Adventure
Praesidium III
Previously Once their food was finished, Nixie packed away the stove. The flammable items went into Noah’s bag while the rest went into Nixie’s. And then, they were ready to go. James, once again, was setting off to find Praesidium and his new future. His destiny.
Jade StephensPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Ride
Even as the city spoke to them in seductive and festive whispers, Sam and Becky were still bored, stuck in the middle of the carnival stream of lights and excitement. The airy hoard ignored them for the better parts of drunken convalescences and glitter. Sam and Becky did not have a cent to their names. They walked along the streets, staring at the industrial whorls around them. The warm rush of exhaustion and absolution passed by. Sam kicked an empty can that landed on the road. It was instantly flattened by cars and flung right back in their direction.
Justin Fong CruzPublished 3 years ago in FictionPraesidium
The shadows were encroaching into what little light there was in the room. The dark was dominating. Items were strewn around the room, blocking the light and creating more darkness. Furniture. Dangling curtains and curtain rails. It was all evidence that life had once existed here. Newspapers. Letters. Photographs. Fancy wall paper was peeling from the walls and there were shadows over the damp patches. Everything was rotten and greyed with age.
Jade StephensPublished 3 years ago in FictionPraesidium II
Previously - Meanwhile, James was searching through his third house. He was proud of his hoard of supplies. He had found some new clothes for them ready for the approaching warmer weather. The first house had a whole supply of canned food. Some of the cupboards and the fridge were starting to grow their own eco systems from the moldy food but most of the cans were okay. A scream pierced the silence.
Jade StephensPublished 3 years ago in FictionPraesidium IV
Previously The lights were on the top of a large building, lighting the building up against the darkening sky. And underneath was something that made James’ heart rise. There, painted on the side of the building in bright white paint, was a bear.
Jade StephensPublished 3 years ago in FictionAlone
I was hoping we’d have more time. But the end of the world doesn’t care about your dreams. It doesn’t care that you just got married last year, and that you wanted a family. It’s greedy, and will snatch what it wants from you.
Hillary EvansPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe 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.
Charlotte PricePublished 3 years ago in FictionImagine Michael Scofield, Professor and Assane Diop’s Working Together
You may not have heard of these three characters. But they are the most intelligent characters that the world of television series has ever released. All three are characters from different series at different times and different scenes, yet their performances are breathtaking.
Casimiro FilipePublished 3 years ago in FictionFimbulvinter
The wind whistled through the forest of pines, small bits of snow falling from their drooping branches. A male elk moved carefully through the brush, followed by two females and a calf. They watched him, mimicking his steps to move safely through the woods. He lowered his face to the ground, brushing the snow aside to reveal a cluster of mushrooms. His calf approached, nibbling on the vegetation as the adults kept watch. A slight rustling of the brush in the distance put them on high alert, but they had no time to react before the snap of a bowstring resounded through the air. The buck fell, an arrow sticking out from his chest. The rest of the herd bolted into the woods, letting out sharp cries as they were forced to leave their only protector behind.
Caleb ArentzPublished 3 years ago in FictionSHADOW AND BITCH
Do you see it? What? Jonah asked. Do you see the heart? No, I see the destruction caused by sellouts like you that couldn't accept anarchy. Sure, whatever, artist. I replied. I always said artist instead of asshole, sometimes horse, because horses are assholes.
Darrin SmithPublished 3 years ago in FictionWhat We Fear In The Light
Entry – March 12th In the aftermath, we howl at the fetid landscape and wonder what we have done. Poison drips in the air around us. The toxic clouds drove us underground long ago. And there we wait in the potent dark. In our silence. We had the scraps to rebuild. Pieces. Eclectic fragments of a life extinguished. We pieced them back together like a defective jigsaw puzzle, incomplete of all its parts. We cobbled together a form of what we could call a new beginning.
Vivian NoirPublished 3 years ago in FictionLocket or Bust
Poker chips clacked together. The deck passed to the player on the left. Doc grimaced as the big blind landed on him, but he hadn’t joined a high stakes game to turn chicken. The dealer handed out the cards, cigarette smoke swirling to the ceiling from a cigar dangling in his lips.
Blaze HollandPublished 3 years ago in Fiction