Category: original fiction

Image by Olof Erla - Website, DeviantArt I'm Not Cinderella I'm not Cinderella. I didn't leave my shoe behind me at the ball, but of course the prince didn't follow me out either, desperate to know who the mysterious woman was. And I didn't leave at the stroke of midnight, leaving the music and chatter far behind, tears in my eyes as I returned to my dingy room to wait on my step-sisters' return. After all, I was the hostess of this soiree, a married woman content to watch other swooning over their new loves. I had smiled and danced and looked admiringly at my husband, my snake of a husband who had invited his whore this evening as if I didn't know the beautiful, blonde young woman was his newest conquest. And he had dared to hold her in his arms, to twirl her around the ballroom, to show her off. Our last guests had pulled down the drive, leaving the house quiet...

"Tomorrow Will Be Warmer" It was so cold. The icy air bit her face, brought tears to her eyes. They were going to die out here if they didn't find shelter soon. Better to die free than stay there, she heard Blair's words in her mind, although his lips didn't move. She wasn't sure she could agree. They had been warm and fed, perhaps not safe, but not threatened by woid creatures like the bears and wolves that lived in these woods. She bit her lip and kept trudging down the path, determined not to slow their small group. They had been running for three days now, but Jamis assured them that the guards were no longer searching, had decided they weren't worth the trouble. New slaves could be acquired and their gifts had been useless in the city anyway. The tightly packed buildings, the dark rooms and persistent beatings had drained them, left them barely functional. He was right, she knew, they would have...

She didn't seem thrown by the questions. "Vanilla," she replied promptly, "with sprinkles." He smiled. She came in every Saturday afternoon with the same order. He had given up on convincing her to try another more exotic flavor, goat cheese with red cherries or whiskey and pecans. She just didn't appreicate his ice cream genius. She probably didn't realize that the only reason he even kept the flavor on the menu was because of her. He didn't want to see the disappointment in her green eyes if one day he had to say he was sorry, but maybe she'd be happy with sweet cream. She'd quit coming he knew, it was that simple. And he'd miss her. He only saw her once a week and then rarely indulged in anything but the briefest small talk. On sunny days, she took her cone out to one of the small tables on the sidewalk, sat and people-watched. When it rained, she just left. He...

"If Snowflakes Were Kisses" The postcard brought a smile to her lips. The vintage picture of a re-cheeked boy and girl all bundled-up riding a sled down a snowy slope was cute, but it was the message on the back that had brightened her day. "Katie, if snowflakes were kisses, I'd send you a blizzard," and it was snowing outside, with several inches on the ground already and no break in sight; a gorgeous day, at least in her opinion, even if her neighbors didn't agree. They would whine about the roads being impassable, about the ice breaking tree branches, even that the creek was frozen. She loved it. Her grandma had always called her the winter girl. The icy sparkles, the brilliant cold December sun made her feel alive, made her want to hike in the woods, ice skate on the lake, but tonight she missed him. A cup of hot chocolate and a sweet Christmas romance would fit her mood. She...

Image from Far West Forum "Kitty's Saloon" “Kitty,” his breath was warm against the back of her neck. “I’ve missed you.” His voice, barely above a whisper, had a knife-edge to the softness. He pulled her golden curls to one side and kissed the hollow of her neck. She straightened her back, chasing away the memories that clouded her mind, and put the drinks she was carrying in front of the two of the men playing poker. She turned slowly taking a step back from him as she did, needing space between them. “Jake,” she said, walking behind the long oak bar. He sat on a stool as she set a glass of whiskey in front of him. “I heard you were out inCalifornia, trying your hand as a miner. Thought you’d have found your fortune by now.” Although a glance at his dusty, worn coat told her luck had not been on his side. "Never made it there.” He avoided telling her about...

Artist Unknown The Storm A storm was rolling in. Lightning darted among the dark clouds and the wind began howling, moaning, pushing the tempest across the waves. At the first deep roar of thunder, the great dane standing on the balcony beside Eliya looked up at her and whined, urging her to come back inside. She patted its head, but ignored the plea. Another grumble vibrated through the stone and it rushed inside, not waiting for her to change her mind. A loyal companion, no doubt, but afraid of the thunder and too gentle to be much use as a guard, she adored it, but was happy that it was safe, probably curled up on her bed, its steel grey coat nearly the same color as her satin spread. The storm frightened Eliya also, not the noise, or the gale, or the torrential downpour it brought- the palace was quite strong, had stood on this promitory for a hundred year, staring out at the ocean, watching...