0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Spirit of Broadway## Act I: The Descent (20%) The rain fell on Manhattan like a curse, turning the streets of the Polish enclave into rivers of mud and despair. Anna Kowalski pulled her shawl tighter and quickened her pace. The tenement building behind her stood five stories tall, its walls crumbling, its windows broken. "Anna!" her mother's voice came from the apartment window. "Come home, girl!" She descended...0 Comments 0 Shares 762 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Forest's Oath## Act I: The Descent (20%) The wind howled across the Yorkshire moors like a wounded thing, rattling the broken panes of the small cottage. Eleanor Crawford stirred the meager fire with a stick of rotting wood. Her mother, Agnes, lay on the straw mattress, her breathing shallow and ragged. "Mother," Eleanor whispered, "I'll find something. Anything." The pantry held nothing but a crust of...0 Comments 0 Shares 760 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Silent Observatory - V2: Cold War Sci-Fi ParanoiaThe anomaly appeared at 03:47 on October 14, 1962, during a routine survey of the Cygnus-X radio band. Dr. James Calder was alone in the underground listening room beneath the GCHQ facility at Bletchley Park—a converted WWII bunker with lead-lined walls and a roof of six inches of reinforced concrete. The Americans had wanted him moved to Fort Meade three years ago. He had declined. His wife...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Cotton Shack on the LeveeThe federals came at dawn on a Tuesday in October 1924. Esther Blackwood knew they were coming—she'd seen the Ford sedans idling at the crossroads for three days, men in overcoats who didn't drive but waited, waited, waited like hounds before the hunt. What she hadn't anticipated was the speed. The raid took eleven minutes from the first kick to the last stilling of a bootleg still. Eleven...0 Comments 0 Shares 762 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Beautiful Kneeling of Seamus O'BrienACT I The churchyard stood between North Street and the harbor, a narrow ribbon of consecrated earth where the dead of Boston's Irish quarter were laid to rest. Sister Mary Clare moved along the gravel paths with her rosary beads passing through her fingers, each bead a small stone of devotion she rolled toward some unknown shore. She was twenty-six years old, born in County Mayo, brought to...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
What's Left When the Light Goes OutKevin's truck was a 1998 Ford F-150. It needed new brakes. It ran fine otherwise. His dad said, "You oughta learn to trade. See what things are worth." Kevin said okay, which is what he says when someone tells him to do something and he doesn't care enough to argue.He drove the truck to his coworker Brian's house. Brian's cousin needed to sell a delivery van. Higher mileage than Kevin's truck...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The-Last-Watcher-of-Vega-StationThe Ashworth Vow The key was heavy when Lord Edmund Ashworth took it from the sideboard. Not heavy with iron, but with something older and heavier still—the weight of four hundred years of stone and memory. The key was tarnished, its bow carved with a design that looked at first glance like ivy but upon closer inspection resembled hands clasped in an oath. He stood in the vaulted entrance hall...0 Comments 0 Shares 762 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Last Echo of BlackwoodThe dome was dying. Arth knew this the way he knew the weather — not through measurement or data, but through feeling. The walls vibrated at a frequency that sat in his chest like a bad tooth. The air tasted different than it had when he was a boy: thinner, metallic, with a faint sweetness that reminded him of old blood. He was seventeen years old and he had never seen Earth. Everyone on...0 Comments 0 Shares 766 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pilgrim's MarchThe road to Oxford was long and the winter was early. Anselm of York knew this because the abbot had told him so, and the abbot did not tell things twice. "Keep your head down and your mouth shut," the old man had said, pressing a leather satchel into Anselm's hands. The satchel was heavy. It contained the abbot's last work: three years of copying, of reading, of recording things that powerful...0 Comments 0 Shares 766 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek