Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
An Ode To The Past.
No one remembers what happened that fateful day. The Earth seemed to fall into a silence that would shake even the strongest of hearts. I was a lucky one, given fair warning about the global catastrophes that would befall all of humanity. Me and so many others were given the chance to recreate the Earth, better, stronger, than the one that was to be washed away. A clean slate if you would. And we bunkered down, safe with the knowledge that although so many would die, we, the chosen, would continue to lead humanity into a glorious future. A new dawn, a better day. At least, that was the dream. And just like any dream, it too was fictitious. It started well, the concrete haven protected us from the storms, and the screams. We counted down the hours, the minutes, the seconds, until we could emerge and start planting the seed of rebirth. This was the most difficult task. Not the planning or rebuilding, or the hiding from those who needed a safe space from the apocalypse. No, it was the waiting, the time we had to ourselves. Of course anyone would kill for time alone, burying themselves in the safety of homes and just live out the day like you’re the only one in the world. That is what we used to look forward to, but when it became reality, it was too difficult to be left alone with your thoughts. Friends, family, pets. They say when you die your memories flash before your eyes. This is true when you’re alone. And unlike death, there is no sweet embrace, no end. Just you and your thoughts. That is until the day came, the day it was safe to survey what damage was done to mother Earth. The day when all pressure was on you to do what was right. It was easy, the hard part was trying to forget the past.
By Sam McCarlie3 years ago in Fiction
The Phantom's Note
Kailey shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair of the waiting room, valiantly trying to control her breathing and ignore the excited chatter of her classmates. After eighteen years all they needed to do was make it through the next few months, pass their final exams and they would finally take their place as adults and contribute to the well-being of their society. Jealousy gripped her. She should be as enthusiastic as them, but her carefree attitude had been stolen from her months ago.
By Emma Brown3 years ago in Fiction
Spitfires
The door screeched, metal scraping on metal as it rose, letting the cool morning air rush down the stairs that lead above ground. Haydn took a deep breath in. The ventilation system in the colony had artificial wind, but it wasn’t the same as the gentle breeze that danced across the surface, nor was the simulated sunlight that lit the colony quite the same as the warmth of sunshine directly on her skin.
By Kelsey Beard3 years ago in Fiction
foothills
He’d been in the mountains for two years. His territory was somewhere in the foothills of the Pyrenees and he moved his camp a few miles once or twice a month. When he first arrived he had intended to keep moving south west into Spain but avoiding the coasts meant he’d kept inland and higher in the mountains, even when the winters were harshest. The cold never bothered him in the same way as the heat and the dry.
By Laurie Barraclough3 years ago in Fiction
Welcome To... Melburn?
Well, I've gone an' done it. Set the whole world ablaze and all for an ice cream, talk about fire and ice! How was I supposed to know the machinery had a limit? A cool down time, for a frozen cream machine, like seriously? They often say, 'One small desire burns a fire.' but somehow, I do not believe this is what they meant. I have to fix this, "Siri, how do you stop a blaze from consuming a city you just moved to?"
By Samuel Fletcher3 years ago in Fiction
The Purpose of Life Is to Be Happy
"The purpose of our lives is to be happy."-Dalai Lama For millennia, people have ascribed to the above theory. The one true purpose of life is to pursue happiness above all. It's so entwined in our societal fabric that it might as well replace the human condition.
By Hudson Riggs3 years ago in Fiction
All That's Left
Better to sweat than to blister and burn. That was the first lesson of the new world for anyone who wanted to survive it. Thomas Whittemore removed his goggles just long enough to clear the condensation from them and wipe the sweat from his eyes, but no longer. The vibrant greens of grass and trees were now only memories replaced by choked, sparse weeds. Most of the trees were now twisted and charred from the fallout, reaching up with blackened fingers to the unforgiving skies. Where the old world was one driven by a thirst for material wealth, the new world was one of survival. Long gone were the conveniences of fast food and microwaves.
By Adam Carden3 years ago in Fiction
The Heart of Sarian
A barren wasteland, the definition of imperfection, lies right in the heart of our perfect, sugar coated city. My dad always used to tell me stories growing up, about a time, long before our generation, of a kingdom that once stood there. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had this dream, it’s the same, reoccurring, every night. In this dream, I’m at the bottom of a stair well, it’s spirally, made of brick, it’s cold and damp, in the back ground I can hear a faint voice, beautiful, almost like a sirens song, calling my name, the overwhelming urge to follow it sweeps over me and I start to climb, one step at a time, growing ever closer to the top, as I get closer, the voice gets louder, I can hardly contain my excitement, I start taking two steps, then three, before I know it I’m running, as I reach the top I come to a solid oak door, with a big brass knob, just as I’m about to open it ... Tiggy, TIGS!! ANTIGONE!! ... I’m shaken awake, as I rub my eyes I’m greeted by my little sister Elsie, she smiles softly and says “Happy Birthday Tigs.” handing me a small gift, wrapped with a bow, I look at her “Thanks Els.” as I start to unwrap the box “Oh, and don’t call me Antigone again.” she laughs and makes her way back out of my room. My eyes swell as I look at the gift, it was my mother’s old heart shaped locket, the chain had snapped not long after my grandma had passed away, I remember how upset my mum was, she had always meant to have it repaired but after she got sick it became her last priority. She had always said when I turned 17 it would become mine, it was sort of a family tradition, passed from generation to generation to the first born girl, I think even before the apocalypse. I undo the clasp and fasten it around my neck. “Finally 17 Mum.” I sigh as I stare at her photo on my night stand, “Wish you were here.” I jump out of bed, tying my unruly curls in a high pony, and throwing a pair of ripped jeans on, I pull a hoodie over my head, slip into my converse and make my way down stairs.
By Charlotte Price3 years ago in Fiction