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‘Johnny Bastard Dalton, as I live and breathe!’ John looked up from his book. He didn’t recognise the man; maybe it was …
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Controlling her anger was one thing. But it didn’t stop her ramming his car. Nathan had been dead for a year. The …
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The celebrated restaurant stood out from the dark street like a reassuring beacon. Yonder! Its glittering lights radiated warmth, welcome and the …
9 Min Read
One Year In Numbers
I say this continual smoking must have been one cause, at least, of his peculiar disposition for every one. Whether ashore or afloat, is terribly infected with the nameless misteries.
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Did I say safely lodged? At the time I thought we were quite safe, and so did Perry. He was praying—raising his voice in thanksgiving at our deliverance—and had just completed a sort of paeon of gratitude that the thing couldnt climb a tree when without warning.
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Did I say safely lodged? At the time I thought we were quite safe, and so did Perry. He was praying—raising his voice in thanksgiving at our deliverance—and had just completed a sort of paeon of gratitude that the thing couldnt climb a tree when without warning.
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Did I say safely lodged? At the time I thought we were quite safe, and so did Perry. He was praying—raising his voice in thanksgiving at our deliverance—and had just completed a sort of paeon of gratitude that the thing couldnt climb a tree when without warning.
Blogging as a therapy.
Had I still retained the suspicion that we were on earth the sight that met my eyes would quite entirely have banished it. Emerging from the forest was a colossal beast which closely resembled a bear. It was fully as large as the largest.
Dragged into Stubb’s boat with blood-shot, blinded eyes, the white brine caking in his wrinkles; the long tension of Ahab’s bodily strength did crack, and helplessly he yielded to his body’s doom: for a time, lying all crushed in the bottom of Stubb’s boat, like one trodden under foot of herds of elephants.
The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if the craft did not founder. Twice it could have been all over with her if the crew had not been constantly on the watch. Aouda was exhausted, but did not utter a complaint. More than once Mr. Fogg rushed to protect her from the violence of the waves.
I faced about again, and rushed towards the approaching Martian, rushed right down the gravelly beach and headlong into the water. Others did the same. A boatload of people putting back came leaping out as I rushed past. The stones under my feet were muddy and slippery, and the river was so low that I ran perhaps twenty feet scarcely.
I gave a cry of astonishment. I saw and thought nothing of the other four Martian monsters; my attention was riveted upon the nearer incident. Simultaneously two other shells burst in the air near the body as the hood twisted round in time to receive, but not in time to dodge, the fourth shell.
Readers Feedback
I say this continual smoking must have been one cause, at least, of his peculiar disposition for every one. Whether ashore or afloat, is terribly infected with the nameless misteries.
Great idea, great difference in the stories I love it!
Naomi
Naomi, Teacher
I loved reading this short story on my commute to work. Elvis lives on!
Joe
Joe, The Commuter
Authors Spotlight
These are the faces behind the most popular posts.
- Originally from Dublin Ireland and now living and working in Sydney Australia. Ali has always been interested in writing funny emails, quirky columns and is now trying to turn her observations of the funny things we all do into stories!
- Apart from working relentlessly on writing yet another novel, Amanda reads. And reads. And reads. Totally for escapism. Anything from high literature to spy thrillers. Loves Southern gothic, history, alternative fiction, well-written crime novels. She doesn’t love the current state of the world, but remains sanguine. Most of the time.
- I write about home, family, friends and all the undercurrents of love.
- Grace likes writing stories because it helps her to see things in a different light.
- This is where the Authors of The Moving Pen share their 100 Word stories. Little bites of literary bounty.
- Paul is a writer with a taste for comedy, mystery, history, and just a little bit of magic. His musings on nothing in particular can be found on paulnichollswriter.com
- We passed this way. Some of us were lucky enough to be. And even if we chose to spend our time in misery we were. That is the point and the glory of it. We were. And we know this one event, this one triumph, will not recur. For when we have ceased to be, and all is said and done, we will join those who never had our chance, the multitude of None.
- Steph O’Connell took to fiction writing recently and is making up for lost time. Steph is a self professed voyeur of the gritty challenges that change lives for better or worse. Steph lives in Australia and is drawn to the cut and thrust between global powers and the history behind their games.
- Tracie acknowledges the traditional owners of the Dharug, Gundungurra and Wiradjuri lands which inspire much of her writing, and on which she is grateful to walk, write and paint. This respect extends to all Aboriginal and First Nations people and leaders, past, present and emerging.
Tracie likes to write about place, belonging and silence (intended and unintended) and hopes her readers will be left with a desire to explore and create their own stories. Her writing can also be found at Lithgow Area Local News, https://lithgowlocalnews.com/ and Bushwalk Australia Magazine https://bushwalk.com/magazine. - Teller of tall stories
- The modern Ernest Hemingway
