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Have a read of last contributions to the open stories listed below. If you are interested in making a contribution for one of the stories simply click the "contribute" link under the last contribution below.

Timeless

Ella kept staring at the wall and then there was no wall and her cello fell over from its stand. No sound came from the crash. She looked into the void of white noise and saw another being walking toward her. The person kept walking but seemed to never get any closer. She started to pick up her cello but it was on it's stand. She looked at the person walking toward her again but the person was still walking and getting no closer. Something stirred next to her and as she turned, her eyes opened in great surprise. She opened her mouth to speak and.......
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LADIES! It's Business as Usual

I couldn't believe my eyes. The object was so beautiful that I felt like bursting to tears.
"What is this thing?" I asked the lady.
"It's the world's most precious jewel," she answered. "It can only be found in Asia. Recently I went on a trip to Asia and purchased it for a discount."
"Oh wow, that's interesting"" I commented.
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Dragons of the Zodiac: The Chosen

I'm not sure what to do. No doubt. I know it. Plus, I'm not an ordinary mortal. I'm not going to even think about all the drama in my life. Nonsense. My friend Warren is even less concerned about the drama in his life, so I'll just follow his tracks. It's easy enough.
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The Gathering of the Monks.

NAMES ARE OUTLAWED.
All serve as one mind to God.
The order is a haven to the lost, the children born to a family too poor to raise them, the farmers who’s crop perished meaning they could no longer eat, the stupid and the weak, all who are lost, hungry and penniless - will come to the order.
The prospect of names is alien to many, the prospects of opportunity outside the order never conceived, never realising none of them will be thanked and they spend every day underfed, overworked and ill-treated by the common folk.
This is not the case with our clergyman. Often he has conceded the depths and meanings of life and often conceded if there really was a God. With days of endless walking he had much time to do so.
He would not be a slave. Not to God, not to the King, not to anyone.
Along the endless miles of dusty path, through the shallow green hills and below the setting sun; a stranger walk. A young clergyman walks, alone. Muttering through the vast and empty landscape.
A thin stream runs level with the path for a time, from the distant mountains where the late sunset lends the clouds a bronze glow and turns the far off peaks into black silhouettes on the horizon.
He sticks his simple religious staff in the wet mud and kneels on all fours towards the river. He drinks for a time, then looks up at his face in the water. Thin, dirty. His cloak is torn and ragged and his stomach is empty.
The clergyman stairs darkly into the water, enough, he would serve no more.
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