Writingandart

     Iris stepped out onto the stone balcony. With a delicate sigh, she ran her silk-gloved hands along the ivory railing and looked out across the moonlit grounds, her colossal dress trailing out behind her. This was it. The stage was set, she knew her lines. This was her moment.     So why didn't it feel right?     She just couldn't put her finger on it. After all, it was she who’d dreamed up this world in the first place, she who’d created its vast landscapes, the bustling cities beyond them, and the people that existed in and in between. The moment literally couldn't have been more perfect if

 My name is Lynn Taylor. If I had an alarm clock, it'd probably be going off right now. If I had an alarm clock, I'd probably hit the snooze button. The sun's not even up right now. It's five in the morning, why am I even up? "HUUURRAAGGH!" Oh, that's why. The sound might as well be in the same room. Emily must've had another busy night. No, that's not nice. As much as I try to distance myself from her, she's still my mom—and I'm still her daughter. So like a good daughter I rise out of bed, put on my slippers, and head to her room. Oh God, she didn't even make it to the toilet. I see her hurling a few feet away from it. I'm the

     The door shut behind Elizabeth and Mason turned on Stephen. “You know she’s out of her mind, living in the past like this.”     Stephen sat down in the Queen’s chair. “Mason, if you weren’t such a close friend…” He sighed, and looked up at Mason, “Elizabeth misses her friend. No one can dispute that. But what I am about to say is in private. I don’t believe Marie has changed that much during her training. Elizabeth has kept up a correspondence with her, and” he opened a bottom drawer and pulled out a thick stack of letters, “from what the letters say, she still be

     This was not the first time Marie had moved. There was that vague memory or dream of a man who kissed her forehead and called her 'little one'. More clearly, though, she remembered coming to live with her Ed.     Anna, however, had lived outside of Bluebarrow. In fact, she had never even left. So now she had to deal with moving and leaving her friends, her home, the only life she'd ever known. At seventeen, Anna was younger than most of her friends. All in fact, except Marie. But also at seventeen, she was the tallest of her friends, a fact that some respected and others mocked. No one was mocking now.     Marie at sixteen was short

AMBER is a 17-year-old high school student. She dresses plainly, in jeans and a T-shirt, maybe a flannel button-up or a hoodie over top. She doesn't wear make up, and her hair is simply tied back, or down. As the monologue goes on, it becomes apparent that she won't be able to shrug this off, and the sarcastic, biting anger turns more towards sadness. AMBER: No. I’m not trying to be a bitch, but understand that there are so many unfortunate outcomes for you, and anyway, I just won’t fall for any of your shit. Especially if I said yes, and then you got a girlfriend. I would throw the biggest fit. I would call her nasty things and

     For the town of Bluebarrow, the wedding of Anna Thane and Stephen Larson was the wedding of the century. Anna was a native of Bluebarrow, the town's daughter. Stephen was honest, hard-working, handsome, a wonderful match for the sweet, elegant Anna. When they had gotten engaged a year prior, the whole town celebrated in the union. It was as if the gods were in favor of the wedding and the couple.     When the wedding day finally arrived, the guests gossiped that the gods really were in favor of the wedding. The sky was a clear blue, not a cloud in sight, the sun shining brightly in the sky. A light, cool breeze swept through the town,

     On a cool autumn day, a wagon rumbled down a country road. The only occupants were the driver, a sleeping child and her father, one Mr. Charles Faris. They continued on as the sun rose in the sky. Mid-morning, the wagon stopped in front of a weather-beaten farm house. Hopping out of the wagon, the man picked up his sleeping girl, and turned towards the house.      A man and woman exited the house, a John and Martha Faris. Martha walked over to the father and child. John went and shook the driver's hand, a matching tattoo on both arms. Nodding to the father and to John and Martha, the driver clicked to his horses and drove off in silenc

     Lalita was the best carpetmaker for miles around. Exquisite works of art. For her carpets, people came. For her stories, people stayed. She had a warm, smooth voice that enveloped her audience, whisking them off to new adventures in lands far from their own.     Her best stories were those of the gods. Of Gryn who was the Father of the Gods and Ordelia his wife;  Lockt and Malfon the sun and moon gods; Arian, goddess of dreams and inspiration; Ilaen, goddess of the seasons; Hrann, Syble, and Trinne, the gods who controlled earth, sea, and sky; Yylea, goddess of mortals; and finally Dreott, the god of