Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Dymphna
Dymphna always knew that this day would come. Mam had prepared her for it as long as she could remember. One day, the soldiers would come and Mam would be taken away. Dymphna had now lived ten winters. Ten years of hiding. Ten years of sleeping in the same bed as Mam so that a warm bed would not give her away. Ten years of eating from the same plate lest the soldiers come and find two dirty plates.
margie dahlPublished 3 years ago in FictionHypocalypse
The bell’s tolling was supposed to usher in the apocalypse. At least, that’s what they’d decided. The statue at the top of the hill loomed high over the ground, in clear sight for miles. It did nothing but watch over the land, but many thought it to bring prosperity to the world. The soil all over was rich and crops grew in abundance. Water was plentiful and lush green covered everything in grass and forests.
Bree FrankelPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Queen of Constellations
One of my favorite creative escapes from reality is playing Dungeons and Dragons with my friends. A commonplace necessity for building a character is to give them some interesting or tragic backstory that you can grow from and for the DM (Dungeon Master: individual who guides the game) to pull from and incorporate into their overarching storyline.
Zoe BullardPublished 3 years ago in FictionTo the Ends of the Earth
“Hey! I uh, found my old tape recorder in what… used to be my house. It took a while to dig through the rubble and find anything worth keeping, since, as you probably know while you’re listening to this, everything kind of got… nuked. Because of the wars, obviously. I’m not sure why I’m explaining that. Everyone knows that just happened, it was happening all over the world. Talking just… calms me down. Which is why it’s great that I found my tape recorder! It can be like an audio diary, or… something!”
#8224
Start #8224 By Anthony Arnhold 8224 had never seen a room so ghastly white. The walls were white, the floor was white, the chairs, the table. It was nigh on blinding to have her eyes open, so she kept them shut and pressed her head against the table’s cold metal. It wasn’t much comfort, but it was some - and comfort was in short supply as of late. To be concise, comfort was akin to heresy, blasphemy. “The comfortable person is a stagnant person,” she muttered, wondering if the microphones would pick it up.
Anthony ArnholdPublished 3 years ago in FictionHer Journey
She opens her eyes and sees the sun bright through the broken boards of the attic, sitting up basking in the warmth for a few minutes before looking around and gathering her stuff. Now she inhales the rotting wood smell mixed with old cobwebs and rodent waste. She becomes aware of her reality. It has been a decade since everything happened, three years since she lost her mother, and a little less than two years since her dad either left or could not make it back. She did her routine of checking supplies and realized that she would need to make a run. Without planning, it would have to be solo. This sometimes could be favorable, but it was better not to overthink. Getting a list together, she knows alone she must consider weight and movement. She wishes she had time to plan to go to the camp and do this properly but going to camp, in itself, needed favors. This attic, this life, alone is better than camp and those greasy smells and the creepy treatment of "I will protect you, hun." No, alone is always better, and don't ever get caught two, rules she has to live by.
Melinda RogersPublished 3 years ago in FictionExtranjero
I found it lying in the churned up mud of the road. It gleamed in the afternoon sun. It was a double necklace of gold, two chains each bearing a heart shaped locket. The hearts themselves were joined by a short chain with a clasp. It was clearly a set to be divided between lovers. This one had yet to be shared it seemed.
Steven TestPublished 3 years ago in FictionCommunity
Anna shot up out of bed. Another rapid banging followed the first. Looking at her clock, dread washed over her. Not again. She thought it was over. It had to be over. She forced herself to close her eyes and try to ignore the rasping coming from the far window of her tiny bedroom. Suddenly, the knocking increased in both speed and loudness; then it stopped. Seconds later, Anna heard a new sound within the quiet night. One far more startling than knocking. She lied perfectly still as the screech of the old window severed the silence of the night.
Kenzie BishopPublished 3 years ago in FictionLife After
I ran, heart pounding in my ears and stolen goods in hand, away from what would have been described as justice by some and barbaric by others. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If there is one tribe you do not steal from it's the Gut-Slingers. As the name implies they are one of the few cannibalistic tribes in the area and because everyone is so afraid of them they always have the best things. I can hear them whooping and whistling behind me, leaves being torn from trees and torches like fireflies dancing through the branches. I make a left cutting through a bramble bush, feeling its sharp teeth rip at my hair, face, and arms, but I just keep running. Better to be cut than eaten.
Skyler CallahanPublished 3 years ago in FictionIs This Us?
Stiff... Her neck was stiff... Her back was stiff... Everything was tight and stiff. Miranda's eyes opened just a bit, and the bright sun assaulted her instantly. The sun? When she last looked around the sun was setting, and now it sat high in the sky. She moved slowly, acclimating herself to her surroundings. She heard the faint song of birds and the clanking of metal. She could smell something delicious in the air and stood from the bed almost without a thought.
Nicki WilliamsPublished 3 years ago in FictionDetachment
When I dropped the baby into the toxic river, I felt a small twinge inside my chest. It felt strange, like a stinging pinch that left me grasping my chest, but as quickly as it came it faded. It made me recall a story I heard about from granny who would tell elaborate stories of humans who had emotions. It was a story that was very dull but it left an impression on me, because that was the first time I had heard the word “sad.” And it took my brothers and I hours to try to understand what sad meant. Grandma said that it was a pain you felt in your chest, but we felt that all the time when the Pacis Ordo would inject us with vitamins. So were we sad then?
Citlalic ZunigaPublished 3 years ago in FictionA Labyrinthine Voyage
For the past 10 years, Celise and her husband Daryl have been living in the post-apocalyptic city of Bellingham, Washington. The weather today was fairly typical of late spring in this region. It was rainy, a bit cold and terribly windy, much to Celise's dismay.
Lindsay A. HarveyPublished 3 years ago in Fiction