The Girl on the Island

A young girl stood on a beach, watching the water lick at and swirl around her bare feet. But instead of glimpsing her obscured reflection in the undulating ripples, she beheld visions of sorrows she had experienced and outcomes she wished had been different.

The sea foam receded as her thoughts deepened, and she didn’t notice the rectangular object that was wedged in the sand alongside her until she stumbled over it.The Girl on the Island

The object clanked open, revealing a small sack and a damp piece of parchment. She snatched up the items before the waves enveloped them again.

Weighing the rusty, dented box in her hand, she scanned the ocean and the bridge to the mainland for any sign of ships or travelers. The container was much too heavy to have floated, and she wondered how long it had lain there and who had lost it. She examined it for identifying markings, but couldn’t find any, so she tossed it back into the water. Then she untied the sack. Inside were some kind of pellets—perhaps seeds.

She unfolded the parchment, expecting whatever message it might have contained to have washed away. To her surprise, however, the ink was smeared but legible. [Read more…]

Profile photo of Brianna Storm Hilvety
Brianna was born with a rumble in her veins. She finds the tap of a keyboard to be soothing like the pitter-patter of rain. She has been a writer for a decade, a freelance editor for a few years, and a bibliophile from the moment she pronounced her first syllable. Proudly a Silver Member of The Christian PEN, she serves on their team as Graphics Coordinator. She exudes her passion for speculative fiction and helping young writers by being an Associate Editor at Castle Gate Press and the Copy Editor/Director of Graphics for Kingdom Pen. When she isn’t poring over words, she may be spotted shooting her Canon, riding The Breeze (an all-terrain vehicle), or romping with her dog, Zookie. Purple is her signature color, and she refuses to recognize all other claims to it.

For the Sake of Her Crumble

The world was ripe for exploitation. Limitless opportunities to profit from, secrets to uncover and sell, systems to squeeze the lifeblood from and ultimately destroy. Infinite wealth practically begged to be carried off from less worthy masters and put to more practical uses, and Bertram Cadwell intended to take full advantage of that.

Just not this morning. This morning he was having tea with his mother.hercrumble

Bertram rang the antiquated brass doorbell a second time and promptly shoved his hands back into the pockets of his gray overcoat. The spring air still had a nip to it in the shadows cast by the tightly packed but orderly houses of Harden Street. The neighborhood was quiet and unobtrusive, yet he still felt exposed standing alone in the empty lane. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet impatiently. Do get on with it, Mother; I know you’re in there. [Read more…]

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Sierra Ret is a homeschool student who spent nearly her entire childhood with her nose buried in a book, and consequently decided she wanted to write one of her own (preferably filled with dwarves and elves). Actually getting her thoughts down on paper regularly has proven to be a far greater challenge than she first thought, but Kingdom Pen was kind enough to step in and give her some much-needed deadlines by honouring her with a temporary spot on their writing team. When not hermiting behind a laptop screen, Sierra enjoys gallivanting across Canada and adventuring near her home in rural Ontario with her family. Currently her chief fantasies include making a living as a travel blogger and someday moving to New Zealand. But above all, her chief aim is to live a passionate and meaningful life for the glory of God.

A Girl Named Avery

By Jess Hessler

I wasnt too excited about visiting Gramps. After his last stroke, the doctor decided to keep him for a couple weeks to monitor the after effects. Gramps couldnt talk or do much. He would just lay in the white bed while the various machines groaned and hissed periodically.a_girl_named_avery

Mom glanced at me from the drivers seat. Honey, I know you dont like hospitals, but Grandpa is all alone. You can at least visit him.

I shrugged and turned on the radio. Mom sighed, and we rode the rest of the way without conversation.

Grandma passed away a few months ago. The doctor said the stress and grief might have caused Gramps stroke. He missed her and had not gotten over his sorrow. Supposedly only time heals wounds like that. I wasn’t sure there was enough time in the world to get over the loss of a loved one. When Grandma died, I sobbed on my bed for hours, feeling cold and dreary like the icicles outside my window. After that day, something seemed to plug my emotions. I couldnt cry anymore. I went through the motionshigh school, homework, and sports. The funeral passed, and winter melted into spring. Then summer came. [Read more…]

Healing

By Greta Dornbirer

On my thirteenth birthday I met my true love. I invited my entire class, maybe one hundred kids in all, to my birthday party. I thought it would be fun if everyone brought their favorite book to discuss. That was my mistake. The popular kids never read books—either they were too stupid or they didn’t consider it “cool.” The bullies, who my mom made me invite, were definitely too stupid to read, and they thought that everyone else had to be just as dumb. So they stole kids’ books at school, including mine.healing

The normal kids tried to stay out of the bullies’ way. Many of them didn’t like to read because they were scared of what the bullies would do to them. One time the bullies forced a kid who had been reading Robinson Crusoe to flush his book down the toilet. Of course that clogged the toilet, and the poor kid got doused with disgusting water.

I was one of the odd kids—or the nerds, as the bullies dubbed us. My best friend Neal was a nerd too, except he was a science nerd, not a book nerd like me.

Neal showed up at my party with his favorite book on how to blow things up. I hoped he wasn’t planning on demonstrating what he’d learned from the book. Next came Chealsie, a known theater nerd. She brought a book on how to act well. Then I waited…and waited…and waited for the other kids to arrive. But they never did. [Read more…]

Never Alone

By Hannah Whatley

“What are we going to do, Jack?”

The question came from an eight-year-old boy, who by now had nearly forgotten his name. Once in a while he remembered that his mother had called him Sky. For comfort, little Sky leaned against his dog, Jack, a Whippet who was taller than his human friend when they sat together, as they did now. On that bright summer’s day, the two of nevealonepinterestthem sat on the burning hot sand of an isolated beach, watching the waves lap peacefully against the shore. Sky, however, felt neither bright nor peaceful. The little one had been on the run for three months, evading the clutches of an abusive father—whose only name for his son was “Boy” and only touch was a stinging backhand—and the cold social workers, who only wished to hide him away in a children’s mental institution.

The boy had escaped during a late March night, quietly sliding the bathroom window up and tumbling out with only the clothes on his back and a small sack of things he thought he might need: his toothbrush, three packs of Goldfish, a clean pair of socks, and a tattered picture of his mother. [Read more…]

With Their Faces Toward Destruction

By Timothy Young

After I had been stricken for many days, I laid down in the shadow of a rock and fell into a restless sleep. I had slept here before, but it had been some time ago.facestowarddestruction

As I slept, I dreamt of a fair country, or it seemed fair at first. Then I realized that something was wrong with my vision. From the high perch through which I viewed this fair-looking country, I saw two armies approaching one another. From one teamed hordes of evil: dragons, goblins, giants, and loathsome men corrupted by outside forces, but also their own innate evil. Above their camp floated pennons of all colors, some as black as the heart of their leader, others red like the blood that these fiends were intent on shedding, some of purple and other rich colors alluding to nobility and wealth, and even a host of white banners that resembled the other camp’s banner—except these were stained with filth or torn and shredded.

The other camp displayed a single white banner, so pure that it seemed as if it were freshly bleached, even though it had been there from ages past.

I began to make comparisons of numbers, but the numbers were such as to defy computation, and I decided to take a closer look. My eyes were drawn to the side that had but one banner, as they appeared smaller in number, and I wished to know how they encouraged themselves. [Read more…]