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England
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Atrium Carceris- PrologueA Chapter by DarkwindA prologue to Atrium Carceris- a novel about the darkness of our own souls, and how we ourselves are the toughest enemies we can ever face. |
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A Novel by AmelieA Book by SarcasticBlackFinley, a poor artist, falls in love with a wealthy writer. As social classes collide, Finley must face his inner demons, painful memories of his crim.. |
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The Faithless QueenA Poem by Elaenor AislingThe tale of Guinevere... |
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Urchin in LifeA Story by Ripple of AquaLiving in the different lives of the world is difficult; none of us can fully understand another's view. And yet we try still to blur those lines to m.. |
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A Novel by Amelie - Chapter 1A Chapter by SarcasticBlackRough draft of chapter one. |
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Under the Welcome MatA Story by Genie CrickA surreal flash tale and the inaugural piece for http://sharkteethzine.com. If it's up your alley, please consider submitting your own flashes. We nee.. |
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The Riots of 2011A Poem by ForgottenA poem about the london riots |
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BLACK SHARK VALLEYA Book bySepp Dietrich, a time-traveling Waffen SS General in Afghanistan, 2011. Colonel Kilgore, leading a “Black Ops” SOCOM team hunting Ah.. |
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Dragonnest FilesA Book byAfter the world was destroyed in the second world war all that is left is six contorts that are connected by a dangerous toxic sea, a young girl signs.. |
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Someone's TracksA Poem by J.J.WrayA stroll through Englands pasture white. |
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To Hold a Candle to the DevilA Story by CandyElla Partridge, eight years old, lives in a poorhouse in 1870's London with her parents. But when her parents die of an illness that left the poorhous.. |
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Flight of the NightingaleA Story by NicoleA short romance story set in revolutionary war era England concerning a young girl's flight from tradition to personal happiness. |
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Schoolboy poemA Poem by joevaughana poem about going to school in England, about being a teenager in England, about the way coffee makes you really self consciousness about releasing b.. |
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WanderlustA Poem by ☯A teacup dangles from the end of my finger,the last drops plopping onto the tiled floor.A reverie lingering above my head,leaning on a Paris' thin bal.. |
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