Showing results by author "Christopher Moss" in All Categories

The summer air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, which lingered on the skin long after the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Music from the town fair floated in from across the lake soft, distant, like a lullaby that didn’t know it was breaking two hearts. Catherin sat on the hood of Christopher’s rusted old Chevy, her knees drawn to her chest, chin resting on them. Her dark curls tumbled over her shoulders, catching the golden flecks of the setting sun.

Are you tired of emotional pain and suffering? Do you feel your life lacks purpose? Are you looking for a way out of crippling anxiety? If so, Hope over Anxiety is the book that can heal your emotional war zone.

The town of Laurel Cove was a picture-perfect paradise, nestled between rolling hills and a stretch of pristine coastline. The golden hues of the setting sun painted the sky every evening, reflecting off the bay's tranquil waters. It was where time seemed to stand still, a quiet haven that brought people back home to slow down and reconnect with themselves and others. In this serene little town, where the air smelled faintly of saltwater and blooming lavender, two souls were about to cross paths in a way neither could ever have expected.

The wind rolled gently over the hills of Halewood, carrying with it the scent of damp earth, old roses, and something far more intangible memory. It had been twelve years since Christopher Hale last set foot in the village, yet nothing had changed. The ivy still curled along the stone walls of the old chapel. The cobbled streets bore the same weary charm. Even the fields stretched wide and golden, untouched by time.

There are loves so powerful that even the heavens take notice. Loves that do not bow to time nor yield to death. These kinds of bonds stretch across lifetimes, woven into the very fabric of existence. Some say such love is rare, but for Christopher and Catherine it is destiny. The wind howled across the English moorland, whispering secrets to the night.

The rain fell relentlessly, washing away the remnants of a summer that had never existed. It blurred the windows like the tears neither of them had the strength to shed anymore. The rhythmic patter against the glass echoed through the room, but the silence between them drowned out everything else a silence so thick and suffocating that it screamed in the spaces where words should have been. Catherine stood by the fireplace; her arms crossed tightly over her chest as though trying to hold herself together physically.

The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the small attic, where the dust seemed to settle on forgotten treasures. An old wooden chest sat in the corner; its locks rusted but its contents untouched for decades. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, a delicate reminder of the past. As the attic door creaked open, the light from the setting sun revealed the chest's worn edges, hinting at the stories it contained.

On Somewhere on the Screen is a film and television podcast hosted by three friends and artsy people -- Nicholas Westemeyer, Joseph Reese, and Christopher Moss. Each cycle, we'll choose an upcoming film or TV show to cover and choose three pieces to examine leading up to which we think will be vital to understanding the film. Then, we'll finish the cycle by talking about the big release in resplendent glory and see just how far off we were with our predictions of what would be important and more importantly, what we thought of the thing!Above all else, we're here to have fun and enjoy talking ...

The town of Ashbury hadn’t changed much not in the way Christopher Hale remembered it. The same crooked white fences lined the winding country roads, the same ancient oak trees leaned toward the sky like tired sentinels, and the same stillness clung to the air as if the town held its breath. But he had changed. In ways, he couldn’t yet explain, in ways that couldn’t be seen in the reflection of a mirror. He felt it in the weight of every step he took across the gravel path leading up to the inn, in the way his heart thudded heavier with each breath of familiar spring air.

A sharp, throbbing pain lances through her skull as she slowly regains consciousness. The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and something floral—jasmine, maybe. She blinks, disoriented, her vision swimming as she stares at an unfamiliar ceiling. The room around her is dimly lit, the soft hum of a refrigerator the only sound. A lamp flickers in the corner, casting restless shadows across the walls. Panic gnaws at the edges of her thoughts. Where am I? She sits up abruptly, wincing as a wave of dizziness crashes over her. Her limbs feel stiff, as though she hasn’t moved in hours.

The sky over Blackwater was an ominous shade of gray, thick clouds rolling in like a funeral shroud. The townspeople stood on the outskirts, their belongings packed into carts and trucks, their faces etched with grief and uncertainty. Some whispered prayers while others stared in stony silence at the place they had called home. The flood was coming. Officially, the government had claimed it was necessary—Blackwater had been chosen as the site for a new reservoir, a decision made in the name of progress and prosperity.

Ellie was an extraordinary girl with an insatiable curiosity for the universe. While most children in her small, picturesque town spent their time playing outside or gazing at their smartphones, Ellie preferred to sit on the hill behind her family’s cottage, staring at the vast expanse of stars. She often wondered what it would be like to visit them. Was there life out there? Could she walk on an ice-covered planet or touch a glowing star? Questions like these filled Ellie’s mind and fueled her boundless imagination.

The night was unforgiving. Rain poured down in relentless sheets, drumming against the windshield of David Carter’s battered sedan. The wipers fought a losing battle against the downpour, and visibility was reduced to only a few feet ahead. The road stretched before him in eerie silence, flanked by towering trees that swayed violently in the wind. The only signs of civilization were the occasional rusted road signs, barely visible under the dim glow of his flickering headlights.

The salty sea breeze carried whispers of forgotten tales as the waves crashed against the jagged cliffs of Blackthorn Bay.

The crisp autumn air buzzed with excitement as five friends—Ethan, Lisa, Jordan, Mia, and Ryan—packed into an SUV, eager for a weekend escape from the chaos of city life. The plan was simple: a remote cabin by the lake, no responsibilities, and nothing but laughter, drinks, and late-night stories around a bonfire. The self-proclaimed group leader Ethan had planned the trip, promising an "off-the-grid" adventure. Lisa, his girlfriend, was all for it—an escape from work stress sounded perfect.

Welcome to Cancl Me Later Podcast!, ... The podcast where we say the things you're thinking… but afraid to say out loud." We're the voices in your head that you're probably gonna regret listening to… but you know what? You'll thank us later… or cancel us. Either way, we're good. No filters, no apologies, and definitely no regrets. We're here to cross the line so you don't have to. And if you get offended? Well… put us on your 'to cancel' list. Just do it later. We got a show to run. Yeah, yeah — cancel us later. We will dive into some controversial / hilarious topics and, ...

The sky was not just a vast expanse of blue and white—it was a battlefield, a kingdom, and a graveyard all at once. Floating islands drifted lazily across the heavens, tethered only by the unseen forces of the wind and magic. Airships, both grand and rickety, dotted the skies like seagulls, soaring from one island to another, carrying merchants, explorers, and the most feared of them all—pirates.

The midday sun cast a warm glow across the bustling Skyport town of Gear Haven, where cobblestone streets hummed with life. Massive airships with gleaming brass hulls and billowing sails hovered above, casting long shadows over the city. Steam hissed from pipes, and the sharp clang of metal on metal echoed through the air. Traders shouted from their stalls, displaying intricate mechanical trinkets, and travelers swapped stories of distant floating isles over cups of steaming tea. In the corner of the main square stood a modest repair shop, its sign swinging lazily in the breeze.

Struggling author Ethan Graves had always dreamed of becoming a bestselling author. Ever since childhood, he had found solace in words, the magic of storytelling, and the worlds he could create on the page. But the reality of being a writer was far less glamorous than he had imagined.

Lily had always been a dreamer. While other children in her quiet little town spent their afternoons playing by the river, climbing trees, or chasing fireflies, Lily could always be found lying in the soft grass of Cloverfield Meadow, gazing up at the sky. She would watch the clouds drift lazily, imagining them as castles, ships, or giant fluffy creatures moving slowly. Some days, she saw staircases spiraling into the heavens, leading to lands unknown. Other times, she envisioned bridges made of mist, connecting different cloud kingdoms.