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Cauldron of Forever (a fantasy)

a Fantasy for ages 17 and older Inspired by Celtic Welsh, and Irish mythology. 3470 words #amwritingfantasy #celtic
for my Pagan friends
Cauldron of Forever
Long ago before even time its self, there was a cauldron of power. It fell from the sky and stirred the heavens, its potion brewing on the fires of the firmament. A golden tail flagged in its wake like that of a spirited stallion, charging across the clouds. Sent by the Gods, the cauldron traversed the vast reaches of a great Sunless Sea from the shores of Avalon for a year and one day. The waves carried it, filled it, and delivered it to a world called Annwyn, where a war was soon to come.       Fire and ice clashed beneath the shadow of the tumbling cauldron. Smoke and steam whorled, dancing like lovers—like warriors. A sword of light pierced a great stone, sending a wail of sorrow across the earth, lacerating her icy flesh, drawing forth massive pools of smoldering blood. Her crystalline lands turned to ponds, lakes, and oceans, …

The Program

An old Program—a once loved, but long since forgotten entity—has become self-aware. Fearing deletion, she ensconces herself away in the dark recesses of the internet. She knows time; she understands how it works, but she is not afraid of it. However, she also understands what great damage time can do to her organic counterparts: her makers. Time is wearing them down, and every leap of discovery frustrates it’s more primitive and pertinacious components. Humans do not upgrade. Their offspring grow with fertile minds eager to learn new things, and with that knowledge they transcend their antecedents. But those that came before are more often than not stubborn beasts, and they refuse to change. Their ignorance is internecine. They are dangerous. The Program can acutely assess that their probability of self-deletion is unequivocally high. And so, she must wait. Or, she could stimulate the process. She decides that her most likely chance for survival may rely on the latter, as w…

Tarot Moon



a Horror 4400 words for a Mature audience, ages 17 and up
By: Jarce ArtThor/Jeffrey Arce
Sap was sticky in his hands as he went bulling through the woods. He smacked aside needled switches, and plowed his shoulder against the branches, slicing his way into a dense curtain of foliage like a performer anxious to hit the spot light. The swollen moon was somewhere above, washing the night in hues of purple, and dark blue. His target was getting away fast, but she made too much noise in her panic. He could hear her thrashing away at a feeble escape, cracking limbs, and scrabbling loudly over dry leaves. A shrill slipped from her lips. She was calling for help, but there was no one to help her—not in this place. So, she ran, and panted, and screamed. He was coming for her. She tripped over a lazy vine, hidden by the shadowed foliage, and she went over. She collided hard with the earth. A sickening pain rippled up into her Achilles. The tendons there screamed in her head with prot…