Golden Holes: A Narrative Fiction

Morning brought the peace of a warm sunny day to the small town of Tributary; such a contrast to the violent events of the day before, still there was a sense of mourning in the air. The town folk spent much of the day recovering lost property. Everyone felt fortunate to have found their missing belongings. Everyone except Corvida Bratleigh! Rather than being thankful her playhouse was undamaged by the tornado, Corvida was angry that her playhouse was in Nikki Fernandez’s garden! The playhouse was hers, not Nikki’s and she was going to make sure that Nikki did not step one foot in her lovely little house.

“It was my fault. I could've given him my food. He didn't have to die. I failed him,” I choked out, “I was fine, strong, I wasn't close to starved, and neither were the kids. You burn through your rations with your work in the fields, but I didn't need to eat. I could've saved him.” The wind faltered in our direction for a instant, causing smoke to blow my way and burn my eyes. It smelled strange, like the mountains.

She decided to look down for the rest of the walk after getting glared at by a passerby. As she was watching her feet and skipping over the cracks in the pavement, something had yanked the back of her jacket. Whipping around, Becca saw a shambled family. They were tan and soaking wet; their cardboard home shaped the background of the frightening portrait Becca was faced with. A wave of angry words, desperate words confronted her, echoing without meaning her mind. The mother of the two children fell to her knees weeping, pleading for something Becca would never exactly know. The daughter, the girl Becca realized pulled her jacket, stared at her. Dark chocolate colored eyes were melting with the heat of her pain and her brittle lips smoked with the speed of her pleading words. Becca was being pulled away unknowingly when she heard a familiar rumble coming from the pit of the girl’s stomach. And just as soon as the encounter had happened, it was over. Concern replaced the sound of desperation and she let her family know she was fine. She went back to looking at her feet. In a couple of minutes, Becca’s family arrived at the

Makayla looked out of the window, when she noticed there was a storm coming. “It sure is getting dark”, said her father. Makayla nodded. “Don’t forget we’re leaving for the weekend”, said her mother. “Yeah, I remembered”, responded Makayla.

Then all was quiet save for the wind. It whistled and curled around Kyrie's cloak and hair before departing. She shook slightly, shivering in the cold winter air. A finger poked itself around her stomach, seeking out the hole on her light armor. Her clothes were torn on her back as well.

They did it! They finally did it! The wormhole was open and it was stable. The scientists had seconds to celebrate before a figure fell through the wormhole  to the floor of the room. They all leaned over the control pad to look through the bulletproof glass. The figure tried to move, but fell back to the floor.

Esmé stood in the pouring rain watching her mother from the safety of the garden. Still in her school uniform, shaking like a leaf and with a never-ending flood of tears rushing from her eyes she stood motionless, just staring. As the rain attacked the windows at the back of 72 Russell Street, Esmé could only just make out the silhouette of a woman hunched over a bottle of what she knew was vodka. The woman got to her feet and swayed a little before falling to the floor with an almighty crash from the piles of liquor that she had landed on. Gulping, Esmé looked up into the black and grey sky and said a prayer to who-ever might be listening, but to Esmé this seemed to only make matters worse and the heavens opened and dropped buckets onto her

I vaguely remembered a hurricane coming through when I was but a child. The howling winds and heavy rains had caused much damage to my father’s plantation and to others along the river. At that time, I had never been into the city; now that I thought about it, Angelique was in the city when the storm came- Anastasia had held me and soothed my fears as debris slammed against the wooden shutters that covered the window of my bedroom…

“No the tent goes on this side of the fire pit! I want it on this side.” “Who cares! Just set it up on this side!” Bree covered her ears and ran back onto the path to sit quietly on a rock. “Don't go too far!” Her mother yelled breaking away from the argument. Bree sat and stared out to the trees. She sighed and wished for a peaceful life like them. She felt envious. How long had she been sitting there? Should she get back? Someone screamed. Her head whirled around. There was shouting, then a moment of silence. She frantically slid off the rock and sprinted back to the camp. Only, no one was there. It was completely empty. “Mommy? Daddy?” Her voice quivered. Where were they? She thought she hadn't taken that long. She was scared. Her tears started to flow. Then by the grassy area, she saw something. It was a shoe. Mommy's shoe! She ran to the spot and brushed the grass away. Bree gasped and fell backward. Her mother had scratches bleeding all over, her head had a large gash, and she could see all the whites in her eyes. She cried. But where was her father? She went around camp searching. Hoping, praying. She couldn't find him. He was gone. Just like that. He just had disappeared into thin air. Sniffling she ran. Water streaming down her face, blurring her sight. She ran. Right into a giant… What exactly was it? She looked up. A man stared down at her. “Are you ok?” He looked down at her worriedly with huge eyes. “Where’s your campground?” “Whaa~?” She felt dazed and fell into a pit of darkness. Bree could hear distant shouting that she couldn’t quite reach. Did someone say hair? Too much she thought and closed her

The rain couldn’t mask the tears rolling off her cheek staring down at the six foot ground hole. She’s stiff as a board unable to take everything in. An arm comes over her left shoulder, looking at Mark with her dull, watery eyes. “She’s gone.”

Hey, thanks again for playing with me today. Although it was a very LONG day, I'm glad we got back out on the course to enjoy the good weather.

It is then at that moment that the sky bursts into tears. I shudder violently; I can almost feel the anguish the heavens are screaming out. I can almost feel the pain. There wasn’t even a warning drizzle; it simply started to pour. My window’s half open, revealing the storm behind my flimsy window screen, and I’m getting pelted by raindrops. I rush to close the sliding window, but not the entire way; I leave a small crack to let in relieving gusts of fresh air and return to my seat, a little wet, but I’ll survive.

The sky turned a blackish grayish with a purple tint. Everyone went into their homes because they expected a storm. Alice and Zach, a young couple that lived on a hill near town heard about the warning but didn’t know too much about it. They preferred to stay away from town because of the king and Alice’s mother died when she was young and had to be raised by a mean family. Just to be safe they closed all their windows and doors and went to the highest floor of their

But the shopman had already bowed as though keeping it for her was all any human being could ask. He would be willing, of course, to keep it for her for ever. The discreet door shut with a click. She was outside on the step, gazing at the winter afternoon. Rain was falling, and with the rain it seemed the dark came too, spinning down like ashes. There was a cold bitter taste in the air, and the new-lighted lamps looked sad. Sad were the lights in the houses opposite. Dimly they burned as if regretting something. And people hurried by, hidden under their hateful umbrellas. Rosemary felt a strange pang. She pressed her muff against her breast; she wished she had the little box, too, to cling to. Of course the car was there. She'd only to cross the pavement. But still she waited. There are moments, horrible moments in life, when one emerges from shelter and looks out, and it's awful. One oughtn't to give way to them. One ought to go home and have an extra-special tea. But at the very instant of thinking that, a young girl, thin, dark, shadowy - where had she come from? - was standing at Rosemary's elbow and a voice like a

Looking down the hole that led to nowhere, I could taste the bitterness of my fate; the sour spit that hunger had released into my dry mouth drizzled around in an uncontrolled manner. My stomach churned and my intestines were strangled, as though a snake had twirled around them and slit them with its sharp and jagged teeth releasing a strong poison that irritated the surface of my innards.