Amelia Moore
Bio
17-year-old writer who hopes to write stories for a living someday-- failing that, I'd like to become a mermaid.
Stories (47/0)
Friday Nights
He was scared. He was skinny. They brought him out of the car in a wire cage that had nearly two feet of space above his head. They heaved it with effort, unwieldy since it usually held a heavier German Shepherd, and now contained nothing but a small brown creature, snarled so deeply into a borrowed dog bed that a pair of beetle-black eyes were the only things glinting through the fabric.
By Amelia Mooreabout a year ago in Petlife
Cold in Death
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. They are so smug, those others down there. They speak of science and logic in a world that spins in an eternal abyss. They focus on things like love and politics as they drive the knife further into their home planet.
By Amelia Mooreabout a year ago in Futurism
Perseverance
Everywhere you looked was the colour grey. The seats in front of you were silver with no undertones and no layering shades. The same blank colour. The floor was a much rustier grey, like wet rocks. The curtains on your window glinted the pale colour of fog.
By Amelia Mooreabout a year ago in Fiction
The Parent Brain
Ellen was gay, which was not good. She supposed she could blame her mother for birthing her that way. Or maybe she could blame God for deciding gay was a thing. Or maybe she could blame the populace of women at large because let’s face it, the world is very attractive right now.
By Amelia Moore2 years ago in Families
The Lobster-Chef Interrogation
“Mrs. Peters, can you explain what happened?” “From the beginning, or-” “From the beginning.” “Oh dear, the beginning. Well, I was at the restaurant with all my friends. Christie, and Julie, and Stacey, and Karen, and Rachel, and Rachel’s odd daughter, and Julie’s husband, and Stacey’s cousin-”
By Amelia Moore2 years ago in Criminal
