Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Hearts of Chernobyl
"Sooo… basically, you're a scientist?", the young boy finally chimed in after a long silence. He sat there, eyes still fixed on the small campfire between them, a little tin of thin bean soup resting on his knee, untouched.
Raevyn MikhailPublished 3 years ago in FictionResonating Thoughts
“Sanity” a word defined by pretty much any dictionary as “the ability to thin k and behave in a normal manner. “, yet as I stood in line while a number of guards pulled out a man two spaces in front of me and began to beat him to down; I wondered if the form of the word sane would best suit my now normal reality. I like to think that life ceased to exist after the new virus had introduced itself; pretty much every country fell into turmoil and when it was our turn to fall, the government rose before the rioters could and took desperate actions. Money became nothing more than a reminder of the past and once law-abiding citizens had become nothing more than petty thugs ready to steal if need be. There were no more laws, no morals, or no ethics, just people with guns enforcing their idea of order and if opposed were ready to serve “Justice”.
Nathan TorresPublished 3 years ago in FictionWHEN NOTHING HAPPENED
The far end of Megan’s street had been disappearing for the last week. She had decided to ignore it. To the east there was a sunny day, rows of neat suburban houses and picket fences under green and shady trees. To the west, the creeping nothingness.
Fiona HamerPublished 3 years ago in FictionOne Day the Birds Will Sing
The world went quiet. Too quiet. Once, a song danced in the wind, but those times are lost. There is no music now. Fingers still over dusted lyres and the troubadours are voiceless. In this age of darkness, what is left to sing about?
Nicole WesterhousePublished 3 years ago in FictionHell-Shaped Hole
A heart shaped locket caresses the breasts of the fanatic. That’s what they call them these days. Inside the locket lies a dangerous symbol. A man attached to a wooden cross.
James MillsPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Storm
Andre pulled at the plywood covering his window. He could hear the screams. He had to help. If no one helped the screams wouldn't go away. He pried the plywood away, making the nails holding it in squeal from the friction. The plywood finally came off, revealing the bleak wet world outside.
ISTANBUL
“And a river flowed out of Eden…” --Genesis 2:10
Jyme PridePublished 3 years ago in FictionJulia's Diary
The girl was still strikingly beautiful - even though she was dead. Thomas had seen enough death to know that she'd been dead for a few days, maybe more, and that she had probably taken her own life. Lots of people did these days. Though what was she doing out here, deep in the bush two miles outside Newport, Vermont was anyone’s guess. Thomas came here often, just to find a place to think and be alone. He'd never seen another soul until now. He guessed that she was was close to his own age – say, seventeen or eighteen. The tear in her blouse revealed a small tattoo above her left breast. It was a crudely drawn butterfly in a circle with a line across it. There was a gold, heart-shaped locket on a chain still clutched in her hand. Thomas stooped and gently took the locket and clicked it open. Inside were pictures of two people; a woman in her thirties and a man who looked about five or ten years older. They were probably her parents.
Bill TownsendPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Bookkeeper's Daughter
Gold was such a funny element. It was precious, coveted, a symbol of status and power. People fought over it, died for it, killed for it. Some people lived for it. No greater gift could be given or taken away. It was cool at first touch yet warmed quickly on the skin. For many it could mean the start of a new life. Tonight, it marked the end of mine.
Hannah ForbushPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Vespers
The day no longer shone of the brilliant sunlight as Danascha once remembered. That warmth that kissed her bright blue skin was nothing but a foggy dream. Her face now barely glimmered a dull gray before her in the smudged mirror with its rusted frame. Her kind hadn’t survived long since the Vespers came to their planet; draining the greens and reds of the forests to mere twigs and branches. Being a Clay-Genoan, Danascha was born to create and care for the beautiful nature and wildlife of Genoa.
Sophia CanfieldPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Purity of Heat and the Snow!
! A BRIEF INTRODUCTION "The Unholy Republica Britannica” universe. . It was the grand year of 1820 AD: . In the far North East of the Great British Republic,
Ross E Fortune LombardiPublished 3 years ago in FictionMaskwa Legend
Geometrical shapes whispered from a dark ceiling above. A soft white blanket started dusting over the terrain. It was only midday; it should have been more well-lit than it was. The crystallized flakes glistened in the light emitted from the house. She pulled her cashmere wrap snugger over her delicate shoulders. November could be unforgiving in the Northern ranges of Manitoba. God’s River is an isolated wilderness, the principal settlement of the Manto Sipi Cree.
Margaret ToddPublished 3 years ago in Fiction