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“Someone Like You” by . .

At summer eve, when Heaven’s ethereal bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near? ‘Tis distance lends enchantment to the view And robes the mountain in its azure hue. -Thomas Campbell The cold spring air hung in shrouds over the dark expanse of earth. When a blue wind flew in, the tips of flower petals curled in resignation. All was silent, solemn… sad....

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“An Eidolon Named Night” by . .

Submitted to Contest #85

** This story has lines from Edgar Allan Poe's poem Dream-Land, my favorite poem, and you can see by now that EAP is one of my favorite authors as this is the second story that has a poem of his in it. I hope you enjoy it in all of its oddness.**By a route obscure and lonelyHaunted by ill angels onlyWhere an Eidolon named NightOn a black throne reigns upright“Tha’s the thing about this village,” Old Nula intoned, “darkness is evil.” She had her stand near packed up by then. Lime and ice had tinged the road lime like the color of her rags, so...

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“The Executioner” by . .

Submitted to Contest #84

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YP2AP0WvHkcJudas felt he knew everyone that came into the Mauve Room. He knew their sunken eyes, the desperate gazes as they searched in vain for a person to help them. He always found it ridiculous that they would look to an Executive for help, but they would still look at him, every time without fail. A deep red glowing band circled their necks, and he knew they had committed heinous crimes, but he couldn’t help feeling amused. They were like beggars, with all their money squandered, and he a nobleman. Even ...

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“existential crises ” by . .

Submitted to Contest #84

** 40TH STORY**Song I listened to while writing this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BW9Fzwuf43c"Last stop, Market Street." I walk to the edge of the train when the doors open. My feet move forward but my mind needs to catch up. I shake the fog from my head and move forward. People crowd the subway station. There's a staircase marked "E" over to the left. I duck through the people running to catch the train. Moisture gathered in the corner of my right eye. It had been bothering me for five days now. Ever since... wait... five days ago. So t...

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“Before the Vacation” by . .

I was nowhere and everywhere.The waves crashed over me. My eyes stared up into nothing as I laid on the beach, but my mind... well, it was tranquil. There was nothing that it focused upon in particular, but it was still and centered nonetheless.There was a cloud above me. From where I laid drawn to the earth it seemed like a ghost, an apparition. Quick thoughts transformed it into a being floating across the skyline, and for a while that was what it was. There was no objection in the silent state of mind I existed in.When the seagulls flew o...

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“Demetria’s Tale” by . .

Submitted to Contest #83

The morning breeze touches my face with the caressing stroke of a mother. My golden hair floats, lifted by the gale falling from the mountain Annaliese high above our camp. Above the highest peak, the wind sweeps down the rock faces until the mist shrouds it entirely. The great Annaliese shines above us all...The mountain seems to shift with the wind, swaying this way and that as if it were not solid and unmoving. I always smell the sun on her stony depths, feel the pull down to the center of the Earth. Her sister, the river Galatea, dances ...

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“Comatose” by . .

The cold air flowed in through the open door of Biblio Phile. Mr. Murton, an old man dusty from age and tomes of days past, peeked over the stack of New Arrivals to see who was letting in "that infernal draft". To his surprise, opposite the top of the stack, stood a young gentleman. Now, you and your ilk have no idea who this person is. None of you have a clue or a guess or a thought or an inkling. But I, yes, I know this man, and Mr. Murton did too."Hey, Max! What the devil are you doing here? How's college treating you?" Mr. Murton spoke i...

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“Call it what you want” by . .

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IRUNTOqCmAM  This story is inspired by modernism and its tenets. It's a cold day. No sunlight seeps through the iron mask of clouds. No light finds its way through my window to alight my dreams. The frost seems to bite my lips as I stroll out of the house. Papa always says “never put on a coat when it’s cold, because that won’t make you strong”, so I brave the sleet sleeveless. My house is a masterpiece, creaking and groaning with the maturity of old age. The turrets that rise from the west side seem...

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“The Agony of Licinia” by . .

Submitted to Contest #80

Limestone. God, I hate limestone. The dreadful color it reflects across the street and downtown from the museum steps is enough to make you despise it forever. In fact, not even pretty-princess pink defiles my neurons as much as the color of aged limestone. That day, when my class was on a field trip at the Met, I barfed inwardly, feeling no shame in my disgust.Mr. Mercurio, his long rimmed mustache curling in the fuzzy museum light, kept asking us to come check out the ancient Rome section. Not that we hadn’t learned about it already; we’d ...

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“The Enemy*” by . .

Submitted to Contest #80

TW: war, violence, PTSD   “Run, Percy! They’re coming!” The sound of gunshots infects the air, poisoning my ears. I can feel the gas seep in through the barracks, setting my lungs aflame. There is no mercy, no prisoners. Only pain and death. Tossing my rifle over my shoulder with a grunt, I make for the next camp. You didn’t need to be in the crossfire to know what was going on outside. The Nazis had come, and they would kill us all.    Running across the dense camp, pushing through screaming sergeants and fellow privates, I s...

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“Bruegger's” by . .

BRUEGGER'S IS A REAL PLACE. THEY MAKE GREAT BAGELS.Walk time. Time to butcher my feet on the streets of Boston while giving the dog a good time. Just my luck that everyone else rushed to buy boots before I did. “Come on, Jill. Oh, for the love of God, will you move your feet?” I hate my grandmother’s dog. Jill is flabby, old, an evil genius, lazy, mean… no one knows that more than I do. Still, I walked her to the McGill park every morning, without fail. I’m too good for her.“Gran, I’m home!” The poisoning smell of earl grey clogged up m...

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“Steinbeck in the Forest” by . .

Submitted to Contest #79

James and I are brothers. Well, not exactly, we didn’t know each other for a while, but we like to say that we are. Whenever someone asks “who is that boy you’re with?” I always answer with a smile, “my brother James”. After a long period of sticking our heads in the mud, we finally met at ages eleven and twelve. It was a cold day in the forest and I was out climbing trees. You see, I love climbing trees. I don’t know if you’ve ever found a perfect tree, but the feeling when you see a tree ripe for climbing is so potent, like you can’t ...

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“Blissfully Alone*” by . .

Submitted to Contest #78

“I have not been–As others were– not seenAs others saw–I could not bringMy passions from a common spring–”-"Alone" by Edgar Allen PoeIt was an undisputed custom that thoughts had become obsolete and were not to be valued. The entirety of the world left autonomy behind, embracing a life of ignorance. There was no greater happiness than that of relieving yourself of the pain which is to comprehend. When the dust settled, though, nearly everyone was devoid of intelligence, of thought, of any sense of happiness. They had been wrong, it seemed, f...

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“The Eternals Pt. 1” by . .

**Hey guys!! I will be officially detaching from Malefice and gifting it to Mira Caplan, as she has a ton of enthusiasm for ways to continue it. Please read all continuations she makes!! This story was just so out of the blue and I was like "How on earth did I come up with this" but I can't wait to keep writing it. John Dee is an actual historical figure, and the Old Testament was written in ancient Hebrew. Enjoy!February 4th, 1954A gold suit had appeared on my doorstep three days before. It was satin, which I hated with a vengeance, but I f...

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“My World” by . .

There's a place, hidden to all but one, its treasures unknown to the world. A land of journeys, yes, but also wonder and awe. I know this place, the wonder that all must only guess at. Luke is its name.I know the Literature Mountains in the west, towering above in all their glory. The highest peak, pages of snow folding over it, stands austere over the great expanse. Words litter the side of each mountain, words that shine upon the forests beneath. I can see the authors climbing the side of their mountains to the very peak, and I always smil...

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