A day, like all days,
Pain and sorrow color me,
The worst of all hues.
About the Creator
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More stories from William Yarnell and writers in Poets and other communities.
There Weren't Always Dragons in Northport...
Chapter One: A Goblin In Northport The bitter cold wind attempted to snatch his hood away from his head, but a quick movement of his hand held it into place. Unfortunately, this distracted him from seeing the root from a nearby tree jutting up from the ground. As he tumbled face first into the frigid white powder, stars burst behind his eyes as a terrible and searing pain shot up his left leg. He cried out and rolled over onto his back. He grabbed his left foot certain he had broken it and was all but cursing his lack of attention. He opened his yellow eyes and let his heat sense take over in the near darkness.
By William Yarnell4 years ago in Fiction
Swan
“During the Metal Age, humans took photographs of everything beautiful, which was everything, yet machines did not even wear shoes. The Fauxna thought of a better way. They colored all of the light rose, for a corrupted source cannot be verified.” - Origin Parable, 011
By Nicky Frankly3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
I like this, and the photo of Clint. Like an arrow to the heart <3