Horror
As The Ashes Fall
We just cared about ourselves and what we could buy, not what we could try to help each other survive. Just a penny for your thoughts can help a million survive. An equal alternative from being down all the time. Even if looking to make this place a little better that’s fine. But instead, we sat back and watched as our land, sea and forests died. Now we flourish with what their designing. Focusing & admiring the things that should bring on sirens. Worst part is the advertising intensifies it, so as the funding grew, the media grew silent. In the end, we stood up and grew violent, so over time we learned just how to confine it. Finally, now that we’re ready to stand up and deny it, everyone’s excited before we lay divided. Just the simple cost of making society silent.
By Andrew Dixon3 years ago in Fiction
The Human Aura
Aurelia crept through the dilapidated corridor. Her eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the eerie pitch black that the lack of moonlight inside had cast. This wasn’t the most ideal spot, but it would do for the night. She wondered if there were any of those super processed dessert cakes left stashed anywhere. It’s ironic how they were considered junk when society still stood, and now she was sure that just one would restore her health. She supposed there weren’t though; this definitely had to be one of the first places hit when ‘they’ began showing up. Still, she could just about feel her stomach touching her spine at this point, and she wasn’t amongst those who had a craving for human flesh. No, there weren’t any brain-eating zombies. What plagued the earth these days was much worse.
By Jae-lin Mitchell3 years ago in Fiction
The Brewery
A sharp chill cuts the air, yet it was not harvest time. It was dawn; so early that the morning light hardly shines beyond the barley and the occasional spot of trees. Gold and coppery strands gently danced before the greens of grass. Far over the hills lay the Jones’ orchard with apples of gold and green, tart and sweet. Further beyond lay the brewery.
By RedemptionVA3 years ago in Fiction
ThE InFEcTed YoUth Part 2
THE BUNKER DOOR IS CLOSED... Summer is sitting down, with her back against the wall, gazing at intricate water stains opposite to her. Her four year old daughter Rebecca is laying in her lap while her ten year old son Tommy rests his head on a folded military-green blanket placed over her thigh. Summer is so exhausted that her mind fazes out and starts daydreaming different designs from the water stains. The way someone would with clouds.
By Angelo M. Rocha3 years ago in Fiction
The New Ones
Drip. Drip. Drip. Mae huddled in the furthest corner of the closet, surrounded by debris, old mouse droppings, and dead insects. There was a hole in the ceiling, and something was dripping on her. It was hitting the back of her head, a little to the left, then running down her neck. Icy, cold drops, like ancient Chinese water torture.
By Kari McLeese3 years ago in Fiction
From The Journal of General Miles
*Excerpts from a discovered journal in one of humanity’s last ‘stands’ against the Hycon hegemony. After the nuclear bombardments, it was rare for any such documentation to found nearly complete. Particularly of this quality. It is a shame the final outcome of the conflict. With less than five million specimens of the human species surviving, their continued existence remains a curiosity on the intergalactic stage.
By Timothy S Purvis3 years ago in Fiction
Burning Heart
Burning Heart Hala had told me that they had been there so long that we had forgotten the danger. That was just before they burned away the atmosphere and killed her along with everything else. I am a physicist, so I can assure you that a temperature of one hundred million degrees will ignite the atmosphere in a fusion reaction. These fusion reactions would release more energy leading to more fusion until all the nitrogen atmosphere has burned away. That is what happened, and now you are wondering how I survived and where I am.
By Steve Barnett3 years ago in Fiction
Elsa May Green. Chapters one, two, and three.
Chapter One. September 20th, 2007 The hand on the dust mottled clock watching over the King’s Head Hostelry struck seven. This evening brought together me, and the usual suspects placed in our seats to begin on our seven-day reunion, as we had for many years. My colleagues in crime and wine, Elsa, Michael, Ruben, and Gabriel, allies since I could recall. Cutting our first tooth, scraping our knees, we matured into the strongest of comrades on Joshua street in the town of Longworth.
By Peter Culbert3 years ago in Fiction