Short Story
Burn it, Burn it all
Necessity is the mother of invention, or in this case the mother of ingenuity. I found a small bag of potting soil, and an old broken box spring. Added some leaves, plywood and boom a raised bed. Planted some honeydew melon seeds and couldn't wait for them to produce.
By Qa'id Ali Harris5 years ago in Fiction
Only hope
All the trees were a blur of brown and green streams as they swept past us. My hands were darting out in front of me instinctively swatting away branches before they could make contact with my face. We were running for our lives through a forest we had never been to before. We had been trapped for so long after the world had gone to shit and most of the human race was dead. Trapped by people calling themselves The New Government. They where made up of soldiers and scientist conducting horrible experiments on any human left they could get their hands on. In order to “creat a new worl” The results of thier experiments, well lets say even hell would turn away these mutated abominations. The only way to not become another one of there sick creations was to escape at any cost.
By Deirdre Kaus 5 years ago in Fiction
The Body of Mr. Hainsworth
The car door swung open, slapping Lethe with the acrid stench of diesel and manure. Choking back the bile building in her throat, she lifted her head high and stepped out of the backseat, immediately sinking her heel into a half-inch of mud. Or at least she hoped it was mud.
By Meghan Watt5 years ago in Fiction
The Blackbird Story
When I was a little girl, my mother and I lived with my grandparents in a small farming community in the heart of the Mississippi Delta. My grandfather drove a truck for Scott Petroleum, and my mother worked at the local blue jean factory. But my grandmother was a retired bookkeeper who sold Avon and looked after me during the day until my mom got home. In the afternoons, my grandmother’s sisters would visit for coffee and dessert. They would sit around the kitchen table sharing the town’s gossip or complaining about the low turnout at Sunday’s potluck dinner. Sometimes they would gather in the den to shell peas and reminisce about their childhood days growing up on the family’s farm. These were the stories I endured over and over until their words got embedded in my mind so sincerely that on any given opportunity, I could have told them myself as if they were my own. They seemed to leave a stain on my tiny spirit much like the stain from the purple hulls of the peas in my bucket.
By Heather Holland5 years ago in Fiction
Broken Heart
They told me he died of a broken heart. It was something I didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand, actually, according to them. I was a Bot, after all, and Bots didn’t have hearts, so naturally, that was one thing about us that just couldn’t break. A limb, a sensory hub, a logic box, sure. But not a heart. I could look human, they said, and act human and even smell human (though I’ve frequently since wondered what being human could smell like), but I was never going to be human, because I didn’t have a fragile, delicate, apparently deadly-to-break heart.
By Rebekah Sherman5 years ago in Fiction
Living Gold
Ever heard of Living Gold?, referred to Mankind as Gods Gold. Kept in the Chamber of Time and Space as the last nugget of gods after they've made all the jewelry and silverware needed in paradise. Living Gold was the source of blessings and events leading to the lives on earth, And the destruction of earth, which lead to a deadly curse that caused madness, killing and nearly wiping the human race to extinction. From the beginning, the Living Gold that the gods wore and ate with used to control peace on earth. Until the fate of a tragic effect.
By Darrius Harris5 years ago in Fiction
Why I carry a gun while mowing
When I mow my yard I always let my mind wander. I remove the restraints and governors, and more or less turn it loose. There are times that I am so deep in thought that I don't even see the endless grass in front of me. It's as if I'm on autopilot. I have two or three "standard" rivers of thought that I follow, each one open to multiple variants and courses, so it never gets old.
By Carla L Stransky5 years ago in Fiction
West Hell
The sweat dries from my face, my body shaking fast to the beat of my heart. I can barely stand anymore, let alone continue to use this shovel. Not even the wind that kicks up the dust grants me reprieve from this heat. The rest of the dogs have already fallen. I’m the last one today. It feels as though my body has fallen asleep without me. Every time this happens, I wonder if I will ever wake up again.
By Zachary Burns5 years ago in Fiction
Prompt:
"Seems you missed the "Don't talk to strangers" lesson." The kid shrugs, "What's it to you if I talk to strangers?" I roll my eyes and slowly turn to look at the kid. "I could be a kidnapper or something, you know? Where's your sense of self-preservation? It's called 'stranger danger' for a reason."
By Nikolle Freeman5 years ago in Fiction
