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• Fiction > Historical Fiction
  Nobility

  

  By J.Octavian.R, lake nebagamon, WI

  His brow sweats profusely, but his countenance remains unaltered. Amidst the rising cries of derision and contempt he stands tall, elevating his gaze to the heavens above, deigning not to look upon the masses of base humanity which seethe around him. His eyes hold unshed tears, tears his pride will ...
• Fiction > Realistic Fiction
  To Be

  

  By J.Octavian.R, lake nebagamon, WI

  I stooped down over the soft grass, which spread out thickly over the park expanse, bright in the midday sun. Brushing my fingers through the swaying, twisting weeds, I let out a sigh. Grass felt so cool and fresh when one truly took notice of it. Overhead the sun blazed brightly from a lu...
• Fiction > Sci-fi/Fantasy
  Worthy to Follow

  

  By J.Octavian.R, lake nebagamon, WI

  Slowly, with gentle turns, Eurich slid the cloth around the rim of the shot glass he held. Before him lay a homey, inviting room, which though filled with tables and chairs, platters and food, wines and glasses, seemed strangely void and still. Not one person graced the hard wood tables, not one han...
• Fiction > Realistic Fiction
  Killing Time

  

  By J.Octavian.R, lake nebagamon, WI

  I sat perfectly still, pen poised over a blank sheet, eyes half-focused on a dim stain which spread over the pine board wall on the far side of the room. The clock to my left ticked slowly on, and after a while I found myself twitching the pen to its monotonous rhythm. The rhythm sounded so pure and...
• Fiction > All Fiction
  Ashes and Vapor

  

  By J.Octavian.R, lake nebagamon, WI

  So the New York Times wants to know if Jonathan Geoffrey has any regrets at the end of his life, eh? Yes, I have a few. But they all boil down to regret for my wasted life, if one may even call my existence life. My life as Jonathan Geoffrey started on a Thursday morning in 2010. As my waking mi...
• Fiction > Historical Fiction
  Making the River

  

  By J.Octavian.R, lake nebagamon, WI

  Diary of Thomas Warren: July 27, 1864 I crouched behind the large willow that overlooked the woodland down the hill, and let my breath come in halting gasps. Cool and soft breezes brushed over me, caressing my skin. My eyes roved around the surroundings, alert for trouble. In each flutter of feath...