Adventure
Apocolies
As a young girl who is surviving the end of the world I have learned some things. Such as food is hard to find in large stores and that axes take longer to kill zombies. Yes you heard me right. Zombies, Z-O-M-B-I-E-S. Brain and flesh eating maniacs who wouldn't care if you were as sinless as a nun, you were still going to be their next meal. This put people in a panic and caused the world to fall to shit. Big cities took it the hardest because they were so densely populated. Which sucks donkey balls because I live in Chicago. Most of my family didn't survive, just me and my twin brothers, Conner and Jasper. We have been staying in an abandoned Costco which is easy to protect from the rafters which is where we sleep. Yet one morning that changed.
By Paige Franklin3 years ago in Fiction
The Lost Ones
My name is Annabelle; it is February 25th, 2299, in Seattle, Washington. It has been almost one hundred years since shit got bad. Global warming has pushed the earth to its breaking point. Since sometime in the early 2000s, the ice caps started melting, causing the waters to rise. We are drowning, slowly. Most of the buildings are submerged several stories under the water if I am to guess. The water causes the city to be damp and chilly most of the time. My mom told stories about her great-grandma living in Seattle. She said it was raining almost always and when the sun did shine, well it didn’t. I dream a lot about what life was like before; we drive around in a car, looking up at the giant skyscrapers, and just being together. Now the only places I see are that of my people struggling to survive. It is not so bad, though; I belong to a small group of young outcasts all in their teens and twenties. We all have the same stories, parents dying, abandoning us, and some of us are still trying to find our way.
By Kylie Arneson3 years ago in Fiction
Hole Shaped Heart
It was the year 3094, and the Earth was a mess, full of despair and murder. In a small town west of Missouri, lays a crime scene too beautiful to describe. A young lady lying bloody on the floor surrounded by three bodies, her hand clutching a heart shaped locket, drizzled with a hint of blood. To fully understand the crime scene, one must go back in time precisely three hours, when Kelly was sitting in a country bar nursing a cold beer and watching a baseball game.
By Luke Simpson 3 years ago in Fiction
Duo
The dust kicked up a little and I, with my partner, used the device they were given to count the number of persons in the concrete box we presume is an office. There were very few buildings left. The parts that stood were shifted and molded into other items of use. This block box? This must have been a part of a small dry cleaners. The racks were still present. Nothing is as it was but you could make out a thing or two. It had been nearly seven years since the time of drought and ruin. Nearly seventeen years since the world warred over biological weapons and people whose DNA fit enough to create super soldiers or marvelous monsters. There were actually men and women who depended on the exchange of gases only experienced under water. Yes, we have mer-folk around now.
By Cyndia Romulus3 years ago in Fiction
Baited
I woke up to the world upside down. It could have been from dealing with the wars and mutations that followed, but this time it was because my legs were tied up. Hanging over a swampy lake with a headache and my mouth tasting like copper, I saw a pair of violent eyes stare at me from the murky water. I tried to remember how I got into this situation, and I started to recollect the last few hours.
By William Hammond3 years ago in Fiction
The Frog Pond
Don't all stories start with Once Upon a Time? We always point to fairy tales, or fantastical stories, or outright bald-faced lies as Once Upon a Time. But all of our lives are one whole story, broken into readable bits by time. We think fairy tales should have a parable, or even a proverb, at the middle. Like it's some kind of speakable pearl.
By Meredith Harmon3 years ago in Fiction
Sector 9-11
When I dream of my perfect life—the ideal one that only ever exists in my imagination—I envision endless light. The UV rays from the sun beam down on me from above. They envelop every inch of my skin exposed. In this dream, I exist no further than as a houseplant albeit with more complicated emotions. My skin cells photosynthesize the energy into nutrients to support the growth of my limbs as I stretch up and out to reach into the sky. Only once I have made it up into the clouds do I reach transcendence: pure Nirvana. Given this ideality, I can only hope that how I exist in present is as a seedling: expanding and strengthening my roots. The water that stimulates my growth soaks into the soil, my home, and fills me up from the inside. Nourishing me. The darkness that surrounds me exists only temporarily as I gain the resilience to sprout—to thrive—above ground.
By Christine C3 years ago in Fiction
Guerilla
Guerilla “Everybody uses you in one way or another.” This was the stench of sheer unadulterated warfare. Bodies of dead rebels and soldiers littered the battlefield. The aura of this place intrigued me.. Even though I had been groomed since I was a child. This experience was all too real… There were no training dummies or drills taking place, no generals or lieutenants howling down on young reluctant rebels . I couldn’t believe my eyes… I wasn’t ready for this type of scenario… sure we always had prepared for this day but this encounter was much more surreal... yet I was drawn to it, blood rushing , heart pulsating like never before while anxiety and fervor took hold of me violently. Before I realized I was already rushing into battle and losing myself within my own compulsiveness, Soon I had become the hero of the battlefield. Eyes fixated on the conqueror I had become. With each slash, stab, penetration I had begun to lose myself eventually into a dream I found to be pleasant. I wanted more , war cries became a melody, blood an exotic beauty, death as if it had been made just for me. That all too pleasant dream? A nightmare. Me a conqueror? Loser. Hero? Vigilante. I had lost myself in a battle and found myself in the abyss. Finally sentient and conscious when it was too late. I had not only killed our enemies… I had also killed my brethren as well. My friends, mentors, family. This truth I could not accept… rationalize… I’m not sure what happened after that. I awoke in a stranger's home “Guerilla” he called me.
By S.D. Martin3 years ago in Fiction