Aythan Maconachie
Bio
As an Australian writing hobbyist, I'm a big fan of alliteration, rhyming, and thinking outside the box. Writing for me is like going to the gym for my mind - stretching my imagination, lifting my inspiration, and flexing my creativity.
Stories (6/0)
Sweat
The smell of sweat filled the air. The room was sticky and uncomfortable but no one noticed in this moment. The small crowd was silent. The only noise was the straining groans of both men above the slow-turning ceiling fan, which was doing nothing useful.
By Aythan Maconachie17 days ago in Fiction
- Top Story - January 2024
Dancing Through the SkyTop Story - January 2024
Born moments ago in a darkened cloud, falling freely, furiously fluttering forward. The cold breath of life danced between the snowflake and its brothers and sisters as they tumbled and twisted together, towards the town way below.
By Aythan Maconachie4 months ago in Fiction
Power
O dominus daemon, cui servi sumus, hanc vitam surripere et da mihi! Eleven voices repeated this phrase over and over. A blue glow surrounded the young woman in the centre of the room. She wept as a twelfth old woman stepped forward, hood drawn over her face. As she lowered her hood, the blue glow surrounded her too, connected between the two with a barely visible line of energy.
By Aythan Maconachie7 months ago in Horror
Humanity
My body shook and my arm ached. I could taste the dirt in my mouth and feel the wet uncomfortable mud soaking through my pants, working its way through my underwear as well. My lips were dry, my head ached, and all around, nothing but noise and battle. My eyes were stinging from the smoke. The smell of blood and metal filled the air. And despite all the commotion, despite the ache in my muscles, I sat as still as a rock.
By Aythan Maconachie7 months ago in Fiction
- Runner-Up in Tales Retold Challenge
The Three Little MenRunner-Up in Tales Retold Challenge
Wolfgang approached the house, weapon in his hand. The building was small and rough, and not very well planned. Nails stuck out of the wood at odd angles and all bent, and the beams were broken and warped, and the foundations well-spent. The roof was just weeds, a mixture of clover and stover, all woven together, over and over.
By Aythan Maconachie9 months ago in Fiction
