Fantasy
Genesis of Xyra
"You know how it started?" Xyra leered over the captured hero on the exam table. "It's funny. Everyone thought I was just another lab coat working on Project Eden in 2057 - a new frontier in bioengineering - they called it. Eden was supposed to be a synergetic ecosystem that wouldn't contaminate or alter other planets with Earth microbes. Executives grew impatient though. So, scientists cut corners. I was a low-level geneticist at the time. When I noticed the flaws, I tried to warn them.
By Kathryn M Young2 years ago in Fiction
Villain
I always thought that if I had ever gotten superpowers, I would be the greatest superhero of all time. Things have changed. I remember being ecstatic. I was a hero. I made a decision to save that man from the car crash. I had no idea that he was an alien. I also had no idea that he would bestow superpowers upon me. That alien blasted me with his glow power. That gave me the ability to shoot powerful beams of light from the palms of my hand. It also gave me the ability to fly and superhuman strength and healing.
By Tyrone Livingston2 years ago in Fiction
The Spider and the Curious Boy
I am not a villain. I was just being a spider, doing what spiders do in the woods. I wasn’t asked to be a part of any experiment. All I ever wanted was to be in a tree, spinning a web, catching flies. Flies are much tastier than the sodium serum they force feed me here three times a day. I was content to remain where I was, but when the glass beaker came over me, I was trapped. I had heard of others being taken in this fashion by curious boys. They were usually brought back here after a day or two.
By Mindy Reed2 years ago in Fiction
Voltaic Flight
Leaves crunched under her feet as she flashed a look behind her to make sure she was still being followed by the small group. The child she held sensed her urgency and stayed silent. She waved her arm, urging the band of escapees to hurry faster, pointing to a glow in the distance.
By Nicole Deviney2 years ago in Fiction
Simba The Hero Of Gorimhe Village
My heart thudded in my chest as I dashed through the thick forest undergrowth, ducking beneath low branches, with Simba, my dog, close behind. We were deep in the woods, where the dense canopy above blocked out the last traces of daylight, making it nearly impossible to see more than a step ahead. But I didn’t need to rely on sight; I could sense him—the old, rugged boar that had been menacing Gorimhe Village for weeks. The same boar that had rampaged into the village the previous night, tearing apart half of my mother’s vegetable garden.Simba’s barks echoed through the trees, a blend of excitement and urgency, as he darted ahead of me. His sleek black fur melded with the shadows, leaving only the white tip of his tail visible as he weaved through the underbrush, leading the charge.This was never supposed to happen, chasing a wild boar through the forest with nothing but a machete slung over my back and an overzealous dog as my only ally. But Simba had his own ideas.The day had started innocently enough. I was lounging in our small compound, lazily watching the chickens peck at the ground while sipping on a steaming cup of pap. My mother was inside, muttering something about needing to replant her carrots, and the village was quiet, as it often was after the morning bustle. Simba lay beside me, his head on his paws, eyes half-closed as if without a care in the world.Then, without warning, Simba’s ears pricked up. He jumped to his feet, growling deep in his throat, his hackles raised. Before I could react, he was off, barking wildly and charging towards the edge of the forest.“Simba! What’s wrong?” I called after him, but he was already gone, tearing through the brush like a demon unleashed. I had no choice but to grab my machete and chase after him, my heart pounding with anxiety.By the time I caught up to him, we were deep in the forest, and that’s when I saw it—the enormous boar, with tusks as long as my arm, standing in a small clearing. It was snorting, pawing at the earth, and glaring at us with small, angry red eyes. Simba didn’t hesitate. He circled the boar, barking and snapping, trying to distract it while I stood there, frozen, unsure of my next move. Then the boar charged. Everything became a blur after that—Simba barking, me shouting, the boar crashing through the undergrowth. All I could do was run, my feet pounding the forest floor, my breath coming in ragged gasps.Now, as I sprinted after Simba, the boar hot on our heels, I realized I had no plan. We couldn’t outrun it forever, and I wasn’t even sure if I could handle it with my machete if it came to that. But Simba didn’t seem to care. He was fearless, bounding ahead, barking as if he was chasing a harmless rabbit instead of a wild boar that could easily tear him apart.Just when I thought we were done for, Simba suddenly veered off to the right, disappearing into a thicket of bushes. I skidded to a stop, chest heaving, trying to figure out where he’d gone. The boar, surprised by the sudden change in direction, slowed down, snorting and shaking its massive head.Then I heard it—Simba’s barking, coming from a few yards ahead, followed by a sharp yelp. My blood ran cold. I pushed through the bushes, the branches scratching at my arms and face, and stumbled into another small clearing.There, in the center of the clearing, stood Simba, in front of an old, hollowed-out tree. The boar had stopped, eyeing Simba warily. I understood why—inside the hollow tree was a small family of wild rabbits, huddled in fear.Simba was growling, his body tense, as if daring the boar to come closer. But there was something else in his eyes—a fierce determination, as if he was guarding more than just the rabbits, something much more significant.For a moment, everything seemed to freeze—the boar, the rabbits, Simba, and me, all locked in place. Then, with a loud snort, the boar suddenly turned and bolted, crashing through the underbrush and vanishing into the forest.I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and slumped to the ground, my legs trembling. Simba trotted over to me, tail wagging, as if nothing had happened. He licked my face, his tongue warm and rough against my cheek, and I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension finally ebbing away.“You crazy mutt,” I muttered, scratching behind his ears. “You saved us.”Simba barked, as if to say, “Of course I did.”I glanced over at the hollow tree, where the rabbits were still huddled together, their eyes wide with fear. Simba padded over to them, sniffing at the entrance of the tree, and then backed away, sitting down a few feet away as if standing guard. It was the strangest thing—I had never seen Simba this protective before. It was like he knew exactly what he was doing.We stayed there for a while, the sun slowly sinking behind the trees, casting long shadows across the clearing. Simba didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the tree, as if waiting for something.Eventually, the rabbits began to relax, cautiously poking their heads out of the hollow and sniffing the air. One by one, they hopped out, their tiny noses twitching as they surveyed the clearing. Simba watched them closely but didn’t make a move. It was almost as if he was ensuring they were safe before we left.Finally, as the last rays of sunlight faded away, the rabbits scurried off into the forest, disappearing into the underbrush. Simba stood up, stretched, and looked up at me, his tail wagging. “Alright, let’s head home, hero,” I said, getting to my feet and wiping the sweat from my brow.As we made our way back to the village, the cool night air brushing against my skin, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride swelling in my chest. Simba had always been a bit of a troublemaker—chasing chickens, digging up my mother’s garden, and barking at anything that moved. But today, he had shown a side of himself that I had never seen before. A side that made me realize just how fortunate I was to have him by my side.By the time we reached the edge of the forest, the village was quiet, the stars twinkling overhead. Simba trotted beside me, his head held high, as if he knew just how much of a hero he was.When we finally got home, my mother was waiting for us, a worried expression on her face.“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!” she scolded, but there was a note of relief in her voice.“Simba took care of everything, Ma,” I said, patting him on the head.She looked down at Simba, who wagged his tail and gave her the most innocent look he could manage. My mother sighed, shaking her head, but I could see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.“Well, I suppose I’ll have to make him something special for dinner,” she said, heading back into the house.I grinned, ruffling Simba’s fur as we followed her inside. “You hear that, boy? You’re getting a feast tonight.” Simba barked, his eyes shining with excitement, and I couldn’t help but laugh. He was a crazy dog, no doubt about it. But he was my crazy dog, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
By K.Adam Gbolahan2 years ago in Fiction
Burning Man Deaths
The sun was just beginning to set over the Black Rock Desert, casting long, golden shadows across the expanse of dust and art. The sky, a canvas of oranges and pinks, mirrored the fiery glow of the effigy at the center of Burning Man. In a few hours, the Man would burn, a ritual of release, of letting go. But for Emily, the flames held a different meaning this year.She stood at the edge of the gathering crowd, clutching a small vial of ashes in her trembling hands. Inside were the remains of her brother, Alex, who had died at the previous year’s Burn. He had been one of those free spirits, drawn to the desert by the promise of connection, creativity, and liberation. Burning Man had been his sanctuary, a place where he could shed the constraints of the outside world and embrace his true self. But the same desert that had given him so much had also taken him away. The official reports said it was an accident—a fall from a towering art structure he had helped build. But Emily knew the truth was more complex, more tragic. Alex had always danced on the edge of darkness, flirting with the shadows that lurked behind his radiant smile. Burning Man was his escape, but it was also his temptation, a place where the boundaries between life and death, reality and illusion, were thin and easily crossed. As she watched the crowds gather around the Man, their faces painted with anticipation and reverence, Emily felt a wave of anger rising within her. How could they celebrate when her brother was gone? How could they burn this symbol of release when her heart was still so heavy with grief? But she knew that these thoughts, too, were part of the process. Anger, denial, bargaining—they were all steps on the road to acceptance. Or so she had been told.She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the desert fill her mind—the distant beats of music, the murmurs of conversation, the crackling of small fires scattered across the playa. She remembered the last conversation she had with Alex, just days before his death. He had been so full of life, his voice crackling with excitement as he described the latest art project he was working on—a massive, intricately designed structure meant to symbolize the interconnectedness of all things.“It’s more than just art, Em,” he had said, his eyes alight with passion. “It’s a reflection of the universe, of the way everything is connected, from the smallest particle to the largest galaxy. When it burns, it’s like a reminder that we’re all part of something bigger, something infinite.”Emily had smiled, trying to share in his enthusiasm, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in her stomach. She had always been the more grounded of the two, the one who stayed within the lines while Alex colored outside of them. His words, so full of meaning and mystery, had always made her feel both awed and afraid—afraid that one day he would go too far, that he would lose himself in the very ideas he cherished so deeply.And now, here she was, standing in the place where it had all ended, holding the remnants of his body in her hands. She knew what she had to do, what Alex would have wanted her to do. But the thought of letting go, of releasing him into the wind and fire, was almost too much to bear.The crowd began to cheer as the torchbearers approached the Man, their flames flickering in the growing darkness. Emily took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the vial in her palm. She had carried it with her for months, unable to bring herself to scatter the ashes, to say goodbye. But she knew that this was the place, the moment when she had to let him go.As the first flames licked the base of the Man, Emily stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel Alex’s presence beside her, not as a ghost or a memory, but as a part of her own being, woven into the fabric of her soul. She unscrewed the cap of the vial and held it out in front of her, watching as the wind caught the ashes and lifted them into the air.For a moment, they hung suspended in the twilight, shimmering like stars against the darkening sky. And then, they were gone, carried away by the same forces that had drawn Alex to this place, to this community of dreamers and wanderers.Tears streamed down Emily’s face as she watched the ashes disappear, mingling with the smoke from the burning Man. It was a bittersweet release, a letting go that felt both necessary and unbearable. But as the flames grew higher, consuming the effigy in a blaze of light and heat, she felt something shift inside her—a small, but significant change.Alex was gone, but he wasn’t lost. His spirit, his energy, had returned to the universe, to the vast, interconnected web of existence that he had loved so much. And in that moment, Emily understood what he had been trying to tell her all along: that life and death were not opposites, but part of the same cycle, the same eternal dance of creation and destruction.She stood there for a long time, watching the fire burn, feeling the heat on her skin, the wind in her hair. The crowd around her was a blur of colors and sounds, but she was no longer angry, no longer alone. She was part of something bigger, something infinite, just as Alex had said.The embers of the Man began to die down, but Emily couldn’t move. The weight of grief was still there, pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. She thought of all the moments she would never have with Alex—the laughter, the arguments, the late-night phone calls where he would ramble on about the stars or the meaning of life. He had been her older brother, her protector, her guide through the world’s chaos. Without him, she felt lost, adrift in a sea of sorrow.As the fire dimmed, she remembered the last words Alex had spoken to her. It was over the phone, a brief conversation where he was distracted, already halfway into his next adventure. "I love you, Em. Don’t ever forget that, okay?"She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, brushing it off as one of those casual goodbyes that siblings exchange. Now, those words echoed in her mind, each syllable piercing her heart like a shard of glass. She would never hear his voice again, never feel his comforting presence beside her. The finality of it all was overwhelming.Emily sank to her knees in the dust, the vial now empty in her hands. She pressed it against her chest, as if trying to absorb what little was left of Alex into herself. The desert was silent now, the crowd dispersing, but she couldn’t leave. Not yet. The memories flooded her, unbidden and unstoppable—Alex teaching her to ride a bike, Alex helping her with her homework, Alex holding her hand as they watched the sunset from their childhood home. He had always been there, her constant in a world that was anything but.But now he was gone, and she had to learn to live without him.“Why?” she whispered into the night, her voice trembling with the weight of her grief. “Why did you have to leave me, Alex?”The stars above offered no answers, only their cold, distant light. Emily wanted to scream, to rage against the universe for taking him from her. But all that came out was a choked sob, the kind that comes from a place so deep inside it feels like it might tear you apart.She stayed there, kneeling in the dust, as the night deepened around her. The cold began to seep into her bones, but she didn’t care. The pain inside her was so much worse, so much colder. She felt like a part of her had died with Alex, like she would never be whole again.But as she sat there, something began to change. The grief was still there, still raw and agonizing, but beneath it, she felt a flicker of something else. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a spark of warmth, of love. She realized that Alex was still with her, not in the physical sense, but in every memory, every lesson, every moment they had shared.She had lost him, yes, but she had also gained something—an understanding, a connection to the world that she hadn’t had before. Alex had always talked about the interconnectedness of everything, how we’re all part of a greater whole. She hadn’t fully understood it until now, until she felt the echoes of his spirit within her, a part of the universe that could never be destroyed.Slowly, painfully, Emily rose to her feet. She looked out over the desert, at the remnants of the burning Man, the ashes scattered across the playa. They were like Alex, like everyone who had ever lived and died—part of the earth, part of the air, part of everything.She took a deep breath, feeling the cool desert air fill her lungs. It was a small step, but it was something—a step towards healing, towards accepting that while Alex was gone, he wasn’t truly lost.As she turned to leave, she felt a strange sense of peace. The grief was still there, and it always would be, but it was no longer overwhelming. It was part of her now, woven into the fabric of who she was. And with it came the love, the memories, the lessons Alex had left behind. Emily knew that the journey ahead wouldn’t be easy, that there would be days when the pain would feel unbearable. But she also knew that she could survive it, that she could carry on and live a life that Alex would have been proud of.
By K.Adam Gbolahan2 years ago in Fiction
Silence
Hush, Elf-In-Chief of the North Pole's Workshop, had watched children change through the toys his teams created for them. Wooden blocks, teddy bears, board games and toy cars. With electricity came a demand for computer games and remote control cars, toys that beeped and flashed, smart phones and motor scooters.
By Michael Brennan2 years ago in Fiction
