Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
A GIRL UNPOISONED
The concrete tapped rhythmically under my feet with each purposeful stride. Cigarette fumes swirled around me and I pretended not to be offended by their pungent infiltration. I caught myself habitually straightening my jacket and smoothing my hair back. As I walked past a spindly side-walk tree I brush my fingers through its dancing lime-green leaves, appreciating it's bright juxtaposition against the grey backdrop. In front of me, four strangers did the recognizable street-cross that indicated danger. I crossed with them, looking over my shoulder to see a mid-thirties man, wearing a crusty, yellow-stained tracksuit, he was yelling incomprehensibly at a uniformed safety officer. On his neck, a thick locked collar flashed a bright red light indicating the man was in crisis. It appeared crisis presented as rage, agitation and aggression, as he lunged at the safety officer with a dinner knife, halted by the officer’s swift application of a taser. The man fell twitching to the ground as the officer spoke into a black box, calling for a pick-up. I frowned at the familiarity of it. As I rounded the corner towards the café, I passed several more people wearing the collars, eyeing them carefully for the flashing red light. Down a dim alley I turned the key in a grimy doorknob and entered the cafe. I plonked my bag on the stainless-steel bench and tied my apron around my waist. I cleaved open the heavy aluminium roller door and turned on the coffee machine. I took orders and frantically whizzed milk, making a few at a time to keep up with the demand. Diurnal Variation; A term used to describe the natural shifts in energy and mood every 24 hour cycle, usually signposted by morning depression. I sold a cup of temporary relief, and the money came flowing in. The only people making money in this city were those selling a short dose of mitigation from the all-consuming black.
By Ellen Brady5 years ago in Fiction
Love, the Aliens
For everyone left on earth.... Only adults who were wearing heart shaped jewelry, tattoos or clothing with hearts and kids under two years old, were spared. My husband survived because he was wearing his lucky hearts boxers at his weekly poker game. He watched his poker buddies crumble into piles of ash. Talk about stakes being high. I guess, none of them were holding any hearts. So they got “dusted”. Instant incineration. Dusted, sounds nicer than incinerated. But same result.
By Dayna Clark5 years ago in Fiction
The Infinity Café
“... of this before…?” Bernard trailed off, looking confused. Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the dimly lit café as one of the waitresses dropped a handful of plates. She knelt down and began to scrape up the shards in a panic, exposing a silver chain necklace which hung around her neck. There was a moment of silence as the crash resonated around the room before the conversational mumble gradually resumed.
By J. R. Lowe5 years ago in Fiction
Integrity challenged
Being enticed with a new challenge in Vocal, has induced moments of anguish not easily ignored. Finding a relevant subject that can interest me enough to do hours of research seems daunting. Setting my inner antenna for just such a revelation, interestingly translates to every emotion and every body movement a narration in my head, a phenomenon I’ve apparently adopted when looking to spark the imagination.
By Jan Portugal5 years ago in Fiction
Manchurian Vaccinate
By Devin Bailey Part 1: The End Begins “It’s been a long week dude,” said Mike greeting Wayne at the door. Since the pandemic began, visits between good time buddies are few and far between. An endless stream of misinformation, political unrest, and general melancholy rolls over the American public and the new normal is just a blurred image on the horizon.
By Devin Bailey5 years ago in Fiction
A Courageous Young Woman
It was the first time I had to deal with something like that. I wasn't particularly nervous. Thoughts were swirling in my mind; about the great battle humans have to fight to tame their primitive animal instincts. I also made mental notes from the lessons we had taken on how to handle that kind of situation. "You'll be fine", Nassos told me. "Just think of how you'd want to be treated after something like this if you were in her shoes", he added. Empathy, I thought.
By Anthi Psomiadou5 years ago in Fiction
The empty time
The empty time. After the revenge. The wind is the only thing that is moving. The sky is blue and the sun bright; as if the universe is mocking what is left of humanity. I have crept unwillingly, from my makeshift bed and gazed across the silent town. To escape the stench and probable disease, from all the rotting remains of thousands of human bodies, I have set up camp across the valley in the uninhabited industrial park. No industry now, no anything now, or ever again; it is like looking at a painting that surrounds me a full 360 degrees. I am seeing all, but also taking in so little. It is incredible; almost all humans wiped out in such a short time. Before the news channels faded out they had been reporting the same incredible scenes of destruction, the same mindless killing of any and all humans from all round the world. An orgy of bloodletting and murder. If there is anyone to write a history of the end of humanity, they will claim that it had only taken twenty one days from start to finish. This is not really accurate since the origins of the death and destruction were put in place over several weeks, before the terror was actually unleashed. I guess that much of the history I have ever learnt, is similarly light on factual accuracy.
By Peter Rose5 years ago in Fiction
Ashes
A thick fist, pummelled against the side of a cheek in a roaring backlash, sending the young girl crashing through the space around where she once stood. At first, she was blinded by a haze of her own outstretched limbs, but a more urgent blindness ensued as her head hit the cobblestones and a crimson pool began to stream around her. Tori had expected the pain, it was something she was used to, having lived too long on the streets. “This is the third time in as many weeks," an accusatory figure bellowed at her from high above where she lay "Try to steal fro’me again scum and by the sovereign, you'll wish you were dead."
By Jackson James5 years ago in Fiction
Piratica
Five hundred year ago, they come. A band of pirates. One ship at first. They happen upon an isolated land, not by hook or by crook, but by mistake. They take it for a deserted place, they do. Bury their treasure, an' all. Aye. They come and go and come back again. That’s when they gets an idea in their heads. One among 'em had read a book. In Latin, an' all. Thebook, he says. Thomas More’s, like. And this was it—Utopia, he says.
By Victoria Reeve5 years ago in Fiction
