Flashback – Enough

Enough – What does it mean to just be? (Genre – General, Genre – Introspective, Rating: PG)

Image credit – Sean McEntree, Flickr


Teacup Story – Reborn

Reborn – Lily waited as the New Year passed. Every year some were chosen to be Reborn. Lily sincerely hoped she wasn’t one of them. (Genre – Fantasy, Warnings: Language, Rating: 15)

Gerald purred against Lily as she stroked him gently. For once the normally crazy cat was subdued, exhausted from staying up all night because of the fireworks.

It was a new year. Lily didn’t put too much stock in the whole event, the parties or the dramatic resolutions. That was for those who believed they would be Reborn in the New Year, that this would be their year they could ascend to the next plane of existence.

Lily didn’t really care. This life was enough, she had Gerald, she had a decent job, she got through in life. There was no reason to be Reborn yet, not now. Maybe when she was old and dying she might throw in a few pence to the Higher Gods. At the moment, those pennies were better spent on ice cream.

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Flashback – The Book of Pattegon (4/4) – Everald

The Book of Pattegon (4/4) The ancestors wanted their Magics back safely in their own corporeal arms. And that meant that the Book of Pattegon had to be stolen from the Inner Council itself. Which in turn meant that a little bit of chaos had to be created.

(Rating: 15, Warnings: violence, graphic imagery, Genre: Fantasy, Action, Adventure)

[Want to catch up on the story? – Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4]

Image Credit: Sean McEntree, Flickr

100 Words – Secret

[100 Words is a story in 100 words or less, based off the word in the title.]

No one can know. Not because that they cannot be trusted, but the knowledge would destroy. It would betray people. That’s what justifies it. At least, I hope so.

I hope so much.

Patrick stopped writing, his pen poised above the paper. The letter was written. This was to die with him.

He slid the secret, the folded piece of paper with the information that could destroy so many, inside the envelope. Then he slid his still wet letter inside.

No one can know, he thought.

He sealed the envelope and threw it in the fire.

No one can know.


100 Words – Letter

[100 Words is a story in 100 words or less, based off the word in the title.]

Olivia clutched the piece of paper in her hands, as if holding it tighter would bring her Penelope home.

She’s safe, Olivia thought. Everything was going to be okay.

But there was only one reason that Penelope would have sent a letter. In a world of computers, holo-messages, and spaceships which could travel the stars, a letter was archaic.

It also meant it could never be hacked.

Olivia unfurled the paper in her hands, eyes scanning over the words again.

Will be longer than expected, but I will come home. I promise.

“Please come home,” Olivia whispered, “please come home.”

Teacup Story – Cold

Cathie hated the cold. She wasn’t built for it like the humans were, with their warm bloodied limbs. (Rating: T, Genre: Sci-Fi)

“So. Fucking. Cold,” Cathie rubbed her hands together before shoving them back under her coat. Even in here, in the tiny cabin of their rover, the cold was still biting. Maybe they could turn the heating on again.

“Cathie, we’re on Anro-1, what do you expect?” Dave’s voice came from the pod next door to her. Each scientist had their own pod, and the drivers had a separate one again. Something to do with the weird ass atmosphere on Andro-1, and the fact that not all of them breathed oxygen.

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Teacup Story – Home

Home – Home is more than a place, or stuff, or a memory. It is a feeling. (Genre – General, Rating – PG)

Home is not just a place, it is a feeling.

A place is transmutable. It can change, it can be changed, sculped and moulded into the design of the onlooker. It can be exchanged, bartered, and left behind.

Stuff is like a place, physical and permanent but it only holds sentiment. Sentiment which can change, wax and wane like the moon in the night sky, sentiment which is never truly fixed.

Memories are like stuff, never true, always subjective. Reaching outside your grasp, snippets of memory but no true image. Just the ghosts of a past that was well lived, whispering secrets that you learnt so that you might be better tomorrow.

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