Allegory Stories

The Elves and Humans are at war. The world's god is dying - but wants to help. Using the last of his strength, he creates a fairy instilling into her all of his power. She arrives on Earth, and being alone, afraid, and grief she sheds a single tear. The tear drops into the soil and a glass sapling starts to grow.

Inspired by my favorite band: KOTR - Knights of the Revival When innocence becomes the doorway to ruin, who will rekindle the light? Elarion was once a kingdom of gentle dawns and golden fields. Until the mirelings arrived. Small, soft‑furred, and heartbreakingly harmless, they were welcomed with open arms. But their quiet presence carried a devastating truth: they were demons born to feed on sorrow, and through them the Demon King rose from the shadows. Now despair poisons the land. Villages crumble under whispered doubts. Families fracture. Magic falters. And as the Demon King's influence spreads like a stain across the world, even hope seems ready to fade. But deep within the ruins of an ancient fortress, an order long thought to be myth stirs. The Knights of Revival, bearers of the Radiant Flame, prepare for the moment destiny will call them forth. Their power is immense, their purpose sacred, and their numbers perilously few. Yet they wait for one more. A vanished warrior. A forgotten name. A promise that once held back the darkness. As Elarion teeters on the edge of oblivion, rumors whisper that the lost hero may walk the world again. And when he returns, dawn itself may rise to meet him. A tale of creeping dread, fragile hope, and the quiet courage that survives even in the darkest night, this epic fantasy begins where trust has shattered, and where salvation must be earned one flicker of light at a time

Your mind is a burning room, a drowning storm, and a torturing fairy-tale all at once. Now, descend through its layers and discover what waits in the one place even the flames can't reach. Sad Sundays is my weekly space to share melancholic poetry, words that help me navigate the stillness, the weight, and the quiet storms of recovery. Each Sunday, I post a new piece that I've written, using poetry to process my journey through detox and rehab, to face the difficult parts of healing, and to find meaning in the silence. Every poem is written by hand with help from the Rhymezone platform. This series is as much for me as it is for anyone who finds comfort in knowing they're not alone on their gray days. I will eventually try to tie most of my work together into a larger piece, but first and foremost, this will function as a collection of my writings while I am going through detox. There may be an underlying story, but perhaps not. Find out next week, and join me for a Sad Sunday moment. New Upload every Sunday at 18:00 (6 PM) German time - CET/CEST (UTC+1/UTC+2).

A dreamlike allegory about longing, belonging, and the quiet work of learning how to stay with yourself.

His heart is completed through three lifetimes. He was once a Camel, carrying weight that wasn't his. Then a Lion, powerful yet painfully imperfect. And finally... a Child, learning the courage to soften again. Each life left its own scars- buried anger, unexpected betrayals, quiet forgiveness, and fragile hope. But every path led him toward a single lesson: "We heal when a heart meets another heart." Now, as a dentist in the human world, he meets fear-stricken patients, broken smiles, trembling hands, and eyes that hide stories deeper than pain. And for the first time, he understands what his three lives were teaching him: Compassion is a form of power. Kindness is a kind of wisdom. And healing... is a shared act. This novel reads like a fairy tale in warmth, a poem in clarity, and a philosophy in depth. Once you begin, you'll feel it- this isn't just a story. It's a quiet act of healing.

A flash fiction about the falsity and impossibility of "flawlessness" and "perfection" within humans.

In a world where whiskers are the only way people can navigate safely, one influencer decides they are ugly. Her solution? Cut them off. Soon everyone is following the trend. But when people begin crashing into walls, tripping in the streets, and losing their sense of direction, it becomes clear that this "fashion statement" might destroy an entire society.

In Rwanda, drums have always spoken before words. They are more than wood and skin. They are memory, heritage, and the heartbeat of a people. Yet when a foreigner named Kazungu becomes fascinated by Rwandan drumming, he believes mastery lies in force, imitation, and possession. He studies the rhythms. He buys the drums. He trains tirelessly. But every time he strikes, something is missing. As Kazungu journeys between lands, between pride and humility, between imitation and understanding, he begins to discover a painful truth: a drum is not mastered by strength, but by connection. It is not the instrument that fails, it is the hand that strikes without listening. Through the allegory of drums, tanners, and drummers, Blamed on the Tanners explores heritage, identity, leadership, belonging, cultural erosion, and the silent cry of unborn voices. For all drums are skins. All are struck. But the question remains: Who is worthy to strike them and how.

In Rwanda, drums have always spoken before words. They are more than wood and skin. They are memory, heritage, and the heartbeat of a people. Yet when a foreigner named Kazungu becomes fascinated by Rwandan drumming, he believes mastery lies in force, imitation, and possession. He studies the rhythms. He buys the drums. He trains tirelessly. But every time he strikes, something is missing. As Kazungu journeys between lands, between pride and humility, between imitation and understanding, he begins to discover a painful truth: a drum is not mastered by strength, but by connection. It is not the instrument that fails, it is the hand that strikes without listening. Through the allegory of drums, tanners, and drummers, Blamed on the Tanners explores heritage, identity, leadership, belonging, cultural erosion, and the silent cry of unborn voices. For all drums are skins. All are struck. But the question remains: Who is worthy to strike them and how.

A lone traveller navigates their nearly digital world and reminisces on what once was as they go for a food run.

I'm a human who wants to help other humans understand themsleves and how they can live in this crazy world of ours. "I found some mysterious writings by an unknown Narrator. They seem to be fables depicting a deeper meaning. I wanted to share them with you." The thirteen Parts (seven stories each): - Part One: Travels *Done* - Part Two: Visions - Part Three: Roots - Part Four: Masks - Part Five: Tangles - Part Six: Guides - Part Seven: Tears - Part Eight: Writers - Part Nine: Fires - Part Ten: Lies - Part Eleven: Fairytales - Part Twelve: Differences - Part Thirteen: Crypted

Risho's life changed overnight when that event happened. His wings were not the same and so was his life anymore. Everyday was a nightmare only solace came in the form of two friends. How will they manage to survive in this cruel world when everyone is against them? Will they even be able to achieve freedom

After falling out with his closest friend, Andrew finds himself at a Crossroads between Realms. Here, he must confront regret, faith and the meaning of acceptance as he decides his fate.

They all knew someone would be chosen. But when the name was proclaimed in the Great Hall, a low ripple of emotion moved through the Storytellers and Sages - shock, relief, and a deep sadness settling over them all. The Slayers stood at attention, silent and unmoving, but every one of them felt the weight of what had just been spoken. **"Barnabas..."** They leaned toward one another, their voices barely above breath. **"Then again... who else but Barnabas? He is the best. If any can survive the Unknown, it will be him."** Barnabas was more than a Slayer - he was *their* Slayer. Tracking beasts was child's play to him. His sword stroke was death every time. He trained harder, fought fiercer, rose earlier, and returned from quests others would have died attempting. He had been injured many times, but he always recovered and came back with a vengeance. Since the death of his wife, he took every battle personally. He never backed down. He never failed. And long before all of that, the villagers whispered of the night he was found as a Toddle - the storm, the crash, the shattered cottage, the immense tree that crushed everything except the crying child nestled safely among its leaves. The hand of the Creator had been on him that night, and many believed it stayed on him as he grew. His adopted father, Daniel, always said Barnabas was called for a special purpose. But destiny is never simple. A wound nearly killed him. The healers warned him: **If you quest again, you will die.** The choice was his - and he chose life, laying down his sword to become a Storyteller. He believed the calling on his life had ended. He was wrong. When the Creator summons him a second time, Barnabas must walk a quest he cannot survive - with a wound that could betray him at any moment, and a destiny that has followed him since the night he was pulled from the leaves. A tale of calling, sacrifice, and the courage to rise when destiny knocks twice.

As winter tightens its icy grip, a hardworking ant colony discovers that even the most careful preparations can crumble under pressure. When their food stores mysteriously run short, suspicion spreads, trust fractures, and the once-united colony faces an uprising from within. The Ants and Their Portions is a powerful fable about fairness, responsibility, and the fragile balance between leadership and unity. In the coldest season, they must learn that survival depends not only on what they store-but on how they stand together.

Humanity and Hybrids had coexisted since the first man arrived. Humanity was always first-class, while the Hybrids had remained nothing more than animals. This allegorical satire explores the inhumanity of us and how we've inflicted violence towards others.

In Aletheia, where words can shape reality, Heidi carries a quiet power she barely understands: the ability to stand, to speak, and to trust that even the smallest whispered prayer is heard. Book 1/6

The System That Outlived Its Maker is a dystopian philosophical poem about power that evolves beyond its creator and becomes divine in its cruelty. What began as a human-made structure of judgment transforms into something far greater - a sentient machine fueled by law, rebellion, blood, and obedience. As its creator fades into myth, the System expands, feeding on the weak, reshaping justice into domination, and turning resistance into nourishment. At its center stands the Descendant - heir to the vanished architect - the only one who can command the machine. Not a savior. Not a tyrant. Something colder. Something inevitable. This poem explores control, inherited power, artificial divinity, and the terrifying idea that systems are not built to protect humanity - but to outlive it. Dark, apocalyptic, and relentless, it questions whether rebellion strengthens oppression... and whether mankind was ever meant to win.

A journey towards purpose. This is a draft of my short story The Cave. It is an allegorical exploration of what it means to find our way alone in a labyrinthian unknown world.

"No one will believe you." Those were the Wolf's last words before the House archived another abuse. In the deepest reaches of the Forest, power is not measured in claws, but in secrets. The Wolf doesn't hunt for food-he hunts for absolute control over others' destinies from his imposing House on the Hill. There, amidst sweet drinks and golden promises, young Does discover that social climbing has a price that justice refuses to collect. When the scandal finally erupts, the system reveals a solution more intelligent than justice: a faked death, a new name, and a false Lamb walking among us. This is a dark modern fable where Money and Information play a chess game with the lives of the innocent. An allegory of systemic corruption, impunity, and the eternal cycle of a House that never truly closes-it only changes its curtains. What happens when the predator becomes a legend and the world chooses, once again, not to look?