Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Rush
Chapter One Just Another Sunny Day "Riiiiing!" I jump out of my desk as the school day ends, nearly forgetting my bag. I make it to the hall just as it begins to fill with students eager to leave for the weekend. Maneuvering my way quickly through the throng of hoodies and letterman jackets towards the double doors: I, Myah Rush, am on a mission.
By Dominique Stedge5 years ago in Fiction
The Mistakes He Made
Watching the wind rustle the hair of the dead is often unsettling. I walked by a killed raccoon just the other day, and the breeze slithered through the animal’s fur. It looked as if it was taking a shallow breath. I wondered why the image disturbed me, and I thought, Maybe because we know dead things are not supposed to move. It is almost like the wind is playing a cruel joke, tricking me into thinking that life still courses through those veins. Or perhaps I misjudge the wind. Maybe it is desperately trying to revive the dead. Give it up, then, what is dead will not come back no matter how hard you will it. Poor wind, I would guess that it gets lonely. Its’ air is the substance upon which we live, what failure it must feel when it can no longer fill our lungs.
By Samantha Crites5 years ago in Fiction
Lost Heart
Items containing an emotional connection are considered taboo in this day and age. Many do not see the point in holding onto things for sentimental value. Considering that when one must move from place to place, it is easy for that item to be lost and create immense heartache. Sometimes, though, people get away with keeping their belongings. My caretaker told me that some items contain memories for those who hold onto them. People wish to hold onto those times, she would say. When she reminded me of this, she would tap her finger against the locket around my neck. As if trying to tell me that this heart-shaped piece of jewelry contained something that I could not see nor feel. I could not understand what she meant.
By Corinne Borchers5 years ago in Fiction
The Resistance
As Shorty digs himself from the rubble of the safehouse he had just reentered seconds earlier, he mumbles curses to himself about the Dictorate’s military actions. Shorty begins searching for other survivors. The dust is finally starting to clear as Shorty picks his way through the rubbish. Shorty suddenly spots the pile of concrete and rebar that was the command center before the explosion. The first thought to explode in Shorty’s mind is, the Commander! As he rushes over and immediately begins digging through the debris. Shorty eventually exposes the broken and battered body of the Commander. As the Commander struggles to speak, Shorty leans in to hear the Commander say, “Find Kymberly and give her this.”
By Kenan Levesque5 years ago in Fiction
Forged in fire
The potent odor of garbage and sweat practically smacked Blithe in the face as she and her mother, Shena, walked the city street of Yusra on their way to a local spice shop. Blithe tightened her pink embroidered scarf around her nose and moved closer to her mother. The two traveled with their personal body guard Dante who lingered closely behind them. While Blithe kept her gaze mostly focused on the trash littered street below her feet her mother kept her head held high and walked with great haste.
By Ali Shafer 5 years ago in Fiction
Girl with the Golden Glow
The railcar stripped of internal luxuries floated above polished ground. The occupants clung to a bubble of color produced by glow receivers. Without glow, I looked toward the forest which ruptured the monotony of uniformed metallic architecture within the city. My internal monologue scripted a tale of colors blooming naturally. When I returned home, I lingered over blank paper thirsty for the flowing ink of my story. Instead, I abated into replicated steps to a plate of monochrome sustenance. A wide expanse of glow swallowed my motionless grandfather along with various copies of original glow items from the Goldens.
By Miranda Gusmano5 years ago in Fiction
Beyond the Rubble
The warm hand led her through the endless rubble, as it had done for years now. She didn’t know where they were going but she trusted the man. She trusted him more than anything. He had rescued her and cared for her for seemingly no reason. She knew it was hard enough to survive in this world by yourself let alone with a child like her.
By Mae Namwob5 years ago in Fiction
Message in a Bottle
Hey there. This your first one? There are a few out there, not sure how many. You lose count after a while. Pens aren't that common anymore, ones that work, anyhow. Something to write 'on' is easier to find than something to write 'with', but I guess that was always the case. Even 'before' I had an aversion to pens, or was that the other way around? Was it just me, or does that sound like you, too? Still, with that in mind, I have to tell you that this pen is about done, and I don't have another, so if this message suddenly stops then you know why, and I apologise in advance.
By Paul Wilson5 years ago in Fiction
Rush
Chapter Two The new guy The next two weeks leading up to the big night merge together. Between soccer, homecoming court practice, and spirit week, it is all just chaotic. It's finally Thursday, and homecoming is tomorrow. As I walk to chemistry, my last class of the day, I begin to get the eerie feeling that someone is watching me again. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the creepy guy from the parking lot walking behind me! Here. In the hallway of my school. I take the long way around in an effort to lose him, and by the second turn he is gone. Rounding the third corner, but still looking over my shoulder, I collide face to chest with a brick wall. "Oh babe, I am so sorry!" It's my brick wall, my sweet Leo. "Are you okay Myah? What are you doing over here? Don’t you have Chem right now?"
By Dominique Stedge5 years ago in Fiction
My Last Days
ENTRY #1 If you’re reading this, there’s a good chance I’m dead, or maybe just gone. I wish I could tell you what I mean by “gone”, but I have no idea what happens to the ones who disappear. I found this empty notebook at the last house I visited, so I’ve decided to start keeping a log, or a diary of sorts, in the hope that if someone finds it, they’ll have an idea what’s happened. Not that I even know what happened, but I’ll do my best to explain.
By Kevin McMechan5 years ago in Fiction
