Short Story
The Word I Carry
I am the last of my language. The child I led through the wild snows has just died. She was not mine, but when her family perished, I felt obliged to cover her in my own furs. I was happy to do it. Sofe was old enough to ask questions. With no other adult left to talk to, her barrage of whys sustained my sanity. Now even that is gone. I can move faster without the weight of her insistence on being carried, but I'd rather have two of her on my back than the empty howl of the tundra as my only companion.
By Saralyn Caine5 years ago in Fiction
No More Ringing
Ananas slowly trudged into her extravagant Haussmannian apartment in the 8th arrondissement in Paris. As she anxiously took off her muddy light-up Minnie Mouse sneakers, she noticed just how high the smooth ceilings were. She wondered if she would ever be tall enough to lick them. They would taste like cheese, she decided. Maybe camembert, maybe gouda. At only five years old, she often impressed her family’s friends with her extensive knowledge of Foods For The Rich.
By Nelly Zerbib5 years ago in Fiction
Grandma's Heart
The heart is scratched. I stare at the forbidden jewelry nestled within my salty palm. Scooped from the ocean. Rescued, even. Moonlight glints off the golden heart-shaped locket in tiny shards that hold my gaze captive, even as the waves rush the beach, the rhythmic crashing urging me to hurry. Hurry.
By Jessica Nelson 5 years ago in Fiction
Hepathica
It took the government three generations, 93 years, to eradicate feeling from language in Hepathica. Sometime in the 2030s, a power-hungry, no, a power-starved group in what remained of the 1% decided an emotionally-castrated society would be more productive. Laws were passed, heart-shaped lockets smashed, books were burned, curriculums reconstructed, and rebellions annihilated without a trace. It wasn’t pretty and it most definitely was not easy.
By circadiansam5 years ago in Fiction
Reset
The moon shines through the window as I search my backpack for my flashlight. My eyes shift from left to right as I scan my surroundings. Finally grabbing it, I flick it on and peer around. Shattered glass lines the floor of this abandoned office. As I rummage through a desk drawer, nothing comes up. Paper after paper, just useless documents that don't matter anymore. I pray my entail was right for once. I gazed upon what seemed like endless cubicles. What is important about this lockett?
By Tony Nelson5 years ago in Fiction
Opituary
Two hundred and thirteen tries. I now stand at the edge of the pit, elated to have escaped after being trapped for so long. The pit itself looks to be about twenty feet deep with stone walls. The winter air is cold, but it feels good after the brutal climb. I look towards the woods. I can go. Leave this place forever. Forget about it and move on, but I can’t. She’s still down there.
By Kyle J Grossman5 years ago in Fiction
Radio Silence
The sun looked down over the scorched land. The golden eye of the beholder was on its final hour and prepared to give its watch over to the moon, who refused the patrol and let anarchy chaperon the night. The earth trembled with the vibration of feet put to dirt. A flurry of ill intent rising like a sand storm set to engulf those in its path. The time for finding safety was running short. Homes scorched, turning civilized people back to primal instinct. Those still clinging to the idea the world could spin backward were on the brink of extinction.
By Standish Kinko5 years ago in Fiction
