Short Story
Why
Lost in thoughts, Sage stared at the dark sky above her. Above the little barn that she leaned onto, using it as a shelter from the cold wind at night. Her hand was wrapped tightly around her water bottle, like holding onto it gave her some form of security. The only thing she had taken with her from her old life. The bottle had been empty since this afternoon, but Sage was too afraid to look for a stream in the darkness, where she could have filled it up. So she needed to make it through the night without any water, even though her moth was already dry and her throat was sticky. That feeling once used to freak her out, but now she didn't even care anymore.
By Sonja Vogdt3 years ago in Fiction
The Character Assassin
MAX MORODA: CHARACTER ASSASSIN CHAPTER ONE: AN EXISTENTIAL THREAT Max was sitting in his local bar in the evening, brooding over a whisky and beer chaser. He'd not long come back from his last mission, which had left a sour taste in his mouth. Marty McFly had been a slippery little bastard: didn't help that Max didn't really want to kill him. But, back to the future, and not for him to argue. Except this time.
By robert fisherman3 years ago in Fiction
Mr Goodnight
I gave my cat Benny a quick kiss on the head as I hustled off to work. He let off a brief purr and a fart before going back to sleep as the door closed behind me. He was farting more often lately, and I'd been meaning to see the vet but couldn't afford it for the time being. I made the bus at 6:55, which would drop me just outside work.
By robert fisherman3 years ago in Fiction
Riches to Rags
Ugh! I'm still so groggy. How is it that I have a hangover? I don't have a head to ache. I'm not even human. I'm just an old rag. Though, I didn't start out that way. I'm actually part of a t-shirt. Well...I was. My memories are starting to come back now. Familiar sounds coming back to me. Loud swearing and...hockey! Not just any hockey, it's the Bruins!
By Clyde E. Dawkins3 years ago in Fiction
Mr. Sanderson's Shoes
He always wore his worn-out, tattered leather dress shoes because that is what he did every day since he got them 52 years ago. It was just another day for Mr. Sanderson, who would continue with his usual daily routine. Mr. Sanderson was known to most as the crotchety old man on the street. His house was falling apart; shudders hung crooked, paint chipped off, and there were holes in the roof. He walked past his weed-filled and overgrown garden and past his dilapidated fence. He was always grumbling and complaining about this or that. If anyone found himself or herself walking on the same side of the street, he or she would cross the street just to avoid any contact with the infamous Mr. Sanderson.
By Ruban Evets3 years ago in Fiction
The Perils of Hunting.
Written for the Mackenzie Davis Ekphrastic Prompt. The randomly chosen image above is the challenge. Write a micro/sudden fiction based on the image. Word limit 750. Credit goes to Hannah Moore for providing the image. Thank you, Hannah! Additional details can be found here.
By Lamar Wiggins3 years ago in Fiction
Three Fins | Pt. 1
State Beach | MV Blood-curdling screams rode in on the misty brine of crimson waves, and crashed hard against the hot sand. The two teenage lifeguards on duty began to pierce through the unraveling chaos with their Kiefer Pealess whistles, alerting any lingering swimmers that there was a shark in the water.
By Kale Sinclair3 years ago in Fiction
