Kyle Short
Stories (5/0)
Moving On
When the Empire fell, we danced in the streets. Men who held each other in joy that week fought in the supermarkets the next, as the food ran out. We cheered when the ministries burned, but wept when the fire spread to our homes. Our world with it's comforts in concrete and steel crumbled away, but what grew from the gentle grass after proved to be far sweeter.
By Kyle Shortabout a year ago in Fiction
Me
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. Well, perhaps that wasn't quite accurate. It was still me, sort of, but it wasn't a reflection. The freckle on my- on our- cheek was on the same side, er, opposite sides, like we were staring at each other through a window. That, and Mirror-Kate sometimes wore different clothes than me. All things I had in my own wardrobe, just on different days. I tried tracking who wore what when, trying to see if there was any sort of consistent pattern, suggesting maybe a time discrepancy, but I couldn't find anything.
By Kyle Shortabout a year ago in Horror
The Human Signal
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. This is true; to an extent. Certainly with no atmosphere to act as a vector, it would be quite impossible for soundwaves to reach a waiting ear. But there is so much more to voice than mere sound. The pain and fear embedded within a scream travel on much different channels, projecting through the void to reach organs infinitely more subtle. For decades, theorists have worried that it would be Earth's radio broadcasts that render it visible to those looking from beyond; but never would they have imagined that all the suffering and loss borne from mankind's endless cruelty, that all the wars and injustices and torment would prove a far more potent beacon than our greatest technology could ever be.
By Kyle Short2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Line
Ruben’s eyes flickered open to a blur of lights and color. Dazzled, he screwed them shut again, head throbbing. This was by far one of the worst headaches he’d ever suffered, and the harsh metallic taste lingering on his tongue did it no favors. For a few seconds he just concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Or did he have it backwards? Through the pounding in his ears filtered sounds of nearby revelry, and beneath that hummed a faint rushing, the exact nature of which he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Sounded very familiar though. Reluctantly he opened his eyes once more, blearily focusing on the ornate chandelier swinging gently back and forth overhead. Ruben stared at this, entranced; then a thought hit him. This was most definitely not his apartment. Then…
By Kyle Short2 years ago in Fiction