Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Mixed Drinks
On Ladies nights in New Orleans, hundreds of single women flock to infamous Bourbon Street Bars in search of free drinks and hopefully meeting Mr. Right. Cheap drinks tend to bring out even cheaper men also on the prowl to find Mrs. Right Now. Copious amounts of well brand liquid courage can help turn seemingly innocent flirtations into a night of drunken sloppy sex which is a guaranteed nasty hangover covered in regret. The long walk of shame is time to reflect on what happened and vow to never partake in such festivities at least until the following week. This is exactly what Patrick is counting on. Patrick is an attractive male in his early thirties, extremely charming and loves to take advantage of drunk girls. He calls himself the Bushwolfe. He knows ever bartender in the French Quarter but never hits the same one during the same week. He prides himself on how many virgins he has banged and is a local legend amongst all the frat houses at Tulane. He's the worst kind of predator because everyone loves him and no one can seem to resist him. Until tonight.
Katniss ForevergreenPublished 3 years ago in FictionAftermath
Aftermath Author: Matthew Cooper Clare sat by a small fire, enough to keep her warm but not enough to attract too much attention. She nervously fiddles with her necklace which is the last physical memory that she has of her mom. Her mom gave her the necklace on her tenth birthday because, in her family, the first double-digit birthday was seen as a sign of growing into an adult. It was a beautiful heart-shaped locket that sparkled in the sun. Clare had come from a low-income family, so the necklace was probably inexpensive, but it now takes her back to a better time. While she fiddles with it, she is also trying to wipe the dust and dirt off to see some resemblance of what the necklace used to look like. She often wonders if her mother dying in the rioting was a better way to go than be alive today.
Matthew CooperPublished 3 years ago in FictionMultiple Rooms on Earth
Joe Lewis Johnson, popularly known as Joel Johnson, was your average young lad. An average typical teenager, with spectacles and an unknown , unquenched love for rock n roll. He was not very popular ( nor that he cared ), but one must admit, for a goofy looking guy like him, schools are always hard. He would hate them all. He wouldn’t talk to anybody, because none of them showed him even a single bit of comradeship, that’s how he felt. His mother was a Doctor who was always busy( that’s what he only knows about his mother’s profession). His father was always on travel, cracking business deals and all. So you can say, our Joel was rich.
Syed Arabi KhaliquePublished 3 years ago in FictionCLONING SNOWFLAKES
Cloning Snowflakes The Julian Date was: 2529772.08861. Humanity finally knew its place in the Milky Way galaxy, basically.
Charles Augustus Steen IIIPublished 3 years ago in FictionTech---error
Failure is heartbreaking, especially when the species is well-loved. Each in their time, the breakdown is swifter. A play for dominance….
Paula Louise ShenePublished 3 years ago in FictionOversight
Mel stood in the middle of the wasteland he’d been traversing for…hours? Days? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything. He turned to look at the tracks he’d left in the sand and watched as the farthest ones began to disappear on the growing breeze. In the distance there was a mountain range, which had been his compass for as long as he could remember. Despite walking directly away from the range for quite some time, the mountains hadn’t changed in stature. They stood, mocking him, just as large as they had the last four times he’d looked at them. His lips cracked and ached as he opened his mouth to yawn, feeling the dryness of his tongue and grains of sand between his teeth. He patted along his torso until he heard faint crinkling and, from his breast pocket, he pulled a folded piece of paper. It was worn and seamless, it’s texture closer to that of thin cotton, and as he unfolded it he tried to remember why it was there in the first place. He would’ve read the words aloud if he’d had the extra strength.
Reality Tears & Screams
Gideon stared out the massive window in his 49th floor office. All of Chicago sprawled below. One by one the lights from skyscrapers and street-lamps twinkled on in the approaching dusk to compete with the night sky for supremacy. So far, the city was still winning.
Mommy's Boy
Under his mother's thumb from the day, he is born. Mark, a 45-year-old man who still resides at his parent's home. He never knew his father. That man fled when Mark was born. His father was incapable of understanding his wife's mental state, and he could not cope with such a responsibility. She is eight months pregnant and bipolar, and her moods can be very Jekyll and Hyde. One minute nice, the next evil. And, because of the stress, his father dated different women behind Mary's back. When she found out about his additional lovers, she flew at him with a knife. Finally, the family physician, Dr. Brown, admitted Mary into a Mental institution, where she gave birth to Mark. The child's life commenced in foster homes until she is deemed suitable.
Vertigo
The sweltering heat poured off the writhing form of multiple bodies crashing into each other like a pit of boiling water, their hands waving creating the effect of bubbles popping against the surface. I asked myself once more why I endured the noxious fumes of bodily fluids, burning sensation of physical contact and music so loud the force of it surely changed the pace of my heart beat. I looked towards Bethany, her brown hair loose and waving about her like an image blurred, her crimson nails darting flashes of color against her dark tan skin and black dress, the Jesus that hung from her neck catching the swirling lights and winking as though it was amused by the irony of religion in such a god-forsaken place as this. That was why. I scanned the crowd, fishing for something interesting to do with the next few hours I'd be here.
I.T.O. TailsPublished 3 years ago in FictionKeepsakes
Keepsakes, things that we hold dear to us, that are given to us or that we find, something that holds meaning, love and memories, I kept things over the years that I liked or found special, but none compared to the one keepsake that I was given one day when I needed it the most.
Kristina RICHARDSONPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Silent Organ
The bells started again. This time closer than they had been before. The intervals were short, evenly paced, and jarringly loud, creating orange rings in the sky like fireworks overhead.
Eliza BegonPublished 3 years ago in FictionShards
The endless asphalt crumbled beneath her feet. She kept moving. The desert wind stirred the hardpan into a maelstrom of grit. Still she kept moving. The sun baked the water from her pores, and her emaciated limbs ached with each step, and the carrion birds marked her passage with their greedy beaks at the ready for the day that finally she fell – but she kept moving. For all the world was a tomb, and it consumed those who sat idle.
Terrence HartPublished 3 years ago in Fiction