Fable
The Titmouse and the Juggernaut
The Titmouse pointed her nose in the air sniffing at the theatrical ozone. "Mr. So and So has been near," she muttered. I presume so from the somewhat sort of gangly yet cordial greeting (ahem), and the smell of a distant witches brew was it? She perused the assortment of visitors, of shapes odd and new. Being so small they looked like quite large shapes to her. Insects and furries alike they all stood still as the Juggernaut made his entrance.
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelle4 years ago in Fiction
The Fable of the Rainbow
PART I. THE FABLE OF THE RAINBOW: The rain began to subside. A frog sat on a fallen tree branch under the cover of low hanging leaves strumming his ukulele a song about rainbows. High above, within the canopy, a male macaw sang to his beloved, Scarlet, and their newborn chic, Maco; he placed his wing around his lifelong mate, his foot playfully on his son’s head, and belted out the chorus of the frog’s tune, “the lovers, the dreamers and ma maa maaaa mmmmmeeeeEEEEEEE!”
By U.B. Light4 years ago in Fiction
The Call of the Macaw
*Inspired by the Swan Lake story Two separate kingdoms that had been fighting with each other after years of famine finally were beginning to make amends to one another with the planning of a future wedding between Princess Arianna and Prince James II. An evil magician holds a different sort of idea in store for the fated couple, however, the magician’s wicked plan had been set in stone for years with his evil eyes on the beautiful Princess. The poor unsuspecting Prince had no idea what was in store for him with the power of the magician’s curse.
By Chloe Rose Violet 🌹4 years ago in Fiction
Foggy Waters
Duck, duck…Swan Day in and day out, Duck was nicknamed that because she would always waddle slowly doing her normal routine of life i.e., waking up, school, back home, homework, and other activities around the house. She never showed a zeal for life.
By Adrainne Thompson4 years ago in Fiction
Marigold’s Ballad
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Marigold dreamt of hazy blues and reds and yellows high in the clouds, even as every night she would awaken at exactly midnight to this strange violet phenomenon. It was trying to tell her something, but she didn’t know what.
By Melissa Ingoldsby4 years ago in Fiction
Beauty of the Beast
In a fecund land ripe with reachable riches, in which the ever untroubled natives need only extend fingers to pick the sweetest fruits of overgrowing abundance, or their arms into the overflowing rivers to pluck fat fish for their dinners with their bare hands, life is entirely carefree. The robust, sun-kissed boys and girls run and play all day upon the lushly green, flowering hills, and hide and seek with the hares and hedgehogs of the sheltering forest, knowing no fear. Their fathers and mothers too are much as their children, as the little work to be done not completed by nature is done by noon each day. Thus, making merry, drinking their wine early and often, imitating the wild rabbits in the frequency of their lovemaking, many a break is taken from the pleasure of the bedchambers, whereof new children are sprung in troves, that the pleasure of youth may be mirrored by even the aged, all ages running and whooping and laughing, knowing only the moment’s joy, not what the advanced nations call maturity.
By Nick Jameson4 years ago in Fiction
A Mouse Called Rosie
Will was only three months old when Rosie first appeared. It was a moment Will’s mother Rachel would be proud of, being that she was the kind of woman who often stayed up all night to make sure the house was clean. What Rosie’s appearance meant to Rachel was that she really wasn’t the great home maker she strives to be. With Rosie being a mouse, a field mouse no doubt from the large field of grass behind Rachel’s house.
By Chloe Medeiros4 years ago in Fiction
Jack Tales
Jack and his family were dirt farmers, out a-ways in Nevada, where there weren’t no big cities, just little towns that nobody never heard of no-ways. Literally, they farmed dirt. Oh, they’d tried to grow things in the dirt, but nothing ever did. Jack’s Momma kept chickens and some goats, so at least they had milk and eggs, though Jack got mighty tired of always eating eggs for every meal. For a while, she had a passel of sheep and a sheepdog or two, but eventually the dogs must’ve got tired of all them eggs, ate the sheep and headed off to find greener pastures. Jack sometimes saw them dogs a mile or so down the road, so evidently they didn’t have to look too hard for them greener fields.
By Shawna Clawson Chambers5 years ago in Fiction
