Sci Fi
Charlie's Memory
Drawn out, loud mutant screams echoed off the dark frozen wasteland. Teyo whipped his head around in the direction of the noise, fiercely searching for the threat. Large shadows met the hazy grey skyline. His entire being jumped. Piercing cries sent his half frozen feet running like a mad man down the detoriating pavement. The littered grey ghost town amplified the noise of his frantic movements.
By Kaleb Shike5 years ago in Fiction
The Holdout
Reya walked through the BART tunnel at a fairly good pace, a lantern on her head, heart beating pretty heavily. This area of the track tended to be populated by Crips. They could come out at any time, especially if you were an obvious target, and they weren’t there for tea. Reya had had her share of run-ins, but also had a comparably higher number of safe travels within the tunnels, as well as making camp there when environment dictated. Besides, there was nothing on her person to be stolen. Save for the locket in her pocket with Keith’s Army picture inside.
By Kevin Soini5 years ago in Fiction
A Good Day
There was a glimmer of light on the horizon which meant that the sun would be rising soon. That gave him at most two or three hours before it was too hot to move, so he needed to find a hole he could hunker down in until evening. Usually there were several holes off to the side of the road where previous travelers had camped but he didn’t see much that looked deep enough. The deeper the hole the cooler the air was the rule of thumb. And the cooler the air the less moisture he would lose to perspiration.
By Arthur Vibert5 years ago in Fiction
Dystopia
It’s dark out. I’m not sure what time it is. It feels like it could be 8pm but, these days it doesn’t really matter anyway. Our ‘normal’ was destroyed a long time ago. We don’t have jobs to get to or school to attend anymore. We’re lucky if we can survive through the day without any fatal obstacles. It’s just four of us now. We’re on a mission to make it to Lightfield, together. It’s gonna be tricky but, we can do it. The journey will take a couple days since we’ll be traveling by foot.
By IntrovertedExrovert5 years ago in Fiction
The Road to Jokai
Waking up to the sound of someone rummaging near her was nothing new for 14-year-old Anezka Preza. In fact, since the final earthquake that ended much of civilization hit 8 years prior, she had become accustomed to waking at every little noise around her. Anezka knew the dangers of someone scrounging for food around her and what would happen if they found her sleeping and vulnerable. Being a short 5 foot, 86 pounds, there wouldn’t be much she could do if someone bigger came along. There was no humanity in what was left of the world, words like ‘family’ and ‘friend’ meant nothing anymore. The lack of food and other resources caused all sense of trust to dissipate and, unfortunately for Anezka, survivors had to learn that for themselves.
By Amanda Young5 years ago in Fiction
The Collective
Step right foot. Step left foot. Swipe my Level 2 badge. Enter turnstile, right hip first. Walk forward. File into line, always behind Number 33, some guy with white-blonde hair. He wears it slicked back like the others, but a small cowlick always spirals up in the back. We walk toward the screening chamber in perfect unison, our perfectly trim bodies in perfectly white, crisp uniforms. Each of us goes through the chamber one at a time. When it’s my turn, I try to keep my heart rate from rising. I try to do the right thing, the same thing, as all the others. They are watching.
By Alexandra Hubbell5 years ago in Fiction
The Other Side of Outside
Warm rain fell softly through the gently swaying trees, whilst outside the sun screamed and the earth raged. Sometimes it was still out there, and you could make out whispers of a dusky, congealed wasteland, but not today. A constant force of dirt slammed against the glass adding more streaks to the clumps and cakes of angry dried mud. If Kala pressed her ear against the pane she could hear the whistle and clamour of the never-ending winds, and although she couldn’t feel it—had never felt it—she was sure the wind would cut right through her, either so cold it burned or so hot it would numb her flesh. She’d never smelt out there, but she knew it would be pungent enough to make her gag. She could imagine the acrid tang of destroyed air that leaves a metallic hollowness in the mouth, eventually corroding her guts, her sinew, her heart.
By Miranda Weindling5 years ago in Fiction
