Horror
Silent Dawn
The blood eclipse was the last thing in my mind today, though I should've feared everything about it. Today also happened to be my twenty first birthday, normally a time of celebration and drunken foolishness. Not for me however, no. My birthday consisted of darkness, the sickness and one birthday gift that would change the entire world.
By KC Enterprise3 years ago in Fiction
The inception of the Heart-Shaped Locket USB Drive
Scott left his wife and daughter and moved to New Zealand when Trump was elected in February 2016. Scott had severe PTSD from Iraq, it made him hyper-vigilant and very sensitive to his faith, or lack thereof in the American government. He was a huge doomsday prepper from 2011, he thought the world would end in 2012. He had 37 solar panels on his house, a massive garden, and installed a French drain around his property to harvest rainwater. He had a goat, two mini pigs, 10 chickens, rabbits, guina pigs, and a year supply of bottled water, and rice, and beans.
By Sustainable Scott3 years ago in Fiction
Filled to the Brim
New Dreamstone City District Entry #1 I am beginning this entry under the north bridge. The water has receded away because of the changing seasons, leaving the underbelly of litter that this city throws off of the bridge. I am on a piece of stone that was once built into a building; 30 years or so it’s been here without needing to be moved.
By Jackson Burt3 years ago in Fiction
Bully
One SEVENTH GRADE SUCKS! Had I known seventh grade was going to be so different from sixth grade, I would have stayed home. I stood at the end of the sandy driveway, barefoot, waiting for the bus. My desperate attempt at iridescent fishscale trousers were a dull hand-me-down from one of my cousins that lived in Aspen. Too much time had passed, and the sparkle the scales once held were dull now. “They are nearly years ahead the fashion trend in Aspen,” my mother had said as I grumpily put the trousers on. They were tight, and fit well, but they didn’t shine with a kaleidoscope of colors like they were supposed to. Just one more thing to get made fun of about at school. <Ugh! Seventh grade…>
By Nathan Charles3 years ago in Fiction
Game Over
It is quiet. Unusually quiet tonight. No dogs barking. No guns clapping in which would signify someone's death in the news in the morning. No fire trucks, and no police cars whirring in the night. It is peaceful outside, "Which makes it peaceful inside", thought Marcus as he played his video game Infection. It is a game that allows you to infect the world with different diseases. You could set up the symptoms, how fast it spreads, and more. Marcus loved this game. He played it off and on when he was upset with the world about something. Tonight, Marcus was disturbed by something. Marcus wanted to go on a field trip to the colleges. It was arranged by his Math teacher Mr. Davis who believed Marcus was a genius at this subject. He told Marcus it would not cost them a thing. Mr. Davis was willing to pay all of his expenses. That is how much he believed in Marcus and his mathematical skills. All the other students knew Marcus was more advanced than them. They accepted how advanced he was and encouraged him to go on the trip. The entire school supported him.
By C~Marie Rhodes3 years ago in Fiction
Be Cool, Zombie Professor!
There was a violent twitch, and the frozen look upon his face, as if struck by terror itself, remained locked in and unchanged. There was no warning, only one sting and then life as the human knew it was over, forever. Death was not only imminent but slow. It was as if he was already dead, but he couldn’t actually die yet.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Fiction
Bone Corner
Suicide Sickness hit the high-country hard as an ice storm and silent as a blite. Too frequently my rides into town were blocked by processions of mourners. The burials had turned to bonfires with the survivors-so-far circling the departed, howling around the flames. The ash only made it about a mile from the ceremonies before settling on stilled vehicles and once white windowsills. The snows didn’t wash it away, it made it clump and drip and stain everything gray. Burn-burials, as they came to be known, happened after the ground froze, and people kept on needing to be laid to rest. Folks considered several bodies sharing a grave to be morbidly unacceptable—but bodies sharing the flames, I guess that was alright. At first it smelled like people were grilling chicken and burning hair at the same disgraceful cook out. It’s confounding how much human flesh smells like barbecue and how much burning the rotten clothes triggered that gag reflex deep within. At least it was just the older folks back then.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Fiction
Church Goers
Pattie is lying between the wall and the fridge. Pattie is my dog. I figure she likes the gentle vibration of the motor when it kicks on. We sure stepped in shit finding this spot. I commuted here, three times a month. I’m in chainsaws. That’s unclear. I deliver parts for certified Stihl brand chainsaws. To think that I came here, to this city—well they call it a city, it’s not. I came here to this broken mill town and boom, that’s the day this place sees more excitement than it has since before logging fell out of favor? Boy, these out of work folks sure can turn a downtown upside down. I’m not exaggerating when I say they had torches.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Fiction
The Pop-Up Camp
I collect fishhooks whenever I find them. I string them like a beautiful curtain between two trees. There are many ways out of my camp. You can run one way and get the hooks. You can jump out into the reservoir and swim away. Some people try to go back the way they came in, back on the old hiker’s trail. The reservoir is huge now that the dams don’t work. It’s deep in the middle and rocky at the edges. Diving is a real bad idea, but it’s an idea that comes to people when they’re in a hurry. The old hiker’s trail is all safe, that’s the way I come and go, but please don’t tell anybody.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Fiction
The Harvest's Words
Downtowns smelled like a wet dog whenever it rained. And that made the bars smell like kill-shelters. They were the best shopping places for a while, if you could stand the scent. Saturday nights at Bad Dad’s, that was my spot. I’d seen enough TV before the plague to know that I couldn’t shop every week, or even every month. I spaced it out to twelve or thirteen times a year. I made my stores last.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Fiction
A Golden Warning
"stare deeply" The acrid stench of rotting teeth and stale alcohol made my eyes water as the old woman's husky voice breathed over me. A single candle flame flickered on the table between us, the light catching the glint of gold before me as the pendulum swung back and forth. I kept my eyes fixated, flicking them from from left to right, following the hypnotizing swing and let my mind wander until thoughts evaded me and the room around me slipped away and new images flooded my conscious.
By Snarky Witch3 years ago in Fiction