Adventure
Deadened Eyes
2030 The wind gently brushed Roden's hair back as he walked through the dense forest, his footsteps crunching in rhythm with the woodland wildlife. It had been five years. Five whole years since the "end of the world". Everyone had assumed the ending would be horrible and destructive, like nuclear armageddon or a virus outbreak. It was none of those. What had actually happened was much more surprising.
By Thomas Samoht5 years ago in Fiction
The Symbol
No one knew exactly why this war was started or when it would end. It’s been going on for over a century. The countries that started the war no longer existed and what’s left are warlords and survivalists. The warlords used weaponry and food as a means of power. The survivalist used any means they could find to protect themselves including animals, scavenged weapons, and harsh locations. The best survivalists had compounds that no warlord could break through or siege. Both sets used piracy.
By Chris Purdom5 years ago in Fiction
JOURNEY TO PEACE
Hiding in the corner of the dark room, Eden clutched her mother’s heart-shaped locket tightly to her chest. Her heart was rattling so loudly she could barely hear the voices in the hall as she tried desperately to quiet her breathing. She prayed over and over for them to pass by without entering the abandoned apartment she’d found refuge in. The place was dingy, and the rooms were small, but it offered solace to this weary traveler. She’d wait until it felt safer to move about before she risked taking a badly needed shower. The horrible day and long bus ride had taken a toll on Eden and she badly needed to bathe and get some real sleep before making her next move. Tomorrow she would find her sister and together they would face the madness this world had become.
By Dawn Parish5 years ago in Fiction
Dry Tears
"Have you seen this girl?" A dry wind sweeps into the tavern from the arid area outside as one of two men at the bar question the barkeep. The tavern's dreary atmosphere is disturbed only by the blinding sun shining through cracks in the ceiling. The bartender looks up from his stand at the most well-preserved item in the bar: a silver heart-shaped locket. The locket is opened to show the contents to those opposite its bearer. The bartender inspects the item further. There is a picture of a young girl, no older than twelve, with caramel skin, brown eyes, and braided ponytails wearing a rose-colored dress.
By Christian Gray5 years ago in Fiction
Anaria
Anaria gazed out across the wintry horizon, her fingers stinging with frost. Her breath was a fog before her eyes as she surveyed the countless empty buildings. The setting sun shimmered against the litter of broken glass, twinkling like glitter. Anaria rubbed her nose, warming it against the cold, as she watched for people.
By Juniper Woodstone5 years ago in Fiction
The Locket
Raven exhaustedly hobbled over to the abandoned rustic vehicle; nearly tripping over her feet. Her run in with the Rebels most dangerous one yet; nearly costing her life. Even with all the survival skills she picked up over the last few years, Raven knew she couldn’t possibly survive that fight. The whole forest was overran with them. Their camps were so well hidden, no one even knew they were there until it was too late. They had swiftly surrounded Raven, pointing their weapons at her. Overpowering her like a lion with it’s prey. Her only defense were her wits and a bow. Terrified, sweat dripping from her brow, she looked at each and every one of them in the eye; waiting to see who would make the first move.
By Miranda Blanton5 years ago in Fiction
#dysvanlife
I’ve been searching for weeks now, but haven’t found any sign of a waypoint. I should have known it wasn’t true. If a way across had been found, people should be lining up to get back to the mainland. Those late believers that thought they’d have more time have been stuck for years—isolated in California. Maybe they’ve all perished.
By Christine Reed5 years ago in Fiction
The Nesting Doll
He couldn’t stomach anything beautiful anymore. He was alone, and nothing is beautiful alone. He could only tolerate beauty if it reminded him of her. In his opinion, there were only three beautiful things left in this soggy existence. The two brilliant red objects perched on his desk, and the machine sitting in the chair opposite. The rest of the apartment looked bleak to the man, so he shuffled over to the colours that beckoned at his desk. As he got closer, he found comfort in the familiarity of the objects. He knew these objects intimately. He knew what their weight felt like as gravity pushed them down into his hands. He knew each texture, each ridge, each corner. He liked how dependable they were. Every day he would wake up to be greeted by his very brown apartment. It had brown cracked plaster walls. A brown table in sat the centre of the room, kept company only by a solitary light. A brown bed sulked on the floor dressed in brown linen sheets, whilst a brown desk looked longingly out the window. Everything was brown. Even the air in the place felt brown. It was thick, ripe from years of the man's breath. Murky brown seemed to consume everything in the room with its regret. Everything except for the little red sanctuary that consisted of two objects: A vivid red nesting doll and a crimson picture frame.
By Emily Kirby5 years ago in Fiction
