In the suddenly dimmed room full of seated strangers, I heard subdued coughs, the click of a heel, the crack of a knuckle, and the hushed hiss of fabric shifting against fabric or against the hard plastic chairs.
The room brightened from the front, where the image slowly appeared and came into focus, radiant white and familiar. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room as eyes adjusted to the monotone image and grasped the subtle sight of the unexpected. Continue reading
The two cozied up on the bench seat of the red convertible, parked on a bluff that overlooked the glittering city below.
“Thanks for letting me drive her,” Raul said.
Maya grinned and reached out to pat the dashboard. “My baby’s a boy.” Continue reading
“What is that? On its head? Is that a hat or…a deformity?”
“It’s too hazy to see when it’s in motion,” I said. “We’ll have to pause.”
“The lights are on. We can see everything. I thought he only comes when it’s dark.” Continue reading
Cell phone cameras don’t work for many miles outside of the perimeter that the common lore has designated the “certain death zone” (or CDZ). Digital cameras don’t work. So I took pictures with my film camera, on the off chance that would work. And it did. Continue reading
A kid…in a costume. It had to be.
Still, it was frightening. To think I almost hit the poor little guy.
Maybe it was a good thing that the costume was so good, so convincing. The sickly yellow glow-in-the-dark contacts. The pro-quality fang fixtures. That tail that almost looked as if it were whipping back and forth on its own. I thought it was some animal I’d almost hit. That would have been bad enough. If I’d known it was a kid, I might have panicked and lost control of the car. Maybe I would have hit him.
But Halloween was days ago. Was some kid having his last hurrah? Loved his costume so much, he decided to keep wearing it? Continue reading
Perhaps centuries from now, medicine will be able to restore what was lost from injuries such as his. But now, I must turn to practices arcane.
Clara sighed as she watched the ink dry. She sat in the dim basement of the home she shared with her husband, who was working in his office upstairs. It was a chilly autumn day. Yet the basement was temperate. She dipped her quill into the well and continued.
I have built it according to the instruction I found. I have built it with my own hands, against warnings, it is true. But I am a desperate woman. I am a desperate wife. Continue reading
“Welcome to Melville Island, Doctor.”
“Thank you, Agent. Is it a heartbeat? That’s the last I heard. But that was hours ago.” Continue reading
This week’s story will be posted by midnight on Sunday, November 6. This is the anniversary post for Storyfeather’s third year.
Thank you to everyone who read even one of the fifty-two stories I posted during the third year. Thank you for your precious time and your interest. Thank you for supporting my dream. Thank you for being a part of Storyfeather, Year Three!
Year Three was a challenge. The overarching theme I was aiming for was the elements and the senses, in stories inspired by and often in the form of myth and legend.
In an effort to improve my drawing skills (and further serve the stories), I joined the Inktober challenge, drawing and inking one image every day for the month of October. The Sunday images were Storyfeather-related. Now that there are over 150 stories on the site, I hope to do a bit of re-organizing to help with navigation. I also hope to do release the Storyfeather podcast in the coming year, to provide an audio version of each story. As the site develops, the core challenge will remain the same, a story a week.
A lot happened in the year three stories. Stars were incubated in the hearts of humans, a tortoise raced a cheetah, someone escaped from the underworld, a potion was brewed, a divine drop of blood was guarded, and an inventor made a map that could lead to realms unknown…
Here’s to seeing what Year Four brings. Thanks again, Mighty Readers.
Long Live Stories!
Emmeline. It started with her. I thought it had to end with her. But I was wrong.
*** Continue reading
She was poor, so poor. And she was weak from hunger. Almost too weak to beg. Her mother was sick, her father gone to war, his fate unknown, and her two younger brothers were starving. Despite all this, when a traveling circus came through the nearby town, Irina went to visit, hoping to see wonders. Continue reading