Short Story
Up On The Roof
Musically, Roadie Reg was tone-deaf and as creative as a plate of cold mince. He listened to hippy-dippy rock, had long lank hair and wore a Deep Purple tee-shirt. This all proved the point about his creativity.
Alex MarkhamPublished 3 years ago in FictionPerfume Vial
“collecting memories?” My younger sister Mia said pointing to the perfume vial in my hand. “it’s a perfume vial” “oh harry and Dumbledore stored memories in that”
Shabnam YousufPublished 3 years ago in FictionDoomsday Diary
Nature’s bliss. The vivid green vines slithered around the dilapidated structures of buildings. Fragmented stone. Inconsequential rubble. Resplendent trees extending gracefully for the sky. The sky. An enthralling canvas, rich blue it was painted. Abstract shaped clouds suspended amongst it. Dew droplets and blossoming flowers scented the air. The appeasing wind stroking her hairs. Alone she walked through nature’s bliss. Not to stray too far from the rebirthing society of humans. Although, their presence extraordinarily unfamiliar. Too unfamiliar after the lonely atmosphere she’d been compelled to live in.
Forty
‘Forty.’ Carrie whispered, as the clock hit 12:01. Her utterance echoing in the empty, black living room. Sinking into the cushioning of her weathered leather couch, Carrie cradled her new born against her chest. Willing its little eyes to close, little lungs to quiet and begged for sleep to render it still. As she looked upon the red face of her shrieking baby it was that word, Forty, pounding in her ears like the thundering beats of a heavy metal song.
Precinct 314
Brilliant rays of light tap dance atop beautiful skyscrapers as they graze the heavenly skies. Millions of people, cars, birds, bugs scurry beneath this magnificent show offered to them by nature. Unassuming. Unaware, expecting the performance to repeat itself every day without any compensation or reciprocation. No one realizing, no one expecting, that this brilliant performance was taking its final bow.
Shawnda ChristiansenPublished 3 years ago in FictionEndless Summer
Derek opens the heart-shaped locket and spits into it. His reaction is so forceful, spray hits me in the face. ‘Oh!’ I exclaim, taking a step backward. He closes the locket and saliva oozes out the sides, dripping to the floor. There is no shame on his furious face as he dangles the token of love between us. He yells with an intensity that turns his face red. ‘That is literally what you did to me!’
The Rule of Twelfths
THE RULE OF TWELFTHS From the window of my 3rd floor apartment, I can see both the Tide Clock and the new High Water mark.
Elaine Ruth WhitePublished 3 years ago in FictionKeeping Time
Things are a little better now. They've given us bottles for our drinking water. Using our hands as cups never really quenched our thirsts, so we weren't digging enough. W7 says, They gave us bottles because They need us to work faster. I say, maybe it's because They have compassion for us after all.
Traci BoydPublished 3 years ago in FictionA Queen of Hearts
The diner was quaint and rustic. Relics still hung on the walls and the jukebox spun old discs from a top 40 list long forgotten. The waitress smiled and slapped down a place mat and a menu on the table in front of me. A glass of water followed, sweat dripping from the bottom onto the menu as she reached across and put it down. I noticed the locket hanging from a silver chain around her neck as she leaned over to put down the glass. It swung half-way around and disappeared as she turned to greet the folks waiting at the bar to place their orders.
Thomas DurbinPublished 3 years ago in FictionHearts of Chernobyl
"Sooo… basically, you're a scientist?", the young boy finally chimed in after a long silence. He sat there, eyes still fixed on the small campfire between them, a little tin of thin bean soup resting on his knee, untouched.
Raevyn MikhailPublished 3 years ago in FictionResonating Thoughts
“Sanity” a word defined by pretty much any dictionary as “the ability to thin k and behave in a normal manner. “, yet as I stood in line while a number of guards pulled out a man two spaces in front of me and began to beat him to down; I wondered if the form of the word sane would best suit my now normal reality. I like to think that life ceased to exist after the new virus had introduced itself; pretty much every country fell into turmoil and when it was our turn to fall, the government rose before the rioters could and took desperate actions. Money became nothing more than a reminder of the past and once law-abiding citizens had become nothing more than petty thugs ready to steal if need be. There were no more laws, no morals, or no ethics, just people with guns enforcing their idea of order and if opposed were ready to serve “Justice”.
Nathan TorresPublished 3 years ago in FictionOne Day the Birds Will Sing
The world went quiet. Too quiet. Once, a song danced in the wind, but those times are lost. There is no music now. Fingers still over dusted lyres and the troubadours are voiceless. In this age of darkness, what is left to sing about?
Nicole WesterhousePublished 3 years ago in Fiction