Stephanie Booth's online ramblings
I found a strange stone in the garden as a child. I treasured it, until I dicovered its true purpose: it was a key to countless other worlds.
I started exploring them, trying to understand what held them all together, and how they were related.
I met my other selves.
This is a 50-word short story. Read more by me on CTTS or by others too on Facebook.
Tommy pulled the covers over his head. He could feel them. He held his breath.
The door opened, and something shot out from under the bed, ripping his father’s head off.
Tommy screamed and jumped out of the window, running barefoot in the snow.
They were too quick for him.
This is a 50-word short story. Read more by me on CTTS or by others too on Facebook.
Boarding-school seemed like a good idea to Tommy, but it quickly turned into a nightmare. As he struggled through five years with abusive teachers and sneaky classmates, he did end up making a few solid friends — even a girl that he later married.
His kids would go to boarding-school, no question.
Dans un monde impossible où les fougères sont grises, elle erre le visage mouillé de larmes, se demandant où ont bien pu passer les couleurs les odeurs les musiques de la vie.
Tout est fini. Pour elle, comme pour nous.
Une étoile unique brille désormais dans le ciel. C’était notre soleil.
Des fleurs poussaient là où elle posait les pieds. Une odeur de jasmin se répandait dans l’air autour d’elle.
Heureuse et souriante, la princesse parcourait le pays à la recherche de son prince.
Ils accouraient de toutes parts, cheveux au vent sur chevaux fougueux.
Le jeune Gandalf gagna son coeur.
Tom reappeared many months after he suddenly went missing, one stormy month of august.
It was him, but it wasn’t him.
A pale copy.
Julie did her best: had he been changed, or was he somebody else?
He killed her to protect his secret before she could figure it out.
Elle glisse élégamment hors de son refuge accueillant, et part comme à son habitude vagabonder dans les montagnes.
Un ours la surprend. Elle se fige, l’observe, passe enfin son chemin.
Un orage éclate, mais elle continue à marcher, sourire aux lèvres.
Le ventre chaud de la montagne l’attend, le soir venu.
I sing of monsters and stories untold, of heroes who fought and won and died, of the wrath of the gods and the horrors of the abyss.
You listen, but you will not believe.
And later, much later, your life will lay before you that all I sang was true.
With the sky so thick you have forgotten the sun above, the ocean opens up, pulls you down into its infinite depths, cool arms embracing you like a small, lost child, until you wake up struggling to breathe, and scream, and cut the ocean open with a flaming sword of hope.
I ran. I caught up with Laura, who had slipped away before my Gran spotted me.
She did. Two pairs of XXXL knickers.
I was in trouble anyway.
We hooked them onto our kites and watched them soar up high.