to drop, travelled on for as long as Žarko could make out the path in front of them. After a peaceful night, another calm day of travelling followed, with a long afternoon break. Senka had the impression that Žarko had no particular goal in mind, but neither she, and even less so Vuk, dared to inquire about this. They left all decisions to the hulking man on the horse, and were pleased to stay back and disturb him as little as possible, as he had been in a sullen mood ever since they had left the village.
By Nikola Stefan4 years ago in Fiction
The Story of My Dog Lucky
I was particularly sad recently because I gave lucky away from his home. lucky was a family dog, or to be more precise, a schnauzer puppy that I had. For various reasons, I recently returned him to his original owner. The original thought that this is a best way out, but I can not imagine that this owner did not keep a few days to give it to a stranger, worse is the stranger adopted not more than a month, lucky is unknown, life and death is not known. I was so upset and regretful that I couldn't let go of it.
By DanilBos4 years ago in Fiction
Martial Arts in My Dream
I still remember in that night-covered city, four friends sitting on a high terrace looking at the sporadic lights below, a cigar passed in each other's hands, the thick body of the cigar was hard to suck, so I could only hold it in my mouth, the taste of the burning tobacco was a little bitter, a little pungent. On the low table between the two, the small stereo was playing a love song by Li Zongsheng, and the low voice was full of love for someone who didn't know if it was true or not. We accompanied by wine shallow conversation for a moment on the future of the idea, laughing and flirting with the upcoming into the jianghu and slightly childish face, perhaps drunkenness has long brought it to the real dream world.
By DannyMox4 years ago in Fiction
It's snowing in Bolqangji
Late autumn in Bolqangji is still as true to nature and still as true to the public as it was in the past. 　　At the edge of Balikun Grassland, at the end of Balikun Lake, there is a large area of endless, open and faraway wilderness Gobi, last year's autumn is this kind of solemn gray, this summer's rain washed away a layer of deposited gray, the wilderness from a year of gray, but it turns out that the wilderness below not only people know coal and other mineral resources, and sand onion and other green vegetation. As if the rain saw hope, one after another underground, the Gobi nourished into a green wilderness, know the name of a variety of wild grasses and wildflowers do not know the name are competing to open. The Gobi wilderness in Bolqangji, under the love of God and the love of the rain, showed an unprecedented style. Although not as beautiful and spectacular as imagined, people who have witnessed the past of Bolqangji have already been very satisfied, not daring to hope for a greater miracle to happen.
By DannyMox4 years ago in Fiction
The true beauty of nature
My perception of beef noodles has a process, from meeting to knowing, from strange to familiar; from the beginning to the end, and from the end back to the beginning. Between the twists and turns, a wisp of ramen, you can see the social landscape; a bowl of noodle soup, lamenting the changes of the times.
By DannyMox4 years ago in Fiction
A Plateful of Summer
It was much too hot to eat, we believed, and no matter our hunger, it was much too hot to brave the perils of the ride in a hot car, the few thousand miles we had to travel. The actual distance was fewer than a dozen miles, but we were children, and nothing was ever medium-sized to us — either gigantic, or miniscule. Degrees of intensity were a grown-up's necessity.
By Eric Wolf4 years ago in Fiction
The Owl and the Iris
There once was an owl, wise and majestic. With his dark, spotted body he would spend his time residing over the wild fields. Perched atop a branch, a king in his own right, he would look upon the splendor of the wild fields. At night, he would soar high above enjoying the fresh winds in his feathers and the freedom of his domain.
By Tiffany Fairfield4 years ago in Fiction