Originally Posted by flaming-Scorpion

A place to your short stories without having to make a thread. Higher chance of feedback here.

All original short stories welcome!!!! :D

Keep fanfiction out please =3.

But if it relates to a fairy tale or something to the sort it is welcomed!!!!

Thats it for now, have fun!!!

And anyone who is willing to have constructive crit.'s or comments is even more welcomed!!!



was written a short while ago, not one of my best works thou!

My short story: Think twice before picking a flower~!

Her crimson glare seemed to penetrate through the glass imprisonment and burn into his

eyes.
“How could you?” she questioned, her tone sounding shaken, desperate, and strangely

authoritive. Her red eyes reflected distress and anger.

“How could I not? You were simply to gorgeous to pass up,” The man mused, a smile

playing across his features. She stumbled slightly, her once strong legs becoming weak and frail.

Long silver locks framed her small figure, encasing her body in a shimmering frame.

“I hate you with a passion.” The words were strong, yet her tone was weak. When there

eyes met, both were shouting words that no longer seemed coherent. He held up a hand, breaking

the short connection,

“No need for such things. You are too valuable, and I will not return you to the meadow,

no matter how much you loathe me.” She fumed and her arms shook and the pale skin over her

knuckles became translucent as she gripped the crystal bars. He could see tears well up in her

eyes from frustration; they were beautiful to him.

“I hate you!” she shouted as her hands suddenly slid from the bars and fell limply to her

sides. Her perfection wilted as she slid down the bars, a few silver strands falling onto the floor.

He reached out and stroked her face, the softness pleasing him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered before pulling back his hand and taking his leave.

The next day he returned, expecting another heated argument. However, when he arrived, the

man found that his prize was not even standing. She lay on the ground, unmoving. He rushed to

her in a panic as he stepped through the crystal, his feet tramping over fallen silken thread-like

hairs. He cradled her withered form in his arms and lightly shook her.

“What have I done....?”

A young boy’s tear fell onto the fallen petals of his dead rose.

“It was still only a bud,” His mother said, caressing his shoulder “you shouldn’t have picked it. It

deserved to live.” He cried as she dumped the water out of the empty vase. He walked toward the

door and tossed the flower outside, still holding the soft petals in his hand, before he let them go

into the wind. He would have sworn he heard a voice mocking him in his foolishness.