Neela Sanders

“The Emperor's koi pond” by Neela Sanders

Submitted to Contest #54

 Once, in a small town in China, there was a great river that wound its way through valleys and mountains, canyons and flat towns. It was called the Snow river, because the rice it helped grow was as white as freshly fallen snow. The river was longer than any other, and it was said that if any fish could swim the whole thing in their lifetime, they would become a mighty dragon in their next life. This river was said to belong to the emperor of all China, Yin Han, and the water was said to run directly into his garden. The emperor Yin H...

8 likes 2 comments 2

Read story

“Mi pájaro cantor” by Neela Sanders

Submitted to Contest #52

In then out. This is what I long for today. The silent, unobtrusive slip into a building, then the silent, unobtrusive jump out. Of course, we humans seldom get what we so desire, but one can hope. Silently, and without hesitation, I slip into the patchwork shadows behind the house, careful not to rip a single thread of the dark fabric that could so easily reveal my presence. Deep, molten moonlight streams off my back and outlines my silhouette, a dark stamp on new paper. I crouch, arching my back before springing through the window and onto...

16 likes 8 comments 8

Read story

“The mystery of Thomas proctor ” by Neela Sanders

Fine. This is the word I hear all to often. It is a word I hate with all fiber of my being. It is a word full of uncertainty and false hope. It is a word that makes my heart ache with indescribable longing. It is the last word my little Thomas ever said to me. I live in Waxwool, Connecticut. It is a beautiful coastal town with cold, steely gray waves crashing against pyres of rock. An old lighthouse sits on a sheer cliff overlooking the turbulent waters. In fall, the trees are vivid shades of red, orange, and yellow. In all spring and winter...

7 likes 2 comments 2

Read story

“Ocean and her seven children ” by Neela Sanders

Submitted to Contest #51

 Once, long, long, ago, when the world had just sprung into being, and the cold, frosty fingers of dark morning had just grasped the earth and pulled it securely into its palm, a mother sat. She gazed longingly at the silky black night every day, wishing upon each firey pin prick of light for children. And one day, children she was granted. With motherly affection unmatched by any other, she raised seven beautiful children, her pride and joy, the motivation behind her every action. When night came, the proud mother, Ocean, would wh...

30 likes 11 comments 11

Read story

“Running from the truth ” by Neela Sanders

Submitted to Contest #50

My legs are weary and my arms are heavy, yet I keep running. Running from nothing, towards nothing. Running into being and away from it. Running towards happiness and away from happiness. Running from that which all humans consciously or subconsciously run from. I am running from the truth. I turn down the corner of Elm and Maple, watching the dark green sign draw closer. I clutch the wreath of ink black roses I’m holding to my chest, unaware of the thorns digging into my skin. Suddenly, I’ve reached the sign, adorned with flowers and photos...

12 likes 6 comments 6

Read story