#readersnetwork

[officialiwrotethisforyou]

#Repost @midnightfevermusings (@get_repost) ・・・ 📖 Words by Iain S Thomas @iwrotethisforyou.me - How To Be Happy 📖 📷 Photo background by fernandaper tumblr #iwrotethisforyou #iainthomas #howtobehappy #bookquotes #wordsofig #readingcommunity #writerscommunity #relationshipquotes #lovequotes #lifequotes #happyquotes #feelsquotes #proseofig #writergram #writersnetwork #readersnetwork #quotesofig

[authornettab]

Let me go google me lol . . . #bookstagram #booksandbrunchbookclub #authorscommunity #readersnetwork #amazonkindle #nook #googlebooks #wattpad #nettaboo https://www.instagram.com/p/CTBLwMyl1ZN/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Soap box, New York. A man whose stench precedes him, drags himself to the street. His legs don't work, he hasn't showered and beads of sweat cover his face. He sits himself down and strips himself naked. With every piece of clothing he removes, he proclaims, "I do not trust your God. I do not trust your faith!" People dressed in fancy clothes walk around him. Some stop to listen, some take pictures. He keeps going. A police car swoops in blaring it's alarm loud on a stuffy Saturday afternoon. A police officer walks out and reads the man his rights. The mad man looks up, smiles his toothless smile saying still, in a baritone this time, "I do not trust your God." Paramedics arrive. The man is naked. The perimeter has been sealed off. The cameras still click, the people are amused. The man chants almost in a trance, "I do not trust your God." "I do not trust your faith." The paramedic approaches from the left, the police man approaches from the right. They apprehend him. They bind him. He is thrown into one of their cars. The crowd disperses. All that is left behind is a trail of blood and his tattered clothes. A rat sniffs the rags trying to find food. The world goes on. #wanderloststories #newyork #writernetwork #readersnetwork #stories #shortstories #tinytales #tales #readersofinstagram #writersofinstagram #nycstories #nyc #metropolitanmuseumofart (at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CS5mab9Mnhi/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Wealth, Seattle. "Dad, can you buy me a boat?" "Of course son!" "Dad, can you buy me the lake?" "Of course son!" "Dad, can you buy me the city?" "Aah now you're just being greedy, how about if I buy you the tallest building?" "Okay, but I get to pick which one!" "Of course son. Once you do, we will name it after you and every man, woman and person in the city will remember your name. I will never let them forget." "I would love that dad." And the child beamed. The man looked at his son and beamed. "All I have ever wanted is for you to have everything. Everything that glitters, everything that shines, everything that your heart desires." "Dad, can you buy me the sun?" "Sure but first we will have to build a stairway to get to the sun." "You can build me that, can't you?" "Of course, son!" And the father proclaimed, "I will build my son a stairway to the sun!" And they laughed. A couple passing by were taken aback by his laughter. The one on the left said, "jeez, the homeless get crazier by the day!" The one on the right replied, "this one is special. Rumours say he lost his son to cancer." "Oh no!" "But judging by the crazy, I think he killed his son" "No... Why do you say so?" After a pause, the one on the right said, "Probably was cheaper than paying the bills!" The one on the left stared at the one on the right, aghast. The one on the right chuckled. "Too dark?" The one on the left shrugged and chuckled along. The couple walked away pleased with their dark humour. The poor homeless man kept shouting, "I will build a stairway to the sun!" His imaginary son cheering him on. Eventually the sun set. The man's screams subsided into whispers. The imaginary child was gone. And the funny couple treated themselves to oysters for dinner. Wealth meant different things to each of them. #shortstories #stories #writersnetwork #readersnetwork #write #read #tinytales #tales #storytime #gasworks #seattle #usa #wanderloststories #readersofinstagram #writersofinstagram https://www.instagram.com/p/CRAuWkvstuH/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Lair, Barcelona, Spain. Lovers and conquerors journeyed long and far to find the pyronymphs lair. But none could. The legend of a pyronymphs passion often drew the loneliest and the bravest. She offered a love like no other is what they said. For the passion of the pyronymph was intoxicating, the kind that was extremely rare. None but one had lived to tell the world. The pyronymph always hid in her lair, she wasn't easy to seek and wasn't easy to trust. She'd burn every man who came to her. All she saw was greed, all she sought was love. None wanted her, just the glory of conquering her. Long long ago she had fallen for a man who had promised her that he was different. He'd promised her that he too could explode like her. That they were made for each other, made of the same dynamite that decimates whatever it touches. She succumbed and fell in love. And together in their passions, they detonated setting fire to everything around them. She lost something that night. He left with the scars of glory, gone like the world around her, and took his promises with him. She was left with piles and piles of ashes, her lair destroyed, her spirit devastated. Claimed like a prize, he stole a piece of her heart and sold it to the man with the heaviest pile of gold. She sat on her ashes, nursing her soul. She rebuilt, she recovered, she learned. She built a stronger more obscure lair and thicker skin. She would stab her scar and remind herself that he had been the ember that burned her, that their union was a catastrophic explosion that left her with nothing. The world however remembered the explosion in all its glory. Years later, the explosion became a celebration. A festival where people light up everything that explodes and dance under the sparks. This is how the world celebrated the man who conquered the pyronymph. She watches these celebrations every year from her lair. While the world celebrates, the pyronymph stabs her scar, she remembers her lessons. People dance. The pyronymph simmers. The man revels in glory. #aroundtheworld #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #read #readersnetwork #readersofinstagram #stories #tales #travelstories #spain #barcelona #write #euro (at Barcelona, Spain) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFYbEmrM4r2/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Iron maiden, Brugge, Belgium. "She looks so innocent!" Exclaimed one of the tourist. Alina turned around and said, "she does, doesn't she?" Her group of tourists nodded in agreement and huddled around her. Alina transformed her face into a somber expression, she looked around into their eyes, dropped her voice into a baritone whisper and said, "don't be fooled, for this here is the cruel iron maiden. There are many legends as to her origin, but a common theme across all of them. She entices you with her innocence, invites you into her bosom and embraces you to your death. The medival torture device that has captured the modern world's imagination, for it kills slowly and simply but effectively! Beware of the punishment of Iron Maiden" She was met with an applause and she took a bow. "Reminds me of my ex-wife", claimed the old man with a pink face. The men laughed, the women mumbled and Alina smiled the same smile she reserved for every time someone cracked this joke. The group left, she was tipped well and she bade them farewell. She bundled up her tips and walked back into the museum. As the official tour guide she had privileges at the museum. She walked back to the iron maiden and looked at her in awe. An innocent face with death inside. She'd always been curious about what was inside. Slowly she walked over and stepped inside the iron maiden. She barely fit. "Clearly, I am taller than medival folks" she joked to herself. She ran her fingers across the spikes, thinking of all the people they had pierced. There was so much death in such a tiny space. Her fingers pricked on one and a drop of blood fell on the floor. As the droplet hit the floor, Alina felt something move. A gush of wind, the sound of old iron turning and an eerie laughter of a sinister old woman. Alina was frozen inside, petrified. Slowly the maiden embraced Alina to her death. It wasn't just punishment that the iron maiden sought, she also found pleasure in pain. #wander_lost_stories #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #read #readersnetwork #readersofinstagram #write #stories #shortstory #tales #tinytales #bruge #belgium #aroundtheworld #europe #ironmaiden #wanderloststories #storytime (at Brugge, Belgium) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFgVHceMqEK/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Controller, Milan, Italy. "A normal day starts with a routine, I follow this routine religiously. But there is no origin, there is no end, just a journey that I am walking on. My life almost feels like it is missing a dimension, I can only move forward. If I mess up, I can't turn around, I go all the way back and I start over. I am in a constant state of deja-vu. Like I have walked on this path before, that I have jumped on this wall before, I have climbed these stairs, I have crossed this stream and I have fought these monsters before. I cannot explain, there is a music that plays in my head which tells me what's to come. Even when I sense danger, I cannot stop. I just keep moving forward. I must not mess up. There is someone at the other end waiting for me. I cannot fail, take the power, fight the enemy, run forward." His brother looked at him and said sympathetically, "But big brother why does this upset you?" Big brother said, "because I am in a constant state of running to something that I cannot see. I don't know my purpose, I just fight. I collect rewards on the way and I fight enemies, but I don't know why. I don't want to but I continue to kill. Only because they stand in my way. And I cannot turn around, you know because if I don't kill them I will die. And if I die my journey stops and then..." "... You have to start it all over again." Completed the younger brother. "And what a terrible life that is. Even death cannot help me escape. One journey, one direction and no reason why! Yet it keeps repeating and I cannot breakfree." The younger brother suggested, "what if you stopped?" "But I dont think I can!" "What if you tried?" "I have, I failed. I had to start again." "What if I went in your place?" "I think you do." The younger brother looked perplexed. There was a moment of silence shared between them. Mario put his arm around Luigi, "there is no answer, there is no escape, we have no control, just someone holding the controller." Art work by Piero Lissoni #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #write #read #readersnetwork #readersofinstagram #stories #shortstories #tales #tinytales #travelstory #aroundtheworld #milan #italy #mario #luigi #mariobros (at University of Milano) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFlluS9Mn-x/?utm_medium=tumblr

[wanderloststories]

Window, Wicklow, Ireland. One fine day, as lightening struck, time stood still for a few seconds. A window opened and a young boy fell into an unknown space. A young girl, who often came to play there, watched him. Bewildered and afraid she poked him with her stick and asked, "who are you?" The boy looked up, his eyes strange, black with a tiny white pupils in between, stared back at her and he smiled baring his crooked teeth. Afraid, the girl stepped back, "who are you? Tell me or I will scream." But the boy stood up and looked around in wonder. He'd never seen this world, he'd only known his. He ran around, touching the stones, feeling the grass and staring up at the sky. The girl amused by his wonder, eased up and asked, "do you understand me?" The boy stopped and looked at her. He picked up a colourful stone and handed it to her. Hesitant, she accepted and smiled back. "So, you're new around here?" He looked at her and she thought he understood. She picked up a stone and handed it to him. He took it and jumped around ecstatically. The girl was perplexed. He ran upto her and extended his hand, she hesitated and put her hand forward. He grabbed it and swung her around. She laughed, he giggled and they danced around. Lightening struck again, time stood still, the window opened and the boy pulled the girl towards him in an embrace. They stood facing each other. His eyes black where hers were white, hers white where his were black. They then jumped through the window. Gone, disappeared. The rocks remained. She was never found. They thought she died. Lightening never struck twice, time never stopped. The window never opened again. She was stuck in another time. #wanderloststories #writernetwork #readersnetwork #write #read #writersofinstagram #readersofinstagram #wicklow #ireland #stories #shortstory #tales #tinytales #aroundtheworld #tales #yinyang #windows #storytime (at Wicklow, Ireland) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFtQ9DesLCH/?utm_medium=tumblr