By Sharma Wild. First published on A Teaspoon & An Open Mind, 2007.
The memory of a kiss haunts Rose, and even though it has meant that the innocent playfulness between her and the Doctor is gone she cannot regret it.
Beneath the eternal circle of the white full-moon, a ring of highland menhir stones stood guard around the sacred ground of sacrifice. Clear stars cut through the sky like a swath of iridescent crystals that shone down upon the land with a cold, unearthly light. The chilled air of autumn whistled through the fields of grass. No sound, other than that of the wind and the distant sea, penetrates the circle of stones.
It was there, beside the altar that the sacrifice waited. She had the youth of a maiden: smooth, flawless ivory skin; small breasts, firm yet supple; a perfect figure unmarred by time; and a confidence of immortality only the naivety of youth could bring. Her beauty rivalled the glory of the landscape itself. Her eyes held colour of blooming heather, her hair was a magnificent crown of gilded tresses falling to a pair of shapely thighs, and her heart-shaped face held the beguiling essence of one of the fae.
She was shivering, but not from the bitter night. It was what lay in the darkness beyond the tall stone guardians that sent tremors of terror through her soul. And yet she quietly awaited her destiny…
An erotic short story by Sharma Wild.
Sarah rested the broad basket against her hip and adjusted her kirtle. The steep climb had caused the loose, flowing garment to twist around at the neck and fall askew.
“I have to rest”, she said faintly to herself and sank down on the hard, grey brittlerock of the mountain side and set the empty basket down beside her.
It was cold up on the steeps, the air too thin to hold any heat. But the sun was warm, a bare six hours from setting. Its golden light streamed back at her from the eastern horizon, warm on her bare arms, neck and face, warming the broken rock shelf on which she sat.
Sarah gazed out over the wide plains of grass and soft sweeping hills that spread out below her. She could see her village over to the right; tiny, far away, at the foot of the mountain and the edge of the plain.
Knowing she still had a long way to go, Sarah sighed and got up. Her mind wandered back to Merith, her sister; the beautiful, fair-haired Merith that was going to be wed to the son of one of the village’s council men. Merith who had been given sixteen dresses to choose between… Envy panged Sarah’s heart.
By Sharma Wild. First published on Fanfiction.net. 2004.
I saw him swaggering down Murderers’ Alley on his way to Paradise Square, lean and mean like them knives he carries. Dressed in a top hat and finery, as if he was a fancy gentleman instead of a common crook like the rest of us. Him and his boys.
I walk with ‘em now. Walk tall by the Butcher’s side, as posh as the rest of ‘em. I show the Natives’ colours proudly, keeping his pace. For all the world knows, I’m walking to the beat of his drum.
Bill Cutting. Bill the Butcher.
He has taken me under his wings. He pats my shoulder and calls me ‘son’.
And every time I set eyes on him I see you laying on your back in the mud with your life’s blood seepin’ out of you.
Are you proud of me for avenging you, Pa? For havin’ sand enough to woo the dragon? And I’m close, oh so close…
Written by Sharma Wild. First published on Thursday 23 September 2010.
An Erotic fantasy short story set in the world of Annwen. Arthos Merddyn, an apprentice Knight of Avalon, meets Prince Emrys, the young Captain of Ithindor, on the eve of battle.
The party was a lavish affair. Fires lit the skies with the brilliance of daylight while lords and ladies, dressed in their finery, fluttered about like butterflies or rested on marble benches, drinking wine and nibbling on delicacies, talking and laughing, playing the games of court with much finesse and elegance.
It was strange to think that on the other side of the high walls that encompassed the royal palace men prepared themselves to ride into to battle, kissed their wives and children and told them that they loved them, looked upon those dear faces for perhaps the last time.
Arthos Myrddin found that thought strangely disturbing and a frown shadowed his smooth forehead. He glanced at his master. The Knight was talking to a noble looking young man dressed in silk and velvet embroidered with goldthread and adorned with pearls and jewels. It was for him this party was being held. Eamon, King of Ithindor, Guardian of Caer Arian, the White Citadel, had announced that his oldest son, Brennain, would be Crown Prince and lead the army into battle.
By Sharma Wild. (Character death implied)
He knew he was dying, that was certain. But where he was going to end up was still a riddle. He knew he was going to die here, the feeling that engulfed him told him so. But was surprised him was that he could hear his father’s words echoing in his head. “No, Dean, you stay awake. Keep your eyes open!”
Dean laughed, his father had been dead for the past two months, there was no way that he was talking to him. His brain was only telling him what he wanted to hear. His father was dead and he was sure to follow.
A modern vampire tale by Sharma Wild
Such a strange tale this is, the one that I will whisper to you… such a dark and decadent story. I see your eyes widen, your pupils dilate. You are intrigued, and perhaps charmed even, that I have chosen you as my listener, my audience. Well then, lets start.
A not so long ago, in a country a short flight away, I lived like many others; I had a flat, a telly, job and friends. I bought food and clothes and books. Mostly I bought books. I filled bookshelf after bookshelf. In my imagination I lived a thousand and one lives, I visited a thousand and one countries. I was a princess, a thief and a killer. I fought evil, or I worshiped it… I lived an ordinary, mundane life, so let me skip ahead in time a little.
This is an excerpt from the journal of James Winchester. The story is centered around characters from the Winchester Novel Project.
My name is James.
Those were the first words I remember writing as a child. I guess I wrote them here because I didn’t know how else to begin.
My name is James Winchester. My mother’s name is Elissa Winchester and my father’s name is Luce. Mom died six months ago and I have never known my dad. My little brother’s name is Johnny.
I look up from these pages and look across the small bonfire to see him laying there, wrapped up in a blanket. His face is pale and haggard under that dark mop of hair of his. He’s been plagued by nightmares ever since mom died, hell we both have, and here in this Godforsaken city they have grown worse. It’s like the city itself produces the dreams and the visions that haunts us.
A reply to a Smoke And Mirrors challenge posted on Realm of Fantasy. The character Terrel was created by Alterra.
He watched the man rest. In the flickering candle-light he was a creature of runes and enticing shadows. The chest raising slowly with every breath. At peace now, but only moments ago he had been fighting for his life, and for theirs. In sleep the Patryn looked so young, almost vulnerable. Terrel caught himself wanting to run his fingers through that dark tousled hair. He sighed, it had been so much easier when he had hated the man…
More ships keep coming every day. Huge freight haulers returning from the border worlds to our station here at Venezia 5 at the very edge of the frontier. Their cargo holds not filled with metal or space-scrap but with humans. Thousand upon thousand plague victims. And it is getting worse. Every day there are more.
The healing zone is as big as a city but still there isn’t enough room, not enough power or medicine. The Daemons labour day and night, work-cycle after work-cycle to expand the Healing Zone, to ad unit after unit, and still it isn’t enough.
