Short Story

Then on one eventful day, there was a knock on the door. Rainsford wondered who could be at the door since the chateau was blocked off by a treacherous, thorny path. As Rainsford hobbled toward

“The community broke into complete chaos. Everybody and everything was out of order. When the wave of painful memories hit, the people dropped to the floor and held their heads in excruciating pain. We should have thought this through more carefully Jonas. I would never have believed that such anarchy could become in such a peaceful community. But the memories were too harsh. Riots were started. Fires burnt down the buildings. Some jumped into the river and died just

Before me loomed the old observatory which would be our home for the next year. Its walls were an expanse of red brick stacked on red brick, contrasting the two white front doors and the white domed tower. It sat atop Henrick Cliff with large fields sloping down from the front of the house. The tower could be seen rising from the back of the house, with the cliffs edge and sea beyond that. The observatory looked like a forgotten castle, waiting for the next rulers to occupy it.

He slowly got off the back of his horse and took a deep breath. This was something he has never seen before. The doorway seemed to have a slightly blue phosphorescent look swirled in a white color in the center with red flickers on the edges; the frame was decorated with twisting

The sage nodded and turned away. Kit slowly rose to his feet, again passed through the bead threshold, and mounted his horse. “Why would a wall be their only weakness?” This question Kit pondered for hours that night, as he laid in the darkness of his home. Eventually the grasps of sleep crept up on him, and he drifted to sleep.

As he sat stiff backed and upright in the hard wooden chair, Jotham looked around anxiously. He could only see three of the walls, and the ceiling, if he craned his neck upwards, but that was enough to make him very uneasy indeed. They were grey and bare - not silver grey, but a horrible murky grey, that made it seem like everything was closing in on him. The room was rectangular; not at all wide; there was perhaps a metre between him and the nearer two walls, but it was extremely lengthy; probably about fifteen metres long.

This was confusing for all of them but his comrades had been given orders to put him in custody. They starved him and beat him for weeks. The one torturing asked him questions about his brother and where he was. He tells them over and over that he shot and killed him, but everytime he would cry for help his fingers or toes would be broken. Somehow he survived all of this. He survived all the whipping, bone breaking, and slashes they dealt on him. He had suffered terribly just because he was related to his target. The body was never found, so the commander assumed he went rogue and decided that torturing him would be the best interrogation strategy. Eventually the pain was too much and he died from shock. A soldier, an amazing one at that, had died for his country. All for

She led Chenelie up a huge, snowy mountain. There were no trees anywhere, only huge rocks, perfect for climbing. There was a no-freeze lake perfect for drinking. There was a perfect sheltered area with fluffy grass in it—a perfect home! “Chenelie, this will be your home. You may live here as long as you promise no tree-shaking,” the queen said, her eyes closed.

Blood from his scalp drips down his forehead As he takes another deep breath, trying to keep his tired eyes open because he knew As soon As he close them it would be his last; he will never be able to open them again. Lying in his trench wounded, he could hear the crawling of another solider coming his way. “Help.” He softly yelled due fact that he lacked energy to actually holler because of the encounter of his pain from his wounded was drowning ever last drop of power and hope that he would survive. The solider approaching him was a fellow marine, PFC Richardson, a pal of his he met while in training. As soon as Richardson saw him lying in the trench he sprint towards him and try to apply all force of pressure on his right arm to stopping

"Long ago, their was an attack on this city. Many nobles, and townspeople lost their lives, defending their king. The city itself was greatly damaged in the battle. Some thought it was beyond repair. but just when we were about to lose hope, we received help from another kingdom we never even knew existed. They rode on great winged horses, and they wore glowing armor, that shined like the sun. They repaired our city in return for a promise. That we hide the castle using their implanted cloaking device, and never speak a word of it's existence to anyone, except someone by the name of Adenine."

The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I approached my native town. I discovered more distinctly the black sides of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blanc. I wept like a child: "Dear mountains! My own beautiful lake! How do you welcome your wanderer?

“He unseamed him from the nave to th’ chops and fixed his head upon our battlements” Injured soldier 1,3

BOOM! A gun went off, and hit one of his men. He raced toward the wounded soldier. He knew him well, as he did all of the other men in

THE GROUND VIBRATED in a thunderous roar as several steeds sprinted through the thick mist of Clays Waterfall, and down a winding road to the village of Masonburge. An unbearable stench of rotting animal carcasses greeted King David’s Kingsmen upon entering through an opening in a wobbly wooden fence.

Once upon a time, in a very far away land, there was a small kingdom called Idris. It was a beautiful, quaint little place surrounded by beautiful mountains nestled between a large, lush green forest very rich in history and also romance and tradition of it's people who'd lived there for many generations. Idris itself was a flourishing peaceful but small kingdom, which happened to be well connected with many various other kingdoms from which it had formed many alliances and friendships. Idris was known for it's history as well.