Short Story
Locket?
Elijah looked up at the gray sky. It may have been a beautifully sunny day but one couldn’t tell because the spires of smoke that dotted the horizon rose up and blanketed the atmosphere. Some were campfires, a means for survivors to keep warm and cook a meal if they were lucky to have one. Others were just the remains of looting and pillaging.
By Michael J Meyers5 years ago in Fiction
Shadows Of Days Gone By
That old house… Part of me had hoped it would still be standing and everyone I loved would be inside and alright, huddled together around what little warmth they could create and sharing what few morsels they could gather. I should’ve known better. Instead, when I returned, I found the house collapsed in the front, and leaning up against a nearly dead, hollow tree just barely clinging to life in the back.
By Zachary Gott5 years ago in Fiction
Reverie
Milton’s routine changed the day the world started raining ash. The alarm clock on his nightstand went off at six, precisely the same time he woke every morning. On Sunday, his routine stayed the same, only pushed back an extra hour. He made breakfast, one egg sunny-side up, two strips of bacon, and two scoops of grits which he slow-cooked in a rice pot his mother had given him too many years ago as a birthday present. God rest her soul. He would set his plate on the table before pouring a glass of orange juice, with pulp.
By Haley Stuart5 years ago in Fiction
Losing Myself To Find Myself
Day 4380, 0645: Though it has only been a short time, I barely remember the past. As I look up to the sky, I remember it not being a hazy yellow/burnt orange inferno, but a happier color. I can almost picture it. What color was it before all this? I dreamt the same thing again; loud explosions, tremors that shook the ground, and the annoying siren that sent ripples through the falling debris raining down on us. Hard to believe that was 12 years ago. I will continue writing after I do my patrol.
By Brandon Austin5 years ago in Fiction
Free
Sitting around a fire no longer feels absurd. Spending most of your life in a major city, it’s seeing a fire like this that would have been strange before. A fun ‘campfire’ then, maybe. Just a fire now. A sharp glint hits my eye every so often from across the flames. I shift to my left and my gaze lands on a diminutive girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, wearing a large, heart-shaped locket, much too big for her. She’s crying openly without any shame. I hadn’t noticed her before earlier today. I look away.
By Sarah Swanson5 years ago in Fiction
Barren
The mud covered all surfaces in the landscape of her dream. It was black and stank like the bowels of the oceans. She walked a step, slipped on the stones and fell. When she looked up a small light floated above her. It was green, like a vibrant forest, the likes of which hadn’t been seen on earth for hundreds of years. She lifted a hand in front of her face to block the brightness of it. She brought her legs up beneath her and managed to stand. She was now covered in the mud as well. It seemed to swallow everything that it touched.
By Molly Hopwood5 years ago in Fiction
The Delivery
It was a hot day indeed for Arthur Fennec. Too hot for his liking, yet it was a heat he was well acquainted with. Dry, and without a lick of wind. The Chief had been gracious enough to provide with him an extra water skin for the journey, but he had politely declined. The village needed it more than he did, after all. Behind him, the rattling of his wooden wagon was all he had to fill the deafening silence of the road. Although he had no lack of companions in the village, it was well known that Arthur Fennec turned his nose up at the thought of assistance, though many had offered. Too proud to accept help, some would say. Sucking up to the Chief, others would say. It was neither of those, so the rumors brought a half-smirk to his lips. He was determined to make his rounds alone and in silence, save for the wheels. He had hoped to one day find a replacement for the stiff plastic wheels that scraped across the asphalt. Once, he tried binding some old leather around the tire, but it never took. Maybe it’s for the better, Arthur thought. I might go mad if I had to make these journeys in complete silence. He was a dreadful singer, but a decent whistler. The whistling made his lips dry, though, and they hurt when they cracked.
By Keegan Post5 years ago in Fiction
The Heart Locket
I walk across the desolate wasteland. I don’t know what happened, I always ask why. All I know is that I must find my beloved whose picture I keep in this heart-shaped locket. That tan hair, hazel eyes, gorgeous smile. I can’t believe…I lost her! Tears are streaming down my face. We got separated in the cataclysm, and I’ve been tracking her ever since. Tears fall down on the picture. I wipe it off and close it, moving forward. These were once streets of a bustling city, now all torn apart by the ravages of time. The concrete upheaved by forces unknown, buildings no longer straight. Instead they are in several different angles, held up only by their weakening support structure. Some have already fallen. My blue eyes look to the distance on my side, but my sight is obscured by the ruins of a knocked down skyscraper. I look up into the sky wondering when the madness will end.
By Jeremiah Ellison5 years ago in Fiction
Mirror's Edge
Mirror’s Edge The hollow light flickered above, swaying back and forth like a metronome. Left, right, left, right. Its clock-like cadence illuminated the tattered walls of one edge of the small room, then lost itself beyond the crumbling wall of the other.
By Andrew Davis5 years ago in Fiction
