Tate Russell
Bio
Stories (3/0)
Through the Lens
Chapter 1: Iris Her name was Jannie. Jannie Michaels. She was my best friend. Key word, was. Now, I stand beside her younger sister Carley and hold her hand as she sobs beside her parents, watching Jannie’s coffin lower into the cold depths of the Earth. I always knew Jannie and I would be best friends with each other until death, but never did I imagine it would be the winter of sophomore year. She was only 16. The foggy graveyard was nothing but a creepy site of mourning over the terrible loss everyone here had just faced. Even my boyfriend, or shall I say, my ex, bothered to show up and pay his respects on this dreary January morning. This town is small, so word travels fast. The typical community of people who can respect one another while also silently backstabbing them and slitting their throats. Everyone has to be perfect, otherwise they are misfits who struggle to gain any sense of having a “good” reputation. As for those who already have a “good” reputation in town, they will do anything to keep it that way. Of course, this is amongst the teenagers, as for the parents, they are oblivious to this social hierarchy and the injustices their children face in some way because they are wrapped up in battling each other over who has the best child.
By Tate Russell3 years ago in Fiction
Static Nothingness
Colors of the Earth faded the second human hearts turned from red beauty pumping life to silver stillness. The flowing river of the body turned into a stiff metallic heart-shaped locket inside, encasing all of the memories of what used to be. Everything turned to grey. Those who used to run the diverse societies are the very reason the world was plagued and overrun by greed. Believing only their routine and outdated structures for countries were the only way and never trying to find a middle opinion caused intricate architecture to fall, leaving rubbles and cracked glass to cover the dirt paths that remain. Traditionals who yearned for power, yet cowered behind their tidy desks, could not adapt to the changing times. Their failures to become kind human beings led to the ultimate nuclear demise of the Earth. The heavy smog clouds our vision along with the thick lens of the gas masks, but our visions were gone long before the cloud of death emerged in the horizon. The future was no longer a dream, here everything dies. No more blue sky, warm yellow sun, or even the old green paper with different numbers that used to be one’s lifeline. The only luxury we can afford now is fear. Hiding, fighting, and running are the only activities that fill up the day, allowing us to escape from time before the clock catches up. Running on the dry, crackling ground produces sounds of static. The dim world of chaotic destruction turning lives into a flickering, yet empty screen. The only channel available to watch and try to connect to is the hovering cloud of death that resembles static nothingness.
By Tate Russell3 years ago in Futurism