a little story about out-nerding Death in a game of chess from my book Postcards From Impossible Worlds

“The Greenhouse,” a story about grief after the end of the world

This was March 2021’s story for subscribers who sign up for monthly stories printed on postcards & mailed around the world

If you want your heart randomly broken once a month, sign up here

a 30-second short story about creatively “misusing” language

Want more from voice guest Danielle C Ohi? Listen to her read from her forthcoming novel “The Lionhead Prince” here.

I snuck my pet theory about Roman mythology into my book: Pluto isn’t the god of the underworld. Pluto is just the god of

Where is the lie?

Sometimes grief and growth bloom from the same soil. Here’s “Soil,” a gorgeous guest story by James Mark Miller (aka A Small Fiction). You might also enjoy his guest story “Ravens.”

ask-jaghatai-khan:

“But surely you jest, M’Lord Vect.” the waifish alien mused, sipping from a fluted glass of some unknown intoxicant as she lounged back in her seat. The trueborn daughter of one of the high Archon’s senior Dracons, few could have enjoyed such casual conversation with a figure as imposing and feared as Asdrubael Vect.

“Please, you know my jests, dear Kaitria. If I were attempting to fool you it would be far less obvious and yet far more humorous. The creature is indeed a Mon’keigh.” the grand overlord chuckled through closed lips, eyes flashing for a moment in time with a great cheer from the crowds below.

Keep reading

eoki-writing:

Prompt from 11/8/20 - And like the raging ocean, my heart could not be contained.

TW: blood, violence, death

Your skin as fair as summer’s breath, those eyes like dew drops; fresh, bright. The shadow you cast in my doorway at night, as you wake me, drag me into the garden to watch the stars fall. Sundresses, secret smiles, the way you punctuate your sentences with your airy laugh.

Every aspect of you was intoxicating.

Being with you was like walking on air, like flying. You understood me. When we touched, it was electric. But being with you wasn’t enough. It was like an addiction, a craving. You always left me wanting more.

I remember that night, as we lay in the grass watching the tumbling stars streak the sky with light. Your lips, soft as anything, brushed my ear as you whispered. You told me about space, of stars and astrophysics, and all the possibilities that lay out in the void above us.

Each word was a sonnet, your voice a symphony, for me and only me. Only me.

But, then, the stars stilled. You yawned, stretched, and made your leave.

And I was left alone, laying in grass that was now cold without your heat. And once again, I was left wanting more. Needing more.

So the next day, when you visited clutching your wicker basket of muffins, I invited you inside for tea. We sat at the table, across from each other. You wore a strawberry-patterned dress, your hair was carelessly tied back. Beautiful. I couldn’t stop myself from gazing at you, seeing you as only I could.

Sunlight glazed your skin as you spoke, golden rays that shone for you.

It was in that moment I knew that I couldn’t be without you.

So I stood, excusing myself to get a drink from the fridge while you continued to talk, your voice a melody I could hear forever. I turned my back on you, reaching for the cutlery drawer. Silver blades glinted at me, as though daring me, taunting me.

The knife was cold in my hand, but your blood was warm.

In the moments when you drew your final breaths I stared down at the knife, at the scarlet slowly staining your strawberry dress.

A pang of regret, sharp and sour.

What had I done…How could I ruin something so pure, and beautiful? For fear you would leave me?

And now you’ll never leave me. Your skin as fair as summer’s breath, and your eyes of dew will haunt me. Your sundresses, and smiles, and airy laugh will forever torment me.

The silence of your absence will be deafening.

Hey guys check out my latest writing project that I’m doing for my university portfolio X