Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Terra Human
I felt a rough hand grab my upper arm in a vice-like grip. “Move it, Terra.” I grit my teeth but obediently walked a half step behind the Terran Recruitment Officer with his ample assortment of guns. He was still half dragging me but the hallway we were in was dark with flickering dull yellow lights. We got to an armored door at the end of the hall. Without another word the TR Officer pushed me inside, making me stumble on my way in. As I righted myself, the heavy door was closed and locked behind me. I glanced around at the new prison cell I was in.
By Jacqueline Stairs3 years ago in Fiction
Yellow
Yellow, Jaune, Amarelo The color of the sun, life giving light that warms our cold blue and green planet. Heat that travels for hundreds upon thousands of miles through the cold, dark, empty blackness of space to turn our indigo nights into azure days. Melting the pure white snow into crystal blue water that feeds the emerald green grasses, evergreen forests, the flowing green and gold oceans of hay, alfalfa and wheat.
By Grant Tennyson 3 years ago in Fiction
A Keeper and Giver of Moments
Life is procedural. So are films. So is filmmaking. Life is growth. The addition of time and chance and action and lessons. Life is small. And big. Fleeting and monumental. Fast and slow. Life is yesterday. Life is today. Life is tomorrow. Life is many things. Most of all, to me, life is all about the picture at the end. Moments and circumstances are pixels and puzzle pieces; only beautiful as a complete ensemble. That’s why we watch films. We get to see totality. A complete circle. In my creative journey, I am seeing a circle about to complete – my passion for storytelling through filmmaking is becoming a possibility. I first fell in love with films. Then I learned how to write thoughts. Then I learned how to write poems. Then I learned how to write songs. Then I learned how to tell stories. Then I learned how to take photographs. Then I learned how to communicate and work with a creative team. Then I learned how to paint. Then I learned how to write scripts. Then I realised that in all of this – I had learned how to make films. Life is procedural. So are films. So is the creation of a filmmaker.
By Azuoma Obikudu3 years ago in Fiction
A Boulevard of Lost Memories
The wind whistled through the skeletons and remains of ancient buildings, an echoing scream of a time long passed. With careful steps I walked across broken stone and hard, packed dirt. Deeper into the once great town I ventured, a mixture of awe and melancholy building within my chest. Even after hundreds of years, the place still held a fragment of its former beauty. The hints of a people who cared not just for each other but for their surroundings, the love that still lingered in the architecture of flowing buildings. A land of peace torn asunder by the rise of evils that had sprouted and grown around them. Something harder than rock underneath my feet interrupted my thoughts, and I carefully reached down with a gauntlet covered hand. I tentatively brushed away the dust and nature's debris, a hint of dirty silver and studded emeralds glinted up at me from the midday sun looming above. With two fingers I gave it a small tug, and I lifted the small artifact closer for inspection. A locket, heart shaped and missing its chain, with a crack running partially across its center face. Any defining features or inscriptions had been worn away ages ago, and the release mechanism was gummed up with dirt. After considering the soiled surface, I took to running my fingers over it to gently shake off the coating. And in the process I found to my dismay that the edges had since long been stamped shut. With a frown I tried to pry it open, fingers gripping uselessly at the sides. Enough weight had been put on it, repeatedly, to seal it away from prying eyes. Perhaps from the feet of fleeing civilians? Or had the thunderous pounding of monstrous limbs trampled it into submission? I bit my bottom lip to prevent a frustrated sigh from emerging, and closed my eyes to focus on the locket in my hand. A deep breath in, a long breath out, letting my awareness seep into my surroundings. Here, surrounded by destruction and death and the decay of a civilization, I was in my element. Feeling the echo of blood on the locket, long since removed visually by nature, the tiny forces of life and death coated across the metal that I reached for, letting my will wash over them. With a mental twist I exerted change, letting my will shape reality itself. I opened my eyes to look at the black sludge that I had formed over the locket. A precise flick and it began to flow, seeping into the infinitesimally small gap between the edges. And a simple command was all that was needed for the sludge to expand, push, strain, and in a heartbeat the locket popped open in an audible snap. Sighing, I released my power. With a snap of my wrist I shook the sludge free and brought the locket closer in one fluid motion, and in dwindling excitement I peered into the surprisingly empty recess. Instead of a photo, there was a piece of cloth wedged into one side. The other was home to an etching featuring a strand of numbers that I did not recognize. A code? A serial identifier? I slowly traced my fingers over the scratchings; I could feel the echoes of feelings. This was something important to whoever made it. A reminder of death? No, the feelings were…joyous. They evoked within me a sense of mornings spent with Sel, of soft murmurs that made my heart race. A memory to be cherished, a moment captured during a time when everything was breaking. The cloth was similar in feel, silken smoothness tinted with anxiety. Worry. Love. A piece of a larger whole, an event, multiple people's emotions merged into one, defying the test of time. A joining ceremony, perhaps? It felt like the kind of ornate material the clothes would be made from, and the feelings were like the stories people told afterwards. With a gentle pinch, I sealed the locket, tucking it into one of the pouches on my hips. The world needs more reminders, after all, I thought with a glance at the ruins around me. "Morana?" Sel's voice broke the silence. "Yes?" "We should move on before it gets dark. I didn't see any dens in the open, and getting ambushed would not be ideal." "It wouldn't be, no," I agreed with a sigh. "We'll let the men know we'll travel this way tomorrow to make sure it's clear." "Yes ma'am." A breath of hesitation. "And Morana?" "Yeah, Sel?" "You were right. It really is beautiful out here."
By Ashley Calderon3 years ago in Fiction
Winter of the Silver Twilight
Snowflakes sparkle like diamonds as they fall to the ground. Glancing up I could see the moon through the curtain of falling gems. Looking down I continue deeper into the forest. I hurry because I hear the villagers behind me. Silent tears slide down my cheeks as I make my way through the dense trees. My heart aches to see him again, my love, I know it is impossible.
By Nakia Roberson3 years ago in Fiction
Eye of the Heart
EYE OF THE HEART We are passing through the eye of the needle. Dystopic, entropic, on topic, current day…. I walk through the barren streets with trash piled high, cartoon stinkwaves emanate from the effluent mountains left behind by humans deeply distracted. Deeply contracted. Internal/External refracted. We used to see with the eye of our hearts, Watching silken filaments connect everything to everything else in this world. Shimmering gossamer webs from plant to bird, the frothy white caps on a windy sea filled with bacteria pumping thermal vents into the air creating rain, nothing separate, nothing in isolation.
By Stardust Meatskeleton3 years ago in Fiction
The Girl With The Heart Locket
She doesn’t remember who gave her the locket, or whose tiny childlike face was inside of it. Was it her face? She wished she could remember. She has spent so much time in this bunker with the other children. She vaguely remembers what her parents looked like, but after 17 years stuck in a bunker with the remaining surviving children, you long for freedom from the closed doors.
By Michelle Noon3 years ago in Fiction
Can You Hear Me Now
Can You Hear Me Now? A Modern Bedside Tale There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But there were now, Sightings of them in the Alps had increased over the years, but they were not on the minds of the good people of Rothenburg as they entered Christmas Holiday festivities and the city began to look even more like a Christmas card.
By Cleve Taylor 3 years ago in Fiction
The Taken Road
Tirah pulled in a harsh breath through her mask, back pressed against a ruined brick wall coated with soft black moss. The sky was darker than usual for this time of day, acid-green clouds bright with lightning drifting across the grey like a veiled threat. Gods-damned Gildeds, staining the sky with the foul pollution that spewed from their precious Domes!
By Monica Shortell3 years ago in Fiction