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English Stories

Here you will find modern original stories in English. There are fantasy, science fiction and mainstream stories up at this time. Enjoy!

New stories up. The Wailing Stones, a ghost story, and Velvet Chisel, a stunning story about love.

 

Hello God, It's Me, Georgie

"Hello God, it's me, Georgie."

"GOOD MORNING, GEORGIE. WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU TODAY?"

"Well, God, it's like this. Now that I've freed the American people ... freed the Iraqi people ... Now that I've domesticated Iraq, I need to make sure they get with the program, find the right page, as it were. They need to know the right path, which foot path to use, it's a one way street, you know?"

"UM. GO ON."

"So, I'm mindful of the difference in our cultures -- that reminds me, God, did you know there are black people in Iraq?"


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Riders of the Storm

"Con, have you seen my sword? I left it in Red's stall, and it's not there now."

"You've lost your sword again?" Con sneered, unconsciously checking his back for his bow.

"Ha, ha, very funny." Ward crossed his arms and glared. Yellow lightning flickered through the cracks in the old barn, gleaming off his spiked shoulder guards. A long low rumble of thunder rolled across the dry grass plains.

Minnie, leading Midnight from her stall, spoke up softly. "I thought I saw a twist of silver under Red's feed." Another flash of lightening had Midnight dancing impatiently. Minnie reached up and stroked his black velveteen nose, calming him.

"Red's gone soft," I said, giving Ghost one last brush over his magnificent rump. I threw the brush aside and slipped the saddle blanket on his broad back. "He likes his mash and straw bed too much."

Ward glared at me and stalked to Red's stall. He opened the gate and pushed the roan out of the way. Reaching into the feed bin he fished around before pulling out his sword. He turned on the horse, accusingly. "You hid my sword!"

Red nickered.

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The Wailing Stones "Hold on tighter, Emmie." Mother's raspy voice could just be heard over the skitter of the gold-dry winter leaves. Emmie tightened her hold around her mother's neck, breaking one of the scabs there. "Don't let go, my robin!"

"Won't!"

"Get you to Poppy's, must get you to Poppy's. He'll watch you." Mother's breath came in great bellowing puffs, the smoke of her breath bathed Emmie's pinched and dirty face in warmth. Emmie nodded and patted her mother soothingly with her finger tips, her touch soft as grey mist.

Mother tripped, going down hard and scraping her knees on the pitted frozen trail, adding another rip to her once elagant gown. She threw a desperate look over Emmie's head and stumbled back onto her feet. The filthy satin of her skirts stuck to the blood on her knees and her legs burned with fire. She hitched the lightweight child higher onto her hip and continued, limping now.

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