Love

The Sun Always Follows the Storm
Traffic was steady on I-75 North. It was a brisk spring day in northern Michigan. Naomi was about thirty minutes from the Mackinaw bridge. This would be the entry way for her new life. The doorway open to be able find herself again, while the other shutting out the suffering of her past. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight, her knuckles started to swell. She couldn’t help thinking if she was making the right decision. Naomi was pandering the same thought the whole entire eight-hour trip. Is it worth to drop everything to start over again? And there it was, the bridge. As soon as she laid eyes on it, she knew it was her only hope for an escape.
By Taylor Isler5 years ago in Fiction
The Heart of War
Thea’s ears were still ringing, and she could barely feel the ash raining on her as the aftershock of the rumbling bombs kept detonating around her. When she was finally able to open her eyes she glanced at the once perfect wall in front of her where a photo of her family hung perfectly was now cracked, the dry wall exposed and the photo frame was broken and on the floor. The ceiling was breaking, and the kitchen was gone and she could see thick clouds of smoke and smell gas burning. The house was now caving in, everything had instantly fallen to shambles as she tried to regain a coherent state of mind. She couldn’t tell if it was her house or something outside but she knew she has to find her way out.
By Charlotte5 years ago in Fiction
Electric
Jessica was living in two worlds. The world in her head become the place of utopia-the world around her apocalyptic. As the reality of existence was at a turning point she remained optimistic in the hope of finding her soul. It had been taken from her, in a just small encounter, it was stolen. She had but just a small heart-shaped locket to replace it.
By Sarah Cardilini5 years ago in Fiction
The Catfish and the Storm
The Catfish and the Storm The wind blew softly off the bay. The mangroves trembled at the waters edge, their scraggly roots reaching into the brackish water searching for a drink. Thomas walked along the shoreline, his feet dragging in the clean white substrate. His breath caught sharply when he rounded the corner by the fire pit.
By Jean-Pierre Ducasse5 years ago in Fiction
Seeds of Hope, Seeds of Healing
"Do you even know how to grow a garden anyway? Do you even know how to grow a garden anyway?" The words echoed in my mind, sweeping over me again and again like ice-cold ocean waves. I moaned, but couldn't escape the taunting echo that grew louder each time instead of softer. Then the sound of gunshots ricocheted across my memory and I woke.
By TheaMarie Burns5 years ago in Fiction
Love Eternal
Silence. Silence is all that remains now, and it reminds me of the day the bombs went off. The walls of the shelter were thick enough to block out the screams, but you could still hear the pounding on the thick, steel walls as people begged to be let in. To be saved. Pleading to be given at least one more day on this now forsaken planet.
By Luke DeWitt5 years ago in Fiction
Finding Self
“I’ve heard enough of this nonsense!” I cried. I ran into my room. I knew it would be my safe place but even there I no longer felt peace and tranquility. I slammed the door to break the voices in my head. I breathe and feel my lungs work like a faulty filter struggling to clear my mind. I begin to choke. I throw myself onto the bed with frustration because I want to move about but I want to do nothing at all. What was once comfortable now feels like a lump of sand. I needed control and I have lost that.
By Sophia Baez5 years ago in Fiction
The Locket
He did not understand today. He sat in his room awaiting for the group to arrive. His room was gray, the only color he had ever known. The walls were the same from floor to ceiling. The ceiling itself was this same wretched neutrality. The floor was dull to the point of no different. He had other colors in life such as the green blanket upon his bed, colored images in textbooks, and small objects and signs placed throughout the metallic confines of the ship he lived endless days, months, and years to in a drab existence. Always there was only gray, nonetheless. He had a small end table near the bed, the bed itself, a closet, and a desk filled with his drab uniforms. All of which were gray. The room was without windows. He had no understanding of day and night, but grayness was everywhere. In his hands, however, he held the locket she had given him. It was not gray. The heart was rose gold with a ruby inlaid, and he only knew this because she had said so. He only knew it was as beautiful as her voice. The chain gleamed like her eyes singing life as it had done when he first met her months ago. He held it tight in his hands as he had done endlessly since...well, since he did not understand today nor did he understand since either. He only knew that his gut was tied up in knots and his heart was empty. He saw the door handle turn, and they entered his room. He looked only down as they entered.
By Joseph Murch5 years ago in Fiction
Him
It feels like so long ago… I don’t know how much longer I even want to keep writing. It all seems so useless at this point. What happened? What did I do? Why do I deserve to be punished for your actions? What did you do? What was so important that you just had to go and abandon me huh?! We had everything, and then you ruined it all…
By Richard Wooten5 years ago in Fiction
No Flights to Reykjavik
I don’t have many things left, but I have more than most. But really, that all depends on if one’s memories and imagination can now be considered a quantifiable, valuable asset. Since present reality is so disturbing, I tend to believe it is.
By S5 years ago in Fiction
Heart Rack
A humanoid silhouette patiently steps around debris and garbage in the dim gray world of the city. The light of the late afternoon sun barely filters through the small holes of the thick dark clouds above. The hooded figure pauses and turns to check the road behind, watching the thin rays of light play across the broken bases of structures that had once towered out of sight. The figure makes little sound as it changes it's course, moving down an alley. The darkness envelopes the figure entirely and there are only quiet footsteps. No sound of stumbling.
By Ben Luten5 years ago in Fiction
Wishful Thinking
“Your lenses on?” Ra shook his head, kicking a piece of red-orange clay with his boot. “Wrists?” He stretched out his pale, sinewy arms that looked naked without a familiar wristband.
By Jane Palash5 years ago in Fiction