fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
The Life Unknown
Christopher was beginning to grow tired of his daily routine, and of the way that his life had unfolded up to this point. “Wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat,” he thought to himself, “that’s all I ever do.” What Christopher truly enjoyed were his strolls through town, where he walked at a leisurely pace in the present. This is what Christopher did best. He would breathe the fresh air, smile at the sunshine, smell the roses, petunias, and other flowers that he passed. He’d wave at the trees and imagine their branches were waving back to him. He saw upside-down worlds through the reflections of the canals which columned the town like the spaces between paragraphs.
By Christian McSweeney6 years ago in Futurism
Mr. Tweedie’s Suitcase
The death call came in just past midnight on the day that changed Remi Holt’s life forever. Without opening his eyes, he reached for his cell phone and answered it in a voice that suggested to the nurse on the other end that he hadn’t been asleep for very long. “This is Remi with Holt’s Funeral Home,” he mustered.
By E.M. Brown6 years ago in Futurism
The battle on the moss hill
Gray predator watches over the hill, which an iron pipe is splitting away the sharp grey smoke. The man looks around, kicking the decayed tree branch. Leaning over and turning upside down the old brown spruce needles and cones with the rifle tube, observing his ‘’job’’, grumbles something and slowly walks toward the hill.
By All different Kind of stuff6 years ago in Futurism
The other side of the fence
My older sister Amanda always loves to tell me stories, she’s good at it too. I love the way her eyes light up when it gets to her favourite part and the way I can see the pain in them when she gets to the worst. She never runs out of them, some of them she writes at night to tell me, but others are real. She will tell me stories about life before me to help fill in the blank spaces I have. She tells me about mom and dad and what life was like before they left. You see, there is a war, I don’t really understand it but it all started in the year 2021. My sister has told me this story many times but I always get lost, why would the government want to take children away from their parents and siblings away from one another? My sister still won’t tell me exactly how it started, she said it had to do with the poor uprising against the rich, but I don’t actually understand what those words really mean. All I know is that I’m lucky because my sister takes care of me which not a lot of people have. Government officials won’t let siblings be with each other and my sister says she has to bribe the officers to let her stay with me. I don’t know what she bribes them with, we have nothing.
By Charlotte Roma6 years ago in Futurism
Gilded
By the morning the wet snow had frozen so the driveway was covered in a slick ice. She walked carefully out to the mailbox to get the paper and back in the warm kitchen, she flipped through stories about the new covid vaccine, sipping hot strong coffee. "Soy milk, bacon, fusselli, bedcover" she wrote in her little book.
By Sue Charles6 years ago in Futurism
Getting Lucky
The first thing Kane Saraci heard upon waking was the dusty white box fan in the corner of his bedroom. He overdid the whiskey last night he knew, because every passing blade made a whoosh sound that seemed just a hairs breadth quieter than a freight train. His tongue was dry and thick in his mouth, all he could taste was cigarettes and... Colts foot? Maybe, but the flavor was earthy and rich.
By K.W. Thomas6 years ago in Futurism
Take Your Hands Off of Me
Take Your Hands Off of Me by Jackson Houska It was painful in the most exhilarating way. With every breath of ink, the words of your fortune tattooed my pages. In the moment there was a feeling of ignorance, what purpose could there possibly be for me to fulfill? I suppose I do understand. I recognize that you like all people have an insatiable desire to experience more than you can and become more than you are. You want to travel the world, maybe ride a motorcycle down the Autobahn, find security in the embrace of a partner, and live without limits. This is beyond my comprehension, however, as I am merely a book: approximately three inches in length and three inches in width. The world in my perception is the desk Brian built you before he left, my only friend the pen used to sign the divorce papers. Even in the monotony of this existence, however, you still fail to grasp my influence. Likely, you told your parents that you simply bought a winning lottery ticket, a random stroke of luck in the piss stain that has been the past year, but that is a lie. What is objective to the both of us is that two days ago the words “twenty-thousand dollars” appeared on the first of my pages and when you woke up yesterday morning you could suddenly afford the rent.
By Jackson Houska6 years ago in Futurism
