Short Story
Relic of a Terrible Time
"Stop!" I screamed as they held me and ripped the locket from my throat. "It's too powerful! You can't do this!" I flailed and thrashed as hard as I could, deperate to return my precious, heart shaped locket to my neck. That locket, that ever so tiny locket was the key to everything. Everything I worked so hard to protect, and just like that, it was gone.
Hope ShelleyPublished 3 years ago in FictionUtopia
The sun shone down upon woman and field, warming and revealing the glowing hint of life in both. The summer heat was tempered by humidity hazing the air, and restrained by fluffy clouds above. As she walked along vibrant green fields, one hand rested upon the gentle swell of her belly. She stooped and gathered a handful of dirt. Running her hand through, moist, dark-brown, loamy soil full of life and potential. As her soft hands sifted the soil, it fell away in the mild wind leaving ladybugs, and worms that made it so vital, and one curiosity that caught her eye. She turned the object in her hands revealing a lone penny. Old and tarnished with verdigris, it dated from 1903. She turned her gentle brown eyes to the horizon as he stood. Nearly as far as she could see, were verdant green waves, as different crops were planted in organized rows. In the distance tractors moved through picking summer grains and vegetables to send to distant places, Chicago, and Denver two likely shipping locations. She turned and continued walking back toward her distant home. The beautiful old-style farmhouse painted in vibrant colors, lovingly maintained. Her regular path, walked often, was free from obstacles, as with the new life swelling inside her it became more difficult to walk every day. Her nose crinkled with her odd enigmatic smile, as she remembered her husband teasing her for waddling along the path.
Brian AmonettePublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Tin Man
A gentle plume of smoke rises from a clearing within an isolated forest, a spot where the remains of the old world are at peace. A can of black beans sits empty in the embers of a near-extinguished campfire, where a solitary figure with melancholy eyes, clad in armour, stares at the tin helmet by his feet. His face is hard, dirty and covered in rough stubble, his dark disheveled hair falls limply across his brow. His stomach grumbles in agony, but the man can do nothing to sooth it. The wind washes over him and carries off with his stench, the scent of dirt and blood long unwashed. Eventually he breaks his stillness and, reaching underneath his breastplate, he pulls out a golden heart-shaped locket. With a thumb the man clicks it open, though its hinges have stiffened with time. His eyes focus on the old picture inside, at three individuals: a woman with long blonde hair cascading over a bright summer dress, a tough man with a mighty mane of hair and a perfectly groomed moustache, and a broad-shouldered individual with hair as stiff as straw. In the photo they are smiling before a great emerald statue, the features of which had worn over the years. The man’s lip trembles at the sight of them, but he fights the tears. He closes his eyes and holds the locket to his chest longingly.
Lewis HolcombePublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Glass Sea
Pushing through the sandstorm fist clenched tightly. This storm would pass shortly, but it was beating down on Michael. His goggles were caked with a mixture of sweat and sand. He had been walking for what seemed like an eternity. He was barely even sure of what direction he was heading in. He just knew it would be home when he reached it.
Brian WoodPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Swarm
Tally didn’t care much for the Swarm. She could avoid them easily enough, snaking through abandoned subway tunnels and tight-roping across the maze of makeshift bridges connecting the buildings.
Leigh HooperPublished 3 years ago in FictionDust
The sun shone down upon man and field, burning and revealing parched crags in both. The summer heat was unrestrained by wispy clouds, nor tempered by humid haze. As he walked along dead and dusty fields, one hand massaged the other, as the twisting of age caught up to him. He stooped and gathered a handful of dirt. Running his hand through, dry silty-brown, crumbled earth more like sand than topsoil. As his experienced hands rubbed the dirt, it blew away in the mild wind leaving nothing but desiccated insects, as even they need water to live. He examined the dead insects, and the dry crumbled earth, no life left in the soil any longer. He turned his sharp blue eyes to the horizon as he stood. Huge clouds of dust were blowing west in the clear blue sky, taking the topsoil that made this the breadbasket of the world and sending it to smother distant lands, not stopping until it hit the front range, or Denver perhaps. He turned and continued walking back toward his distant home. The striking old-style farmhouse painted in fading colors, had seen better days. His path, not walked frequently, was strewn with debris. He had to pay close attention as he walked, with the new pains and swelling in all his joints it became more difficult to walk every day. His eyes squinted with remembered pain, as he recalled his wife teasing him for being too serious, walking this way often.
Brian AmonettePublished 3 years ago in FictionHer
The world will never be the same. I will never be the same. The big bang, as some of us ironically called it after it happened, was the start of what I think of as the anti-creation, the opposite of when the big bang formed our universe. The memories of most of those who I gathered with in the beginning are gone. We barely remembered who each other was to begin with. Or how we got here. Now, instead of helping each other to survive, they see me and each other as enemies. Competition for the scarce resources around us. I stay away from them and all others. Rats. Scroungers, as I refer to them now.
Tessa L PetryPublished 3 years ago in FictionAbsence
The moment Marla’s eyes opened, pain pierced her skull. Gasping, she clutched her head, hoping the ringing in her ears would stop.
Amanda BalzerPublished 3 years ago in FictionFrom the Cotton Clouds
These cotton clouds are gonna kill us one day, thought Michael. As he looked out of the lounge window weeks after the Moment, as some people called it, or the Summer Snow event going by others’ description, he wondered why the city had turned on itself.
David BoatswainPublished 3 years ago in FictionNuclear Nowhere
Six months ago, Chris and I had been sitting in a cafe in the French Quarter, watching the small elevated TV set in the corner for the news while sipping lattes together. He held my hand across the small wrought iron table. He glanced at me occasionally for my reaction. The news was disturbing but neither of us could really remember a time when it wasn’t. It was easy to become anxious about these headlines surrounding the tension building with axis countries over trade disputes and sanctions but we both thought it would resolve. These things usually did resolve. We could not have been more wrong.
Heather FosterPublished 3 years ago in FictionRuination
© Copyright 2021, Tyler Dean Milligan. All rights reserved. Year 2045 (Old Divide, Colorado) It’s been 20 years since the United States was hit by an EMP (Electromagnetic pulse). In the first year alone 90% of the American population had died. After the EMP, people couldn’t simply flip on a light switch anymore. No running water, food, or Medicine. No computers, or cell phones to hear if your loved ones were ok. No GPS to tell you how to get to the nearest grocery store. In order to survive, most people had to band together. Survival groups were the best way to ensure one’s safety.
Tyler Dean MilliganPublished 3 years ago in FictionHistory Today!
"I'm thinking tuna for lunch. How about you, Mike?" asked Barry, indecisively staring at the All-Tuna pantry like he had some sort of choice about the situation.
Jared BennettPublished 3 years ago in Fiction