Incant and Deduct Chapter 9Chapter NineIncant and Deduct Chapter 94 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
John is determined.
This year will be different. He isn't going to let the incident affect his life anymore. It had happened nine months ago, it was time to get over it.
He's going to move back into the Gryffindor dorm. He is, he is. He's a fifth year now he can't sleep in his own cordoned off bedroom because he has pathetic nightmares. He'll be taking his O.W.Ls at the end of the year; he's damn well not going to wimp out, crying off due to illness.
It's not as if he's actually ill, really, the twinge in his leg is nothing, and yes, he has a hideous scar on his shoulder but the physical therapy he's been doing over summer has meant that he has managed to strengthen his muscles. He might even make it back onto the Quidditch team; they've been doing abysmally since John has been unable to fulfil his role as keeper. And he's been doing really well getting back to the old John Watson, the Quidditch keeper and good friend, rather than the shadowy stranger he had bec
KFP Destiny Ch 5KFP Destiny Ch 54 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Six Years Later
The sun just started to rises, Po was laying on his bed already wake, he couldn't believe how so much has change over the last six years. Something snuggled next to him pulling Po out of his thoughts, he grinned and holds his wife closely, listening to her purrs.
(Tigress and Po have been married for about five years, and now they're living on the second floor of the barracks.)
"Morning honey." Po said tenderly, he leans in and kiss Tigress's forehead.
"It's not morning 'til the baby is awake." Tigress whispered with her eyes closed and nuzzled her head on Po's chest, they hear a whimpering sound coming from the basket next to them.
"Right on cue." Po chimed, Tigress got up and went towards the basket to picked up the black and orange cub inside.
"Morning Xin." Tigress said sweetly as she kiss the baby, Po went behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. They looked down at the baby with a smile.
(Xin is Po's and Tigress's so
Getting Published the Hard WayGETTING PUBLISHED: THE TRADITIONAL WAYGetting Published the Hard Way6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
A tutorial by M. Alice Chown
If, like me, you have stories lying around gathering virtual dust on your hard drive, why not send them out to a publisher? You have nothing to lose. A couple of years ago, I attended the launch of an annual Canadian short story anthology, called Tesseracts 10. I knew one of the authors whose speculative fiction piece had been included in the book. Matthew Johnson and I had taken the same creative writing course. Our former prof, author, Robert Sawyer, was there at the launch too, as well as the editors of the anthology. Those who had contributed a story to Tesseracts 10 took turns saying a few words about their piece. Matt talked about his joy at learning that after so many rejections his humble tale about soup of all things had made it into print. Most surprising to me, however, were the words of the pretty, brunette author. She was just 19, a University of Toronto student, and her short story had been her very first
HOHW: Chapter TwoChapter TwoHOHW: Chapter Two3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
“Tearless grief bleeds inwardly.”
-Christian Nevell Bovee
I broke into a bright but overcast day. I made to raise my arm to block the light, on reflex, but the movement caused me to gasp and hunch. I had half an hour's worth of a grace period. Tying my jacket around my chest worked for the most part, its tightness applying some pressure, but as my body adjusted to this new set of rules, the pain was setting back in. My body was dealing with it as if it were a brand new wound.
A half hour until I was running on normal laws of blood loss, shock, and injuries. I pulled the cord off my wrist and retied the necklace around my neck, glad I didn't have to drag the sword any further. I forced myself into an even walk as I dug around in Carver's backpack. I turned on his phone and tried to remember how long the bus ride would be. Fifteen minutes? Twenty?
My side throbbed and I nearly stumbled. A passing businessman gave me a dirty look. I glanced down, making sure
my worldmy world6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
in my world there is no life... no friends... no help... in this world... you must kil or die...
just the strongest survive in it... and the weaknes... in not acepted...
you must resist hits... desillutions... emotions... jokes... darkfeelings...
my world is worse than hell... and better then heaven...
this world is hard and evil... this world can consume... you... he can turn you dark and lonely...
he can break you... this world turn you in what you really are...
i went there just a day... and look at me.. im not me anymore... im not human... im not a demon... im not a spirit...
not even a ghost...
my body now...is stronger than before...
my mind is darker than before ...
even my feeling are stronger than before..
i can't just hurt somebody... i must kill who is against me...
in that world .... those things are the most important to survive in it..
you cant sleep relaxed... because who helped you before... it can be too who sends you to your grave....
in that world all the
Trans: I am all this, but...I have a female body.Trans: I am all this, but...5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I am feminine.
I like make-up.
I like jewelery.
I like perfume.
I love wearing dresses and other 'women' clothing.
I am still a boy.
I have a male body.
I am masculine.
I like sports.
I like colone.
I'm fine with getting dirty.
I love wearing baggy shirts and pants, and other 'male' clothing.
I am still a girl.
wishes on paper stars.i cut out paper stars and color them black. on starless nights, i drop them from my rooftop and watch them fall, slowly, and fade into the grass below.wishes on paper stars.7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
and as they fall, i wish on them. it's the same wish, over and over and over.
'what do you want most?' you ask me, your warm brown eyes staring into my dark ones.
but i have to look away. i'll never be able to tell you that the only thing i want anymore is for you to be happy.
'i'm sorry,' i tell you over the phone, my eyes staring at an empty wall in my room.
'for what?' you ask, confused.
'i failed,' i say, wrapping a blanket around me. 'i failed.'
because none of those wishes have come true.
A Sign Of LoveA Sign Of Love5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
My bare feet slap against the hot pavement as I run down the walking path. Trees rush past me as my white summer dress flows behind me elegantly and my blonde hair glides through the breeze. The small necklace I always wear around my neck gently thumps against my chest with each step. A smile is painted on my face delicately with the brush of life.
My feet turn off onto the dirt path strewn with pebbles and twigs. A tree snags at my dress, almost causing it to rip, but I don't care. I feel like I could just jump into the air, and wings would spread from my shoulder blades and I could fly into the sunset. My feet step on sharp twigs that jab into the skin of my feet, but I don't care. As my feet pound against the ground, the soft soil turned into hard rock. I stop dead in my tracks.
I place my hand over my forehead, blocking the summer sun out of my eyes. I look across the small stream to the islan
SW: To Whom it May ConcernPrince on vacation.SW: To Whom it May Concern5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The DoctorWhen I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.The Doctor4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Poor girl." I heard them say. "She'll never survive this one."
I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.
"Doctor! Look at this!" Shrieked my mother, "Something is coming out of her eye."
The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, "I am so sorry." And then he turned to my mother. "It's a tear. It means that she is sad."
"Sad?" My mother asked inquisitively.
"It's one of her emotions. This doesn't attack the same way that normal diseases do, there are all sorts of different symptoms. Right now, she is sad and the only way that I know how to explain it is that she is feeling down."
"What do you mean by down?"
"Her emotions can best be described as ones that are upwhen she is feeling good, and
Complicated"You know, personally speaking, I don't think you're really unwell at all."Complicated4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"I'm sorry, are you the one who is sick or am I?"
"There is nothing wrong with you."
"Can you say that again?"
"I said, you aren't sick!"
"Whatever. The receptionist is calling me in, anyway."
"You're a hypochondriac."
"What?! Listen you-"
"Look, just go inside. I'm sure the doctor will say the same thing."
"So. What did the doctor say?"
"That it's complicated."
"Yeah. They need to run more tests and figure it out."
"You sound skeptical."
"You told him that you only get 'sick' in history class."
"And about how your heart races and your hands shake."
"And about how you can't sleep at night and you can't concentrate."
"Yes, yes, all of that, I told him everything I told you."
"Did you also happen to mention the boy who sits in front of you in that class?"
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Tell me something. Have you noticed
The BakerI think they killed a baker for his bread today.The Baker5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I can't remember a time of happiness in Paris. The wind carries the quotes of philosophers who tell of freedom. It carries the tales of rebellious wishes and I feel them. Oh, I feel them too.
My baby sister is starving. My mother is starving. My father is starving. I am starving. I am watching all I care for waste away. My stomach is gnawing on itself, growling and snarling like some insatiable beast. My head is floating in the clouds.
I gave my food to mother today. I gave the bread my father fought for in the mob after the murder of the baker to my mother for my sister. My meal was dirty Paris air instead. Was it worth it? Was it worth being selfless and kind, was it worth the extra step closer to starvation?
I'm afraid to die. I have barely lived, only fifteen years. I am but skin and bones. It feels like my skin is stretching over my bones! My dresses hang limply off my body. All of us in Paris look like this. We are walking skeleton