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Fenrick the Dragon

The Dragon – whose name is far too short to repeat – snorted.

“Little manling, what are you but a moth? Fluttering about for a day and then become dust.”

The man stood and watched the Dragon. He calmly met the eyes of the majestic and fearful creature.

“Tiny one, take care. Within me is the power of a star.”

The man spoke without any fear.

“Fenrick Flametongue. You are called to answer the many claims of pillaging, destruction and murder most foul. On the fourth night of this moon, be here in your stedfast. We will come to you.”

The man then turned and began the long walk out of the mountains, leaving Fenrick – see, short – the Dragon to contemplate his words.

Fenrick sighed. He unfurled his wings and flew upwards.

They never imagine I’ll just leave.

A Wooden Sword

Casar watched as the two soldiers walked through the trees, away from her father’s grave.

Stepping carefully Casar moved alongside the rocks piled over her father’s body.

‘This was Bradley Gerod. The Bradley Gerod. Hater. Hunter.’

The older soldier, Maten, had known her father.

The younger man had stuck a wooden sword into the rocks over the grave.

The sword that killed my mother, all those years ago. The sword that tore apart the heart and mind of my father.

A wooden sword.


The little boy playing with his friend.

Casar looked at the sword. She watched it grow large in her focus. The forest and surroundings faded and blurred into shadow.

She could burn it, bury it, could break it in pieces.

Instead Casar reached down and gently prised loose the wooden sword.

I will keep it close.

Ferocious Pete

“But Mum, come on!”

Ferocious Pete was a Mummy’s Boy.

Not in a weak sense. In a sweet caring way.

Ferocious Pete, the Fiercest Man in the East, loved his Mum.

Right now however, his Mum was being a tad annoying.

“You can’t leave now. There’s a million things to do. We’ve got the Imperials to harry, the Colonials to betray and the Loyalists to meet head on. It will be a busy week. And …”

His mother, beautiful still at ninety years of age, watched her son with a mixture of compassion and toughness.

“And I need you Mum.”

Raising her hand to his face required effort, but most things worth doing did.

“You are my Pete.”

And with a sigh the mother of Ferocious Pete, Fiercest Man in the East, left her little boy alone in the world.

One hundred and forty stories. Each one 140 words long.

Sick of stories you can’t read in ten minutes? Tired of epics with thousands of pages to read? Digestible. Beautiful. Short and Sweet. One hundred and forty stories!

Tired of paying for one hundred and forty books? Sick of losing your place when on the loo? It’s like that limited character web thingy, only books. It’s the “no attention span generation” smart reader’s choice.