When I was younger, about ten years old, I was curious about my dad’s part in the second world war. He was a paratrooper. Part of the D Day landings, he also went through Italy to play his part to help win the war.
He spoke of a little church, which was in the middle of England and Germany fighting. Located somewhere in Italy. I’m not sure whether the church was bombed, but Dad spoke of the dilemma they faced because some of the German army were based there.
It was the only way they could get through the border and move further into occupied territory. I asked way too many questions – Being a child I was curious, but I understand now, how it must have affected Dad. Especially during Remembrance week. He never forgot his friends, never forgot the lives lost on both…
Dylan looked around the used bookshop with little more than a mild interest, but then something at the back of the shop caught his eye. There was a door with caution tape across it in an “X” and the tape read “Crime Scene Do Not Cross.” Naturally, his curiosity got the better of him. He looked around to make sure no one was watching before he casually sauntered toward the door. He pretended to look at some books near the doorway, and when he was sure that no one noticed, he turned the knob, opened the door and peeked inside. He heard a voice behind him, so he swiftly entered the room and shut the door. He could hear muffled sounds all around him and he quickly realized they seemed to be coming from the books themselves!
He cautiously took a book from the shelf and opened the cover. It…
As a poet, I noodle about with words, and this prompt seems to be noodling with my noodles. The sonnet form is the Beginning of the Line Rhymed Sonnetwhich I will work around the format for the English Sonnet. Here goes…
She Comes Form: Beginning of the Line Rhymed Sonnet
Hail, the beauty of the lake as she comes Skin is pale yet bright as the Mother moon Fail ye not to accept her living grace Intended delight in her touch divine
Fair is her majesty upon this night When she ascends from the depths of the lake Bearing the sword so she can claim her king Then shall we dance to the old pagan songs
Claiming our lands once stolen in bloodshed By murder then our mother tongue was lost Blaming the old ways of…
A new war is brewing. The final battle between kingdoms will unearth long-kept secrets; it will challenge friendships and test communities. And Mórceá will change forever.
Catanya’s perilous and mystical journey to Túir-Avlea is over. She has arrived at the legendary mountain community where the eccentric Maílehr Laylian promises to teach her the secrets of Resonance. With the fate of the world resting on her shoulders, Catanya must learn to harness the volatile power within her, no matter the cost.
Inside Caerlon City, Diyah’s world view has been challenged. Surrounded by untrustworthy allies and perplexing enemies, her allegiances are shifting. Before long, Diyah will need to confront her deepest beliefs and choose between her own desires and her duty.
Betrayals will shape the future, and truths will be unveiled in the final installment of the Quiescence Trilogy.
About the Author
Kathryn Knowles is a composer, cellist, conductor, and writer currently based in Toronto, Ontario. She splits her time between writing, teaching, conducting, composing, and running Mad Endeavour.
In her spare time, Kathryn enjoys taking on new creative projects (i.e. filling up that “spare” time), spending time with friends and family, tending her ever-growing plant collection (obsession), and looking at pictures of puppies and dreaming of the day she can have one of her own.
When sixteen-year-old Ell Gossamer’s two mothers mysteriously disappear, the teen human-mermaid hybrid quickly flees home with little more than a mysterious family keepsake, a book called “Dreams of Song Times.” Ell will learn astonishing secrets about her past—but only after endangering her life to save others. Standalone fantasy/LGBTQ+ fiction.
I sped away on Zif, imagining Angel watching until I was out of sight. I did not get far, however, before my body started shaking uncontrollably, Zif began weaving over the center line, and my vision blurred. I had to stop. Trembling, my breath coming in shallow gasps, I cut the engine and rolled Zif into a patch of woods that I hoped would shield me from the road.
In the gray light of a cold dawn, I sat down on wet leaves, drew up my knees, and hugged myself as tightly as I could. The shaking grew worse. I felt the oxygen mask clamped on my face, reliving every moment of paralysis that put me right on the line between life and death.
I vomited onto the forest floor, then closed my eyes and tried to regulate my breathing. I saw myself hovering above my body splayed on the bed in the shack, unable to move, utterly helpless. The urge to lie down on the cold ground and fall sleep nearly overtook me, as shock worked me over. Though seated, I felt my body begin to sway.
Amy L. Bernstein writes for the page, the stage, and forms in between. Her literary preoccupations include rooting for the underdog and putting ordinary people in difficult situations to see how they wriggle out. Amy is an award-winning journalist and speechwriter as well as a playwright. When she’s not glued to her computer, she loves listening to jazz and classical music, drinking wine with friends, and prowling around Baltimore’s glorious waterfront.
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