Fabrice Wilmann
Editor. Aspiring children’s/YA author.
Fabrice Wilmann
Editor. Aspiring children’s/YA author.
Editor. Aspiring children’s/YA author.
Editor. Aspiring children’s/YA author.
Bree and Mack Gibbs sat silently in the living room of their tiny cottage, located in the only village in town, and watched as the fireworks went off on the television screen. It was the first New Year’s celebration without their mother, and her presence was sorely missed.
‘It’s not the same, is it?’ Bree said aloud, though not to anyone in particular.
Mack sat straight-backed on the couch and...
Mother says I shouldn’t trust anyone, except her, of course, because mothers never lie ro their children. Well, the voice of mother in my head, because my real mother has been dead for over fifteen years.
I think she’s talking about Father Morrissey. He’s been dead for a while now too, but his voice has never left my head.
It’s funny how when someone dies, they don’t really die. At least not f...
‘The humans are so weak.’
‘They hide from the very thing that would give them ultimate power.’
Xu and Yu crept through the silence of the suburban street, peering into windows and seeing nothing but sleeping humans.
They traced their skeletal grey talons against the glass, softly enough that the screech wouldn’t wake anyone.
‘Can you feel the power coursing through your veins, Yu?’
Xu lo...
The sound of gunshots are still ringing in my ear. I hold the hand of the little boy whose mother’s dead body lies in the sunken earth as we run deeper and deeper into the maze, nothing but moonlight to guide our way.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like there’s no way out of this maze, and the only thing that’s waiting for us, whichever path we choose, is death from one gun or another.
We...
There’s fog all around me, smoky, wispy tendrils that form together to obscure my vision. I don’t know where I am, and the further I wade into the cloudy unknown, the less sure I am of whether I’m supposed to be here at all.
The last thing I remember was the steering wheel slipping from beneath my alcohol-lubricated hands and the blaring lights of another car. I must’ve crashed. But, that would ...