Humanity’s greatest flaw wasn’t beauty. It was trust.
Trust in money. Trust in power. Trust in protection.
Trust in faith.
She sat alone on the great porch of pristine white. A magnificent southern architect of Victorian embellishment touched with towering Greek columns and antebellum grace. Proud oaks and their willowy hair guarded her dream as wisterias curled around the wrought iron black gates.
Such was a visionary excellence to all passerby. Glorious beauty with no depth. Everything within her grasp, but none of it to hold her together. For all the money, charm and charisma this space had to offer, it could not fill the deepest pits in the soul that yearned for something out of reach.
Freedom was often a fleeting visage.
Gwendolyn was quite the troubled rose. A definite heartbreaker in her blossoming youth and now, a full bloom Venus. She held the world through eyes the color of depression. The waves so dark and volatile, she stoo
About the author: Melissa S. Vice is an American author of erotica, fantasy and paranormal romance novels. Vice was born in Duluth, GA a proud Libra in the fall of October. She is the author of Oblivion, the fantasy romance novel and book one of her Tales of Incipion series, and the highly anticipated werewolf novel, Beneath the Blood Moon. An avid reader, she was introduced to her first taste of whimsical love, Wishes by Jude Deveraux, and has expanded her shelves since those tender years of youth and blissful ignorance. Her enjoyment for video games and books inspire unlimited worlds of adventure and everlasting love to rival those that had come before.
Greg, his girlfriend Julie, Ashley, his girlfriend Sarah and Ashley’s brother Jacob formed a little clique in their small-town high school. Jacob was more than a year younger than Ashley. He couldn’t drive yet and didn’t have a girlfriend and so always tagged along with him to most places. Ashley, or Ash as friends called him, felt bad for Jacob and tried to include his brother in most things, other than dates with Sarah, who never minded most times. She knew Ashley loved and looked out for Jacob and she admired him for that. A basketball star in their school, Ash called himself “a big fish in a little pond.” Greg starred on the high school football team. He played defensive and offensive end and liked the job to batter through the opposition and tackle the quarterback. Greg’s friends described him as a big guy with a bigger heart. Greg, the “Teddy Bear,” got that nickname from his classmates for standing up for kids who got bullied by school butt-heads. He was a friendly gu
“It is gathered that, 12 pounds of meat, Is their everyday treat. It’s what they require, It’s what they always eat.” “While preying on the edges of the shrinking water bodies, In the scorching waves of summer heat. The vary victim is not aware of the lurking danger, Or hungry greed. It’s the perfect chance, an absolute opportunity, The Tiger strikes with a swift streak, His grace unmatched, Fearless he proceeds, To gain over his kill. The neck of the thrashing pawn under the clutches of his teeth, The Tiger gauges the nature of his sort, and drags his win to a secluded vicinity.” Oh! How his eyes searched the strength of the attack It was very interesting to the world But to him- he f
About The Authors Mark Boutros is an award winning writer, and author of fantasies that celebrate broad worlds, hapless characters and freedom of imagination. He also writes short stories and thrillers. Mark lives in London, loves RPSs (the computer game kind) and binge watching Netflix with his wife. Michaelle Leigh is an American author who enjoys writing during the evening twilight. Living near a bird sanctuary by a lake, she loves the serenity that it provides. Married and mother of two full-grown adults, she finds the support and love that she needs. Her lifelong dream is to write amazing stories that people will enjoy and awaken their love for reading. Not sticking to any particular genre, she likes to test her boundaries in writing. Danielle McNeil writes paranormal/supernatural stories that involve vampires and werewolves. Her works include
Lying here with a loss of words, hearing no sound but that of a dirgeI searched my mind but it comes blank, the sounds of Lament fell like I sankDeadweight is my body all dressed and adorned, to be viewed by the ones who felt I have scornedTucked in a billow of alabaster white, a weight of coins to keep out the lightHow is it possible I am lying here, surrounded by people who don’t shed a tear?Trying to move to stop this façade, not wanting to meet the one they call GodClosing the lid with a small click, hearing the pallbearer say, ‘What a dick’The vertigo of weightlessness now being felt, not liking the cards that were dealtHearing the thud of dirt being thrown, the feeling of dread about the unknownThe smell of dirt that’s been freshly turned, makes my stomach start to churnNot understanding why I can’t move nor utter a sound, as they continue to put me in the groun
Mum wiped the stringy blood from around Granddad’s mouth.“Emma, grab the tissues from the desk,” she ordered.Granddad lay on his battered mattress in the corner and stared at the damp ceiling. He looked like he was sick of fighting whatever tortured his insides, and skin hung like it wanted to leave him. I grabbed the tissue box and wheeled over to him.When we discovered his lung cancer was terminal mum moved him from the cabin by the pond to the farmhouse so he could spend his dying days closer to us. The stench of cigarettes clung to him, even though he hadn’t smoked for the last month.He coughed more blood.Fear twinkled behind the dry sickness in his eyes. They locked on mine and he moved his finger over the duvet in a circular motion while mum wiped the blood. I had no idea what he wanted, and I wished we could’ve bonded more, but in truth, he scared me. He always stared and looked anguished. Eighteen years we
AddyI am so excited; we finally get to go on vacation for two weeks. I've spent the whole month buying supplies, stocking the RV to get everything ready. My husband, Jim, and I love the outdoors. Going camping every year to get away from civilization is our thing. We've been married seven years with no kids or pets. So there is nothing but our jobs to hold us back from living life on the road.“Honey, can you pack the case of water in the under storage compartment for me?”Putting the last of the supplies away and going through my mental checklist, I confirm we’re good to go. He makes sure the house is secure with locks on and timers for the lights set. I let out a hum of contentment as Jim wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck.“Are you ready to go, gorgeous?”God, I love the way he feels against me. It’s the first weekend in October and this trip will be the reset button after busting our ass al
“Let’s keep going, guys.” Beatrice Cunningham put a hand up to shield her eyes. The scorching heat from the sun not only blinded her but was making her a little queasy. Still, she couldn’t give up the find, a brilliant discovery. The bills weren’t paying themselves. Beatrice needed something, anything to get her out of debt. Her crew was in the same boat. They had to make a breakthrough or it was over. Her father, Eli, clarified it. He wasn’t funding her little ‘expeditions’ anymore. “I think we should give up now, Tish.” Henry, one of Beatrice’s oldest friends gazed at her. He took off his hat and fanned himself. He wiped the sweat from his brow. His face was coated with dirt from the digs along with his blond hair. Beatrice sighed. The others looked worn out. They leaned against the dusty door of their latest dig. Beatrice grabbed two canteens out of the back. “I guess you’re right, Hank,” she tossed him a canteen. “We’re dying of thirst out here. Maybe we
Dead people smell weird. I don’t mean the obvious rotting flesh, rancid bodily fluid kind of smell. This was more like ash and earth, maybe with a hint of smoky barbecue. You’d think I’d be used to it by now with a thousand years to acclimate. But my nose still twitched and crinkled as the newly risen ambled at my side. “Would you mind walking further down-wind?” After a decade of having been under a curse that had changed my appearance to a witchy old hag and my subsequent failure to break it until recently, I’d since been attempting to live by the ‘kill more flies with honey’ motto. The forced politeness was often driven through tightly clenched teeth. Previously, the figure shuffling along beside me, would have already been reduced to ash for the annoying scrape of his foot along the pavement alone. But with meditative breathing and an iron-tight control of my temper, I just about held it together. Barely. “Merrgagahh,” he groaned.