Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Life As We Knew It
As I dug deeper into the charcoal of our firepit, I remembered my fifteen year old eyes glazing over when I listened to dad telling me that “When the world as we know it is in complete disarray, and it will happen one day, I want my family to be safe and you’re old enough to know now”.
By Sharon Green3 years ago in Fiction
The Heart-shaped Compass
Pandora Christine was wandering around the park when she saw the bombs hit, there was no time to run or hide. Truthfully, she should have been prepared, but growing up in a peaceful town off in the country in complete solitary peace, you wouldn’t expect for the Vipers to attack. Of course, if anything, she would have thought that the Fangs would have a better evacuation plan for every town. Problem with living in peace in the country, they don’t focus on that. Living in World War III was scary, with only two sides to fight for. You were either with the Vipers or the Fangs, and of course, America was with the Fangs, but she was having second thoughts. Cowering behind a bush, she put her hands to her ears, trying to rid of the ringing sounds piercing her hearing. Letting out a cry of pain when another bomb hit, she crawled on her stomach to behind a fallen tree. She had no training on what to do when attacked by a bomb, so she sat up cluelessly, searching for a sign of someone or something tangible that could help protect her. Then she saw something flash by the peeking sunlight hidden mostly by the smoke clouds. She reached out for it without thinking, desperate to save herself. Her fist curled around it, a cold metal chain tickling her arm as it trailed down. Opening her hand, it revealed a heart shaped locket, and she pried it open with her trembling fingers. Inside was a compass, that pointed toward the bombs. She furrowed her eyebrows before another bomb crashed down, starting a fire into the trees. She coughed out smoke before looking back down at the compass, it must have been broken, for she knew that a compass always pointed north, but she knew the direction of the bombs was south. She stood up, feeling the strange urge to walk south, toward the danger. The compass glowed brightly in the darkness, lighting up her face like a candle glow. Everything seemed to pause, time and sound, the ringing gone from her ears. She stared at the locket with awe, and unconsciously walked in the direction it pointed. Slowly she tracked through the ruble and explosions, not noticing the falling bombs and cries. All that seems to exist was the locket. That’s when it changed direction, leading her out of the park and into the towns diner that was just out of the woods. The door was already broken down, and glass littered the polished floors, but she continued as if there was no glass to begin with. She maneuvered around the counter and into the back room where the chef had worked. Somehow, the compass seemed to point down, and she crouched to the ground and saw it. A small tile piece had a small engraving of a heart. She put her finger to it and pressed down, the tile fell, along with many others, and the ones beneath her. She plummeted, surprisingly, down to the earth, where a deep whole was dug. She wasn’t sure how long she fell, but she clutched the locket the whole time. When she reached the ground, instead of crashing to her death, she gently landed on her feet. She looked around and found she was in a huge room draped with tree roots and vines. She was in an underground bunker. And what she saw in the room took her breath away, and she felt her hands shake as she looked around… for this would change everything. The lockets’ glow faded, till it was nothing more than an old compass once again…
By Makkedah Yancy3 years ago in Fiction
The Caretaker
The island on which the Caretaker resides, alone for the most part, comprises several square kilometres of volcanic isolation struck out from the continent. Although only a few hours sailing to the south, it seems as distant and removed as the Moon from the Earth; another world surrounded by the depths of an interplanetary sea both orbiting a dim Sun. It is wave-battered, windswept, and shrouded in mist for much of the year. An ancient peak on the east of the island crumbles through decay and erosion, pounded to dust and silt by the never-ceasing winds. The uplands slope gradually to a lopsided plateau, giving the island a saddle shape, at the terminus of which the western cliffs meet the sea with stoic, sheer grey walls of crumbling basalt. A lone stream trickles down from the misty prominence and meanders to an artificially-dammed pond on the west of the island. Beyond this stream and the sanctuary it provides, the rest of the island is mostly flat grassland, interspersed with a patchwork of sphagnum mosses, gnarled shrubs and little arctic ferns. Despite the ever-present cloud, it rarely rains and little groundwater exists here. The river is the only natural source of freshwater and life, but recently-installed fog harvesters now also add to the pond’s reservoir. Collecting water on the island involves stealing it from the air, which is reluctant to give it up.
By Andrew Rushby3 years ago in Fiction
PHARMACY
I stood out in the distance looking out what I think is greenish blue tinge of paint left on the damaged houses on what’s left of the corner of McKenny Street. I had I known what was going to be of this rotting hole I would have left years ago but I kept waiting for him. There’s a creaking noise off the distance. I snap my head in the direction and see a few small pests run into the tall grass. I need supplies. I dart off onto the next street looking to see what’s left at a convenient store. There’s not much except a few cans of corn and expired food. Defeated I head to the pharmacy to see if there’s anything. I hear something in the distance. Is that a car? Fuck. I have learned to really dislike people over the last 10 years before the reaping, but after humans are evil. I don’t even consider myself human at times. I hear voices but they are distorted. Viordans?
By Jessica Velasquez3 years ago in Fiction
The Varnd Experience
The process should have been over in two minutes—but he didn’t stop screaming… Tynan didn’t believe me when I told him to hold it back, to pretend not to feel the pain, pretend your skin didn’t feel as if it were being peeled off of you, pretend not to hear the lies as they seeped deep into your soul, taking hold on the gentlest parts of you…
By Mycheille Norvell3 years ago in Fiction
Dust and Bones
Three bandits rode down the outskirts of an old, bombed out ghost town. The rumble of their combustion engines a symbol of their status and wealth. Petrol was a rare and precious resource and viewed as a rich mans commodity. Captain Richards wasn’t by any means a wealthy man, but he was inventive, adaptive and conditioned to life in the hard world.
By Riley Byrne3 years ago in Fiction