Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Marla Medizza and the Miopsa mirror. The final chapter.
The final chapter Cornelius Darkus. An intense blaze of sunlight fills the bedroom as Marla wakes. Her thoughts draped in darkness, her fear paramount. She pushes her mule onto her foot and paces downstairs toward the kitchen.
By Peter Culbert5 years ago in Fiction
The Virus
Chapter One It's been three years since the virus. Three years since the fall of half of the population. Times are hard, it's not so much about living as it is surviving. Those who weren't infected have quarantined themselves in colonies, little communities bordered by a thick cement wall, only venturing out for supplies and taking extreme precautions such as hazmat suits and gas masks. Going outside the wall alone is forbidden. Taking off your mask when in the wastelands is forbidden. No exceptions.
By Jade McLeod5 years ago in Fiction
Happy Birthday, Richard.
Nova shoved the stack of dusty papers from her mom’s jewelry box she found in the basement. She only had a minute, two at the most, if they were looking for her. She knew her fear was ridiculous, she hadn’t broken any laws yet with her 18th birthday still two days away. To be safe, she’d spent yesterday holed up in her house, while waiting to hear from Richard.
By Sherri Rolfs5 years ago in Fiction
Mercy's Contagion
My true life began with my parents rotting upstairs in their bed while I raided every house on our cul de sac, starving. I don’t remember much before that. I was only nine and it’s been twenty-five years. I do recall searching up and down the block and several blocks over before I could finally bring myself to leave for good. Perhaps I’d lingered at home with my parents’ dead bodies because I was happy there once. But even before the Aiyana virus ravished the world and purged most living creatures I don’t think I was ever as happy as she always was, despite our dire circumstances.
By J.E. McMorris5 years ago in Fiction
In The End
It had become an unspoken rule that whoever you’d been back then – before the black steel tendrils of their ships had dropped beneath the surface of the clouds to change our world forever – it didn’t matter anymore. We were all scavengers now, desperately ransacking the burned husk of what remained and scurrying between sanctuaries like drowning rats on a sinking ship.
By Shawn Starkweather5 years ago in Fiction
