At Low Tide

In the wet sand, Sally, Chris, and Mel worked on their sand castles. The tide would soon turn. A few beach walkers stopped to observe the construction site.

"Look, two sand castles, and...?"

And what was that third thing? What the hell was Mel up to?

He looked up from his burnt, sandy hands that he thought were forming a castle also.

The walkers moved on toward the parking lot. They were long gone by high tide, as were the two proper sand castles and memories of them. But, still, they wondered what the hell had Mel been up to?

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Hamlet

Hamlet wanders the halls of the castle, a man who isn’t sure what to do, what he believes. Ghosts, are they real? Should he tell his mother what he knows, or is it what he thinks? Was she in on it? She had to be, or not, the possibilities all dangerous, like plague in winter, like bad advice, like poison. Why is he wandering around the castle like it’s act two? It’s so dreary cold and kind of dark, isn’t it? Who to trust, who to tell, what to remember? Oh yes, to never a borrower nor a lender be.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Brick Castle

The brick walls of the house resembled a suburban castle, with all the promises of a happy life inside. Meticulously decorated, with ornaments on every wooden door, and treats always on the counter. To the naked eye it was nothing short of a dreamーbut no one knew the truth about that house and all who lived there. How it destroyed everything within, chewing up and spitting out any possible happiness, leaving everything and everyone broken. That house was barely a home, let alone a castle, where a piece of me, like so many others, was left behind...and died.

From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott

Kelsey is a graduate of St. John Fisher College, majoring in English, with a concentration in writing while also being an editor in the campus literary magazine Angles.She is furthering her education by attending SUNY Brockport for her master’s in English, specializing in creative writing. Following graduation, she is interested in working in the editing and publishing field.

A Visit To Kafka’s Castle

Not just anyone could stay at the castle that claimed in its promotional literature to be Kafka’s birthplace. A person needed a proven reason to be there – in our case, your egg and my semen. I didn't want to rush you, but my Viagra was starting to wear off. You were seeing something no one else had ever seen when the police burst in, waving their nightsticks and demanding, “Who’s the bad man? What does he look like?” This makes everything sound worse than it was, especially as a whale in the harbor was spouting purple music the whole time.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is on the pavement, thinking about the government.

Bachelor Keep

Roger surveyed his creation. It truly was the greatest castle the world had ever known, with impregnable walls and towers on a scale that previous ages would have found miraculous. And unlike the architects of the past, who built at the command of their liege, and using his resources, Roger had built his castle on his own.

The location was perfect too, in a remote landscape that lone travelers found hard to navigate, not to mention an army. He had not seen a single visitor during its construction.

Now, all Roger had to do was wait for someone to attack.

The Epic Saga Of Nathaniel Greenleaf

The wind blew hot. Nat, backing up against the giant oak, fumbled for his sword. The goblins surrounded him, sneering.

Nat had not wanted to become an adventurer. But the evil Lord Vespin killed Dambledorf, his bumbling mentor. The ancient canon demanded vengeance, and so he set off for Castle Shinbone with his motley companions. The only problem, they had no idea where they were going.

“Look inside my trunk,” boomed a voice behind Nat. Was that the tree?

He reached inside a dark cavity, and pulled out a parchment. It was a map. Revenge would be his after all.

Genre: High Fantasy

The Castle

The castle has stood at the top of the hill for one thousand generations. Legend says that it has never fallen to enemy attack. Certainly, it never will.

The walls, seven men tall at its lowest point, thicker than two elephants nose to tail, seem to grow out of the Earth itself. The towers loom above the ramparts, from which you can survey the entire valley. The moat stretches three horse lengths across. A stone facade forever impregnable.

The villagers to the south look up and whisper a prayer every morning. Please protect us from the ghosts of empires past.