deviant ART

[x]
Subscribe Now | Buy deviantWEAR | Advertise Here

Historical

Categories Browse > Literature > Prose > Fiction > Historical
Advertise Here
               I woke with a start.  I was covered in sweat and couldn’t catch my breath.  I had been running through the village and pale ones were chasing me with their strange weapons and nets.  Just a dream.  Just a dream.  More like a nightmare.  I could hear the sounds of my mother starting the morning meal.  I smelled the rice being cooked over the flame in one of the pots I had made with Grandmother Judada.  My baby brother, Arol, stirred beside me and I carried him to my mothe
Epilogue to Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart   
 
 
 No sooner than I confessed, the cops started walking towards where I was sitting. I threw my chair against the wall and it smashed with a very loud sound that startled the cops, but did not stop their search. I had to act quickly if I wanted that terrible sound to stop, so I took a sharp ended piece of wood from the remains of the broken chair, and stabbed the first cop then the second with it. I then hid the two of them with the old man, but took out the old man’s chest. It was finally time to end this horrible sound that had been haunting me with su
Blood in Blood out   
Introduction   
The eighteenth century, the century of enlightenment, the century of the people!  The world is waiting for the new time; some people have started to feel its effects. Revolution is at the door, yet as man makes new discoveries, others remain hidden.  
The eighteenth century is one of change and revolution, of science and philosophy, but nonetheless it still holds mystery and wonder, tales of creatures born in darkness. Only but a few knows the truths of this other world, this world of darkness.   
It is the year of our Lord 1737, in the harbour town of Plymouth. Peo
Thalif instinctively rubs his shoulder, remembering the sharp pain that would often follow his grandfather’s wisdom.  He bore the cuts and bruises with pride, each one an aching reminder of his family’s legacy.  A heavy sigh passes through the warrior’s lips, and the cold, hardened mask he once wore falls away.  Brushing his hand against his cheek absentmindedly, he feels something warm and wet.  He looks up to see a cloudless sky and suddenly realizes what it is he felt—a tear.  And so he shakes it off, reminding himself of his oath to the gods and of the blood that must f
Operation: Vietnam  
Sarah Greene   
 I never thought that I would have to end as many lives as I did in Vietnam.  I never imagined that Fate would choose me to experience the horrors of war.  I saw my brothers die in my arms. Hundreds slaughtered and burned with napalm.  My friends shot down by Communist fire and some disappear to only God knows where.  This was war, and war was hell.   This mess in Vietnam started when Ho Chi Minh formed the Communist Party of Vietnam.  The president at the time was John F. Kennedy.  I don’t think he knew very muc
Teddy   
 
 
 Her feet padded down the hall quickly. "Papa!"   The big man swept the girl up into his arms. "What is it, mein schatten?"   "I can't find Teddy!" She cried over the sirens, now blaring their second warning.    Looking into her eyes, brimming with tears, he saw that they could not leave without looking. "Where did you last see him?"   He was in Bill's room." She sniffed, "But he won't let me in."   "Alright let's go check." He propped her on his hip and carried her back down the hall. "Bill?"   A disheveled teenager appeared in the doorway. "Yea
I couldn't tell why, I couldn't understand how, but, I couldn't deny it. As my feet put themselves one in front of the other, I had begun counting out all the things that had escaped me, all the things I 'couldn't' do.  
 
"Damn...."   
In the heat of the moment, I had forgotten why I was running away. I had forgotten from whom that I was running, or, from what. I had forgotten everything, except how to breath, to run, and to not freeze to death. I hated the cold, but, as I began turning meters into miles, it was all that I knew. No matter how tight I pulled my coat, not matter how thick my gloves and boots were, the cold
Petersburg, Virginia  June, 1864   There was war in the air. The morbid smell of death was surrounding me and making my stomach lurch. It was all too familiar and frankly, I've grown weary of all this death, and I've gotten sick of watching my men die.  One by one seeing them get shot down, it's as if I'm sending them off to the slaughter. And this sound, this unearthly sound; overwhelming my eardrums and giving me this horrid headache!   We're going to lose.  
 No, I'm not thinking straight.   Focus, focus, focus, focus. They're the enemy, and you're in charge.   I'm in charge.

RSS
Previous Page                                Next Page
see also
Submit Here   Poetry & Prose Forum