Adventure

Of man
-As human beings we are born to die. All else in life has this certainty. Yet we seek to ask questions that have no further meaning. Or so we create words that try to extend the possibility of life. Man's creation of things tangible or non stems from his need to be accepted. By chance we evolved. But by fate we will fall. For if i was a wise man I'd swallow the fate the universe had provided me and become rot.-
By Zenos5 years ago in Fiction
Lost and Found
Shaun stands by an old pine-tree concealed behind its thick branches. He watches the other children playing in the tide. They splash, drenching each other’s clothes, and cackle at jokes he can't hear. He catches one thing, though, whispered amongst the group - the girl with the hazelnut hair is a mermaid.
By Rachel M.J5 years ago in Fiction
The Glint
From about fifty feet and slightly right, the glint caught his eye. He moved, slow, measured, and silent through the alley, towards it, as the shadowed pile he estimated as higher than he was tall, revealed itself for bodies.
By Joseph Bryan Henderson5 years ago in Fiction
The Power of Painting in Year 3000
It's the year 3000 and sheesh, did THAT escalate. Back before time travelling was part of the equation; the human race dealt with racial equality issues, global controversy, Jeff Besos and Elon Musk competing for world domination, white supremacy (but I guess that falls under racial equality issues) and people murdering each other for money. Nowadays if you’re human, you’re lucky to be alive and you fall under one category: the human race. The thing is, I was born in the age where humans caused problems for each other and through time travel along with a fated meeting I am now in year 3000 with a mission to save the human race. Before I get into the details of that I need to explain the current disposition of the world.
By Patrick Oleson5 years ago in Fiction
Submission
"Think Autumn, think!" There was no escaping the reality of her conditions. Trapped within the confines of the safety hatch within the restricted chamber, her mind raced furiously for answers. Why was it so important to come here? What indescribable draw of magnetism came from this room that she simply couldn't ignore? What fate awaited her if she was caught? And worst of all, what if she was never found? Everything seemed to culminate as hopelessness and fear began to encapsulate her psyche.
By Brian Williams5 years ago in Fiction
The last generation
They were born during the end. The last ever generation of children were taught at a young age that the world which had once been beautiful was now crumbling away at their feet. Parents desperately clung to their child knowing their life would be short lived. Schools still ran though, teachers tasked with trying to explain the impending doom away, trying to apologize for the world they had left behind.
By Chloe C5 years ago in Fiction
The grass was always greener on this side
The warm breeze brushes the tall California Grass and a flock of seagulls gracefully fly by, guided by the sudden change of weather. The last solar eclipse made the seagulls hesitate about starting their migration south at the beginning of fall. They pretty much predicted the absence of food by calling the others in their flock with their screeching chilling calling while challenging the others for territory. Their heads lowering crouched up and down, like yelling at someone-their ‘mewing’ was not as often as before. Maybe the neighbours cat is around, they’re telling the others a threat is around lurking in between the bushes. I noticed in the distance, some other flocks of what I thought were more seagulls, were not.
By Chacha Jaramillo5 years ago in Fiction
Gates of Utopia
“I wish it had been as simple as a nuclear war,” her aunt said when Pim was old enough to ask what happened. “They used to say war is in our nature, but it turns out, we weren’t destined to go extinct in a sudden blaze of glory,” said the auntie who had lived through the end of the world. “Instead it was a slow, predictable march to self-destruction.” Pim, then a young 6 years old, blinked up at her without understanding. Auntie sighed.
By Jared R5 years ago in Fiction
Live your adventure
The smell of burning, and charred earth jolts you awake. You open your heavier than normal eyes to realize that you no longer are in your childhood bedroom. You take in the horrible vision of an open field, that looks like it once was filled with bustling life. Only to be now known as a black, smoking, and desolate wasteland.
By Robbie Ayers5 years ago in Fiction
Sampson
"Hello, is someone there," Sampson called out, his voice still raspy, weak from dehydration. His name was Zachary Haines, but his friends called him Sampson by virtue of his undulating russet locks and chiseled bronze frame. Sulfuric acid contaminated the open water sources as the comet broke into thousands of smaller meteorites, raining hellfire on the planet. No stranger to century-old DIY hacks, Zach recalled a blog post he had uploaded while on the inside, depicting water being pumped to the Earth's surface via an underground aquifer. As information was carefully guarded, watched by the vigilant eye of the Hiztorian Cadence of the Enlightened class, this misstep cost him his citizenship to the UCZ. United Citi-Zens.
By Peter M Darling5 years ago in Fiction
The Patron Saint of Fire
The wind and hail is blowing fiercely through the broken passenger door window, hitting Katie in the face in biting stings as she drives. She makes a hard right through the open gate, almost missing the turn as the brakes squeal and mud splatters up from the tires. She wipes her eyes, a combination of tears, dirt, and blood. It smears her cheeks in a dark crimson that glows, a break in the clouds sending the sun through the front windshield. The bullet is lodged in her right arm. She will remove it when they arrive at the house.
By Wendy J Stein5 years ago in Fiction
Last Chance.
So, I'm staying at this gas station for the night. While searching for supplies, I found a empty notebook. Luckily its full of paper, so I can be write often on my journey home. I've raided shops, which i'm not proud of but it's how I managed to survive. Trucking through a deep sea of ash and little light to make home.
By Theresa Hines5 years ago in Fiction