Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
The Key To Mirah
I still relive the vibration of the alarm reverberating through the city walls, before the sun even had an opportunity to flicker on what was left of their freedom. Father always advised me I never had to fret about the attainment that was ahead of me, like the others, though I never really understood what he meant until that painstaking night, bolting out of bed, petrified of the commotions besieging us.
Candice VegaPublished 3 years ago in FictionTrue Colors
When Sienna was born, she was merely yellow-brown. Her furless skin matched the rough clay of the canyon walls where her family lived, and as she toddled, naked, it was nearly impossible to find her. Slowly, as she grew in the warm sunlight of the canyon, the sun’s rays turned her skin to a golden, rich caramel-like color, and her fur grew in to match. It was then that she was named - Sienna, a lush burnt orange that glowed with each sunset and sunrise. She could be found teetering on a ledge, much to her parents’ dismay, when the first morning rays hit, raising her tiny spindly arms upward.
rani JayakumarPublished 3 years ago in Fiction"I want to die, Artie."
After a long day at the lab, I finally got on the bus to go home. Today is my sister's 18th birthday and I can already feel the heat of my mother's anger for my tardiness to her party. I know I'll be hearing about this for weeks.
Keepers of the Heart
August 1 2016, 9:19pm Father Del spoke to his children at the dinner table, “Our ancestors passed down tales from generation to generation, and today I share with you children the prophecy as it has been shared to me.” Father Del Harper was a tall man of medium complexion, his eyes sharp and slice right through you seeing the very depths of your self. His smile warm and violent, which fit his demeanor the way he remained cool and calm what seemed to be all the time. He stood with long lanky arms with what had to be mittens attached to them for hands the were so big and strong. He was one of the thin but unnaturally strong types.
Charles WaltonPublished 3 years ago in FictionMixed 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.