Apr 16

A Tree's Memories

The darkness is warm and heavy, comforting almost.
I can feel the sunlight upon my tough shell, so unlike how it felt to drift down, spinning and absolutely uncaring for the world, before settling here at my mothers feet, upon the hearty, green moss.
The tough but gentle hands that intricately selected me off the ground carefully peel back my outer coat, leaving me bare against the open air. Then the hands gingerly close around me, again encasing me in blackness.
When the fingers unfurl once again, I am only free for a second before they dump me into a tiny hole in the soil, and cover me with it.
It was there that I took root, there that I was watered and nurtured.
And it was there that I grew.
Dec 22

Swing Summer

We go, that afternoon, to the tallest swings in town. We have to, because we are the tallest kids. Not as tall as our parents, yet, but our legs are long enough that when we go to the smaller swingset, we scrape them on the ground. I meet my best friend on the corner in front of my house and we walk the rest of the way together. The sidewalk is hot with the summer sun, so hot that I say I can feel it through the soles of my shoes. She says that's silly. She's called Alice. She's not older than me, but she wants to be.

We meet Sam and Isaac at the corner of the playground. They got there earlier but waited for us, leaning against the fence and talking about Isaac's new bicycle. Sam has dark, curly hair that he keeps up in a hat. He has a little brother but didn't bring him today. "Where's Teddy?" I ask him.
"Home. He's having a birthday party?"
"How old is he turning?" asks Alice.
Isaac snorts. "Imagine being so excited about turning ten."
Nov 09
fiction 3 comments challenge: Club

This guy asked me to join his club

"Mate, this guy just asked me yesterday if I wanted to join his club."

"Woah, what'd ya say?"

"Well obviously I asked him what it was about, you know?"

"Don't tell me it was some kinda cult or somethin' freaky like that."

"Geez no, he said it was a book club."

"Oh yeah? Sounds chill."

"And then I asked him if you could come, cause I thought you would love to go."

"Aww that's sweet."

"But then this jerk is like "No way your friend's got issues" 





"Haha oml, thanks for that"

"No problem mate, anyone that's got beef with you has got beef with me"
Oct 19

The Jump

The Jump
My feet crunched the snow as my thick boots led me toward the hill. It was mid-winter, a warmer day than most, and the tramping was making my forehead sweat. My friend Clementine was ahead of me, my short legs and puffy snowsuit weighing me down-and slowing me down. Finally, I reached the top of the hill. I sat down, not caring if my butt got wet or not. Mindlessly, my mittens picked up a ball of snow and packed it evenly. This was the best packing snow of the winter. It was the perfect mixture of wet and fluffy, a combination rare at least to Vermont. Judson, another friend, was thinking the same thing.
Dec 05

Ten Days of Winter, 1892

Editor's note: In the 11+ years of this site, I have shared only a couple of things on the belief that this is your site, not mine. But I am sharking this because, well, becaue I thought you might like to read/listen to it and, also, to see that some stories take a long time to develop. I'd love some feedback -- this is your chance! :) 

I wrote this piece of fiction for Winter Tales 2017 and it was presented by Vermont Stage in its shows Dec. 6-10, 2017 at FlynnSpace. (It also was going to be presented at a similar winter story show in East Montpelier on Dec. 16.)

Audio download:
Feb 13

The House

NOTE: This is part of the Sprout1 Challenge. This piece was written by an anonymous writer during Vermont Writes Day, and we loved how it started us thinking. How about you? If you would like to extend this story, please click the SPROUT button below and continue it. If you find lots of sprouts, and we hope you will over time, and you like where someone else has taken this, sprout that post. Have fun. And we thank whoever posted this on vermontwritesday.org on Friday, Feb. 10, 2017. (We have made a few edits, by the way.)
Feb 13

The Pendant

NOTE: This is part of the Sprout1 Challenge. This piece was written by an anonymous writer during Vermont Writes Day, and we loved how it started us thinking. How about you? If you would like to extend this story, please click the SPROUT button below and continue it. If you find lots of sprouts, and we hope you will over time, and you like where someone else has taken this, sprout that post. Have fun. And we thank whoever posted this on vermontwritesday.org on Friday, Feb. 10, 2017. (We have made a few edits, by the way.)

The old iron bell jangles as I step into the familiar shop. I wave to the owner, a kindly old gentleman, who smiles at me as he always does and says hello. He seems to appreciate my visits, even though I don't often buy anything. 

I make my way through a maze of old bookshelves and chairs, paintings, vases and other miscellaneous objects. I know almost all of it by memory and can tell whenever the store has sold something. 
May 23

Unknown world

If you were in a unknown world and you created It what would It look like and why?
May 22
mythicalquill's picture

Never Been to NYC

Ian’s daily commute clocked in at twenty-two minutes and forty-six seconds on a good day, with light traffic and fair visibility. If it was raining: twenty-six thirty-two. Snowing could bring it up to as much as thirty. Whatever the weather, he knew exactly when to leave his neat apartment so he could make it to the office on time.

But as storms began to brew closer to home, and downsizing decisions loomed, his boss had neatly cut his commute down to zero minutes, zero seconds. He was making the return trip for the last time.
May 21

Finding Ambition

“How are you so… sane after all that?” Vaughn inquires, lowly as if it took all his strength to say so.

“Ambition,” she utters immediately. “I didn't want nothing of my past to control my life. So Vaughn... Life lesson, listen up! Let Mamma Naoto spit some facts for you.” She puts her fist in the air, as if catching something. “Whatever you are and whatever you want to be, embrace it welcomingly. We all have skeletons in our closets, the darkest depths of our origin. Things people don't want others to know 'bout. But it's alright. That's why, even with the things I've gone through, I want to make the most of everything. And it's your choice if you wanna go about it that way too.”

And at those words he felt moved and even Naoto sensed a newfound resolution emanating from him.

“Naoto, I care,” he murmurs abruptly, something sparking inside of him.

“Huh? What do you mean?”
May 16

Dancing with the Devil

   Jazz. Hardcore jazz.The heavy music filled my ears of tune and my mind of agitation. My heart punching against my ribcage, and the the shudders of fear formed droplets of presperation atop of my forehead. Pacing, step 1.. 2.. 3.. step 1.. 2.. 3.. step 1.. 2.. 3... For I knew it was wrong, I still tangoed with him. Locking eyes, I swam into the pool pit of his eyes. The guilt aroused like a firestorm , boiling the blood that ran through-out my insides.

    The curves, the struts, and the sways of my hips, perpetually moving with the rhythm. Twirling with my arms to the air, I slightly closed my eyes and a half-way smirk imprinted on the curves of my lips. I trusted him, though I had every single reason and right not to. He eyed my figure. The way he lingered his eyes into mine, the way he looked at me, made me feel the urge to put my body on top of his. The power, the compulsion of dancing with the Devil.

May 16
egawarki's picture


Chapter 1

The crisp morning air whistled by my pointed ears. My golden fur glistened in the morning light. The leaves crunched under my smooth paws. I checked my long sharp claws. “Sissefos Sissefos,” howled Elizabeth the owl. Elizabeth was a Great Horned owl. She was very strict but kind. Sissefos didn’t want to have lessons for naked giant rat language (who sometimes had tails on their head where Sissefos had it). “Sissefos get over here “ “ coming” Sissefos groan. PAWNS! “ A CAT”. Squeld the mouse that Sissefos had paws on. “AOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUU!” Sissefos froze… If her life in the woods had taught her anything, it was stay...away...from...wolves!

Chapter 2
May 16
egawarki's picture

Alex's Adventure

Once there was a little girl named Alex. She loved gargle whales. She was sleeping in her bed. It felt like she was sleeping on clouds that were very very soft. Her timer went off. “BEEP! BEEP!” She tried to turn the alarm clock off.  But it didn't work. So she got up and stomped out of bed. Her face was so red. Her face almost turned into a very ripe apple. She kicked her desk very hard. Her foot started to hurt. It was in pain. “Ouch ahhh!” she said. She was skipping outside her door and holding her foot up high so it wouldn't hurt even more. She sat down at the dining room table. Her dad ran up the stairs. “Good morning sunshine!” he said cheerfully. ”Hi,” she sighed. She poured her lucky charms cereal into her plastic pink bowl.  She said, “Hey daddy can you pass me a spoon”. “Sure!” he said. ”Hey honey are you packed for camp?” said her dad. ”What you never told me that I'm going to camp!’’ she exclaimed to her dad. ”You’re not packed!” shouted her dad.
May 16
fiction 0 comments challenge: Twist

The Twisted World


You wake up and find yourself in a twisted world what   do you do??:)!!
May 15


There is a refuge here
For all who seek it
And for those that don’t.

The sky outside is fading
The room aglow with voices
Sympathizing, comforting
Saying that they know, they understand.

There is life in this place
A glowing candle, an illuminated door
A solace transmitted through melody and harmony.

Voices fill the air like water
Ethereal, ghostly, and beautiful
And though the light will die
The song will not.
May 15

True Beauty

Flashes of light pour into the room in one blinding color, emanating from the cracks of the shack if one were to witness something like this from the external. The overflowing white, from the inside to the out.

The sounds of shutters and a crash follows after and I desperately try to cover my face with the palms of my hands, not out of fear, but I could feel pebbles and things of that sort bouncing off my body. It was simply called protection. Yet, I wasn't capable of doing that much. I felt vulnerable.

I was so out of reality that I had imagined I saw someone being blown to bits in the most beautiful way possible, by a single ray of light. Though, in all seriousness, it could have actually happened that way.
May 08
fiction 0 comments challenge: Lost


I see a face in my head of a young girl. Though I am convinced I have no idea who she is, she looks familiar. She is wearing a blue patchwork dress with yellow ribbons in her blond braided hair. She is also wearing white leggings and black mary janes. In her hands is a notebook with a pen. She is running through a field of daisies. Then everything goes black. My dream goes dark.
I feel dizzy so I open my eyes. It takes a second for them to adjust to the brightness of  . . . . of the sun? I look around and all I see is tall grass around me. I look up to a blue sky. It's daytime? But it was night when I went to sleep. Plus, I did not fall asleep here. Did I? I stand up and gain my balance before looking over a field of  . . . . . of daisies! Wait this was where the little girl was. Right? But it can't be. No. I tell myself. No way.  I don't know where to go. How do I get home? What is this place? I look this way and that but all I see is daisies, grass, sky and sun.
May 08

Master of the Beach

She wore her hair short - short like mine, and like most of the women close to me in my family. My Mom, Mor Mor, and Nana all wear this style, too. We like to think of ourselves as trendsetters. When I cut my hair, I could see the pride glistening in Nana’s eyes. The non-traditional tradition carries on. Her hair is a mix of gray and black, “salt and pepper,” as she calls it. I can see why. Unlike hers, mine shines yellow like the rays on a summer day.
May 06
Peter Gustafson's picture

Park Bemch encounter

Madie Halvorsen, age 12

ADL School

Essex Junction, Vermont

NRG 3 Humanities (Blue)

Contest #31- as its late consider this as general writing

    Dear W.,

Oh, how I miss you. It seems like forever ago when we last met, on that dark, dreary day. The birds weren’t singing, but we both had harmonies in our heart. It was at the park, the wind howling with the constant drawl of the raindrops.

You were sitting on the old wooden bench, lost in thought as your bespectacled face dripped with rain. I sat by you, intrigued by the immense quiet that surrounded the air. You looked up at me, and my face was on fire.

Your eyes were like the ground; deep, solid, and firm.

They scanned my face with confusion, flowing not only from the rain, but from your hidden past.
May 06
Peter Gustafson's picture

The First Act

Madie Halvorsen, age 12

Essex Junction

Contest #31 Sounds-  enter as General writing now that this contest ended

NRG 3 Humanities (Blue)

The First Act    

The auditorium darkens, leaving a spot of light on the wood paneled stage. The blood-colored certain swishes with the movement hidden behind it.

A man emerges, gesturing to the unseen audience in triumph.

“It has finally happened! He has come to take us away!” The man bows, his navy cloak flowing of his shoulders like a waterfall. He grabs his little hat, and quickly takes a position on stage right.

The curtains fly open, revealing a woman and her child standing center stage. Above them is a metal sheet, swaying in an invisible breeze as the people below struggle.

“Hurry! We must run! Quickly!” She takes the hand of the young boy, and they flee from the shadows that creep along the stage.