Short Story
ThE InFEcTed YoUth
Remember that scene at the end of 1982's E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, When that boy Elliot is saying goodbye to that ugly little alien crying like a little baby. E.T. reaching his finger out and touching Elliot's finger. Oh man, that movie touched everyone back the day. Back when children were actually sweet and innocent, NOT ravenous piranha-like monsters who'd eat your goddamn brains out in a matter of seconds. Man, those were days.
By Angelo M. Rocha3 years ago in Fiction
City Of The Stars
The heart shaped locket in my hand pulsed in a rhythm much like the object it was shaped after. When the beating had started I was no more than a child, and it had continued as my one constant in life. It had taken several years of moving through the planes to notice that the rhythm changed ever so slightly with each new place I slept in. I would arrive at an inn or make camp on the side of the road to the same pulsing rhythm, and before I closed my eyes to rest there would be a cadence change.
By Melissa Woodroffe3 years ago in Fiction
The Picturehouse
The day the Rektor Pure was installed a few people from town came in to watch. There had been a billboard put up a couple of months prior at the freeway exit, emblazoned with "Rektor Pure - Coming to Bay Street Cinema August 29th. The cooler way to watch" and a picture of a smiling couple cuddled up in a cinema love seat (though neither the couple nor the love seat would ever be found at Bay Street). The company that owned the cinema had diversified into air conditioning around two years prior and had already rolled them out to many locations across the country. After one of the first super scorchers killed a couple of geriatrics and forced schools to close around 8 years ago, John remembered overhearing an executive explain “It’s all in cooling now, doesn’t matter what’s on the screen, it’s the air-con that puts bums in seats” and this felt like something of a personal slight to John who loved movies. He watched it happen though, and in the following years, as soon as the first too hot day hit in late September the lines in the box office began to swell.
By Angus Burns3 years ago in Fiction
Phoenix Day
San Francisco 2040 July 7th, 12:00 AM “Today is dull,” I think to myself walking to my apartment "I wish life was more exciting” I open my front door enter my house, but before I can close my door, I hear a loud whooshing sound and the sound of sheer fear and terror, I run into the front yard to see everyone in the streets looking up in fear, I then looked with them to see what looked like a phoenix diving down to its prey, a helpless prey with no ability to avoid its fiery talons, and no way of fighting back then just before it comes to claim its prey, it's easy to kill, everything goes black.
By Lenell Chandler3 years ago in Fiction
Walking In The Dark
The beautiful thing about walking in the dark, is that you never quite know where you are going. Oh, I suppose technically we might have a vagueish idea, but because we can’t see very far ahead, it’s essentially a journey of faith, every time. Have you ever wondered what happens to those bits of the world that you can’t see? What do they get up to, unobserved in dim starlight?
By Sachi Petrohilos3 years ago in Fiction
A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE
The winter wind is blowing like snot across Saskatchewan as my two friends and I huddle in a half-ton truck, the heat cranked high to warm our frigid bodies. As we bump along a frozen deeply rutted road leading to a highway, which leads to another butt-fuck town, I wonder where we will spend the night. My friend Rex Smith is driving, and I’m squished between him and his brother Cyril on the front seat, which I suppose is the back seat too, since there is only one seat in the truck. Rex has a contract to hook up underground telephone lines all over the province and to think I left balmy Vancouver Island for a couple of weeks to be with my friends without pay; not my idea of a winter vacation; busty-blondes sipping pinacolatos stretched out beside a pool in a Mexican resort was more to my liking but I doubted my wife would have approved.
By Len Sherman3 years ago in Fiction
before the end
No one lived anymore. I mean really lived. No one laughed, no one dreamed, no one loved. It wasn't allowed. The sky was gray, such a uniform and unchanging gray that all the color seemed leeched from the world. Gloomy, heavy, and dull. Overcast with a thunderous foreboding of control. I wished for drumbeats, for peace, for music, or dance. I wished that the sky would ever break its formation and let out the ozone, to smell fresh air and feel thunder shake the walls and reverberate in my chest. I wasnt a child when the Black Army took control.I could still remember the thrill of running through a rainstorm, feeling soaked to the bone and the cozy comfort of dry skin and clothes after coming in, as outside the storm raged.
By Melissa Eaves3 years ago in Fiction
Our Own Terms
Mom always said to keep pushing, to keep moving. We were survivors. We survived when we lost the house. We survived when dad left. W survived when the world changed, and the schools closed. We even survived when the explosions started and it seemed like the lights would be out forever. The news would come on at night and would list the numbers of all of the people who had died. That’s all there was to watch, just a scroll of the dead until the electricity went out and all of the stations stopped running. I guess it was something nuclear. Mom never would give me a clear answer, she would just mutter something about how people would rather hate one another than live. I don’t blame her for being vague, she didn’t know what this would turn into.
By Samantha Slomin3 years ago in Fiction