Jackson Forck
Stories (4/0)
Pictures don't make up for time
Gregory opened the door to quite a surprise: another person. He had not had visitors in… well a significant margin of time as he could not remember the last. He went to shake hands as that was what one was to do when greeting another. Instead the young postman put a clipboard in his hand and asked him to sign for a package.
By Jackson Forck3 years ago in Fiction
Quonset
It was storming as in the fables of old: torrential rains capable of massive damage and flooding. He carried the girl through the raging tempest, unable to see more than a foot in front of himself, despite it being the middle of the day. With the dark foreboding clouds above swirling angrily, one would think it was the middle of the night. The wind swelled like a wave and hit the man full force making him stumble. The wet, loose ground gave way and he slid, the girl he was carrying laying against his chest, down a very large hill. He had no control of the situation as the pair of them barreled toward a heavy thicket of trees. The only thing he could do was protect her; he couldn’t back then, so he would be damn sure he could now! As the pair hurdled toward certain danger and high chances of injury - if not death - he used his body as a shield, making sure he took any impacts to come.
By Jackson Forck3 years ago in Fiction
The Identity Thief
Lin was three when the world ended in 3052. She was found in the streets half dead due to dehydration. She was clutching with all her might a scrap of blanket with her name embroidered on the corner. The kids who took her in and became her “family” weren’t much older than her. Lin would spend years with them, scavenging like the artful Dodger in Oliver, so that they could survive.
By Jackson Forck3 years ago in Fiction
Lilith’s Decent
She opened the envelope with trembling hands. Salvation - she had never had such a firm understanding of the word. Addressed to her in fine calligraphy, the insurance company had spared no expense. It smelled, felt, and even tore like real paper, not the shoddy fake substitute she had to use at work in the government building. Inside was a check for more money than she would make in five years of working. She stared then started crying - her emotions sweeping around like a leaf in a storm, its directionality constantly changing by the slightest of influences.
By Jackson Forck3 years ago in Fiction