Modeled after Giovanni Boccaccio's classic from the 14th Century, this collection similarly brought 100+ short stories to Wattpad readers. The original's premise was simple: ten individuals entertained themselves over a span of ten days by telling a...
Anansi lets the final words sink in. A pleased smile settles on his face. He knows quite well that he's found another good story, another one that will be added to their annals.
The leader snaps the book up and tucks it inside, letting the violet book beam for a moment longer. Then the light dies.
"What is done with these books?" you whisper. There's a brightness in your eyes, as if some deeper desire and hope is growing within you. Why are you here, I wonder. You said it was just curiosity, but I am suspicious.
Instead of answering, I shake my head.
"What do they do with them?" you ask again, a little louder.
I clap my hand over your mouth and shake my head fiercely. Do you not understand how dangerous this is? They might be laughing, but that means nothing when dealing with tricksters. Smiles and treachery go hand in hand.
Anansi has already stepped back, and the leader has apparently summoned the next. Eris. Though she wears robes identical to the others, she wears a gown underneath that glows with gold and violet, a fire burns within her eyes. She snaps her fingers and a cobalt book appears above the fire. For a moment, it hesitates and then the light bursts out.
"I'm quite fond of this story," she says, twirling her finger. The air moves around the book to form a cyclone of bold blue. "I retrieved it from the head of quite a talented writer. We shall call her Amber because that is her name. For now." She laughs as if she has a secret she's telling no one, and no one is fool enough to ask for more clarification. Eris isn't someone who explains herself.
She continues to move the funnel of air and light, her voice becoming dreamy, hypnotic with the ambience of the story.
A Trick of the Light @amberkbryant
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Hand to forehead, Felicity shielded her eyes from the sun's glare to peer down a flat stretch of road cutting through the desert landscape. Lips cracked, mouth as parched as the asphalt at her feet, she waited. That car of his had better show up soon...
Just as she was about to curse the sun along with her poor timing, there it was, a growing blip on the steamy horizon. She hiked up her skirt with one hand and stuck out her thumb with the other. Wobbled, maybe for real, maybe for effect. Either way, it worked. The car slowed, then stopped.
Red, but not sporty. Boxy, fuel efficient. The vehicle of someone pragmatic who likes to think he has an edge to him. She was about to test that edge.
Rolling down the window, he leaned over the passenger's seat, flipped his sunglasses onto the top of his head so she could see his eyes. "No threat here," those eyes told her.
That was only half right.
"Can I help you, miss?"
Quite a bit, actually. "Thank you for stopping! My car broke down." She hoped her words didn't sound forced. It had been a while since she'd had to speak; even longer since she'd conversed in his language. The consonants were so unnecessarily harsh.
