tWR July Prompt: Rites of Passage by Zara-Arletis, literature
Literature
tWR July Prompt: Rites of Passage
My stepmother kicked me out about a week after high school graduation. She waited until my dad was gone offshore and my step-siblings off to their own father's house. Woke me up at 5am and told me if I was here when she got back from work, she would call the cops. In retrospect, I know this is an empty threat. She didn't really want me gone - my father would be back in a month and pissed as hell about it. I think she wanted me to beg. Or to pay her more than the rent I already gave for my room. Or maybe it was just to leave me an emotional mess in order to avenge some perceived slight. She didn't know me well enough to know how I would react to her threat. That I would take it seriously. Or have the ability to do exactly what she'd ordered me to. I martialed a few friends and a truck by 10am. By noon I was packed and most everything was in a shed at a friend's house. By 2pm we stopped for cheap pizza and coke, and I was buoyed by their kind words and promises to be there if needed.
fairy lights shone indolently through garden, as sounds of glasses clicking and over-amplified laughter pierced through heavy, linden-filled hot mid-summer air.
he was sweating, and for once, not for the heat that clogged pores and left even breathing as an action that needed effort.
it was, because of her.
he had seen her properly for the first time in months today.
and dear god, she looked pretty. she always did.
and when she was not smiling, she was intimidating – that is what everyone had said. and now, with that face, that expression, she felt untouchable.
had he tried to talk to her, of course.
dear lord knows she would not
Tracey Whitaker's Official Biography Part One by CharmingCurmudgeon, literature
Literature
Tracey Whitaker's Official Biography Part One
Tracey Whitaker — The Inspiring Journey Of Boxing’s Posh Princess Part ONE -- The Miracle Child : The life of the Posh Princess of Pugilism, in spite of the evocative trappings of celebrity in women’s boxing which her ring moniker would suggest, began rather modestly in England. Born in a Southeast neighborhood of London named Blackheath, Tracey was the only child of a middle-class couple; Ian, a certified electrician, and Janet, a part-time hotel staff supervisor. Since their marriage and setting up a comfortable and successful life for themselves, the hard-working couple wanted children and were looking forward to raising them; however, their attempts to conceive were met with disheartening failure. In fact, due to the number of miscarriages and the mounting physical damage they caused, Janet faced the strong probability that if she were to be pregnant and miscarried one more time, in all likelihood she would die from the damaging procedure. Faced with the possibility of
The Man With the Golden Eyes by Fundelstein, literature
Literature
The Man With the Golden Eyes
I like art, but I don’t like art galleries. I’d just gotten off of a long, hard case, and I didn’t want to be here tonight. But Uncle David’s been dead-set on me being his plus one, and we owe the Hylands everything. After all, who else appointed him as Chief of Police? At least I had an excuse to buy a new dress— a nice one with a low v-cut and a leg split. I don’t look half-bad in navy blue. While nursing a glass of boozy punch (and wishing it was a beer), my uncle suddenly yanks me away from the bar and pulls me to a corner by the dance floor. “You see that young man over there?” He points to the other side of the room. “The one with the mayor?” I follow his pointed thumb and see Mayor Hyland with a man dressed in black. He’s sporting a familiar shock of carroty-red hair. I can’t get a clear look of his face, but I know him straightaway. “Wait, is that…” “Yeah,” my uncle confirms. “Little Rocco’s back.” Rocco Cassidy Hyland. The second son of Mayor Hyland. An awkward music
Fly, Skyborn, My Love
Ghostly hoof beats thundered across the strand and reverberated off black basalt cliff walls. They haunted Asta by night in her dreams, and rumbled through her soul as she stood lost in a thirteen-year-old girl’s reverie.
An expanse of ebony beach stretched before her. The crystal sea sparkled as lazy waves lapped against the shore. Sunlight reflected off the water and danced across the cliff face like prancing ponies.
The sand butted against a tall, basalt wall that wrapped around the strand in the shape of a crescent moon. The cliff ended in a promontory topped by a stone lighthouse, like the horn of a black
Beyond the old arch
is an eerie night forest
with designs on you
PrecariouslyPecular,
Deviant Artist
The Arch
The townspeople called me Daddy’s Boy and ‘that little dandy’ behind my back. If I hadn’t been born in this area, they would have called me much worse. My name is Clayton Smith. If I had any friends, they’d call me Clay.
My parents raised me on a dry land farm five miles out of town. By the time my butt outgrew the chairs in our little one-room school, I knew the dirt and sweat of a farm was not what I wanted for the rest of my life. That was the onl
Verlorene Koepfe by Malintra-Shadowmoon, literature
Literature
Verlorene Koepfe
Es war Winter. Peter rannte durch den Wald. Dichte Schneeflocken fielen auf die Äste der Tannen, die unter der Last ächzten. Es knackte.
Was war das? Ein Tier, das Futter suchte?
Ein lautes durchdringendes Pfeifen ertönte. War es eine Eule? Nein, es war der heulende Wind in dem Geäst.
Aber waren da nicht drei Schatten vor Peter sichtbar geworden?
Es waren Tiere. Nein, es waren Monster.
Peter geriet in Panik. Eines hatte schuppige Haut, rote Augen. Ein anderes hatte Hundeköpfe mit furchtbaren Reißzähnen. Das dritte wiederum war weder Löwe noch etwas ähnliches, obwohl es so aussah.
„Halt, Mensc
Clickety-clack went the loom, clickety-clack. Amy passed the shuttle through and stepped on the pedal. Clickety-clack, clickety-clack. The fabric would be a rich yellow like sunlight blazing in the morning. Sleeves of golden pleather hung nearby, along with strips of deep reds and purples for the trim. Clickety-clack, clickety-clack.
A sound almost indistinguishable from thunder broke the air. She stopped and yelled, “Did something break?”
The thunderous slamming continued. Standing, Amy strode across the nursery studio, glancing down at a baby sleeping in a crib and sidestepping a toddler bouncing in a swing. She continued down
The Sacrifice of Young Hearts - Part 1 by Endorell-Taelos, literature
Literature
The Sacrifice of Young Hearts - Part 1
Luciana threw open her big blue eyes in the grip of a cold chill that ran down her back. The cave, where she had found a makeshift shelter for the warm and cloudless night, was silent and dark. The thin sliver of moon high in the sky could enlighten only the entrance of the cavity, unable to penetrate the deep darkness where Luciana was hiding.
The little girl hugged her knees to her chest, looking suspiciously at the landscape just outside the cave. Everything seemed quiet. Among the trees was rustling a slight breeze was mingling with the singing of some night birds. Luciana, however, was anything but quiet. An uncomfortable feeling