Short Story
The World As You Once Saw It
Sunday, June 4th, 2122. I’ve been writing for months, so I suppose I should mention how we got here. It gets colder, and darker, the deeper you delve into the earth. And then as time went on it got warmer. Hotter. Almost to the point that it would be uncomfortable. And then it did become uncomfortable. On the way down we build tracks for old mining carts, vertical and once smooth. The tracks are old now, and begging to be replaced or at the very least repaired, so that the nerve-wracking climbs and descents might become less so. When first built they would rattle and creak already, but now there’s clacking, and screeching, and non-rhythmic jolts and jerks that make you wonder if the tracks are finally going to crumble to pieces, unseating the carts as a result, and plummeting the passengers into the darkness below.
By Matt Coryell5 years ago in Fiction
Triumph Over Earth's Tragedy
If you want to know the truth, listen to a person's thoughts. That's exactly what an extraterrestrial is doing, early morning over a neighborhood. A vibrating hood containing his selected study. A study he's been on since 1990. He's been present since the beginning stage of this study's of 30 years. Though a one-sided relationship, the extraterrestrial feels a tight-knit-bond with his extraordinary host. He hovers hologramed in his silvery smooth oval spaceship. Sitting comfy in his invisible single-pilot cockpit, he propels a bit closer to listen intently. His eyes focus in on her like laser beams as she stands at the open back door of her kitchen. He opens his listening portal attempting to interpret and understand the human's thought pattern. He is endlessly entertained by the life of this left-handed, African-American female human being. Fascinated by her being born and raised in Baltimore City's ghetto regions and surviving triumphantly. She survived and knows she blessed to be alive. With an always high crime rate, Baltimore is a city in which you dodge troubled bullets daily. An abundance of Bullet Bills flying like a hard-level board of Mario Brothers. So much hunger. Too much poverty. Walking down the street becomes a gamble. For her it became too much to handle. So she found a mental beach and imaginary sandals. Embracing hope through comforting thoughts, she found a way to break free each day. And every morning the extraterrestrial loved listening to the cute things she'd say. Constantly speaking to herself. Sometimes in a third person way. He begins his journal log of study day 11,120.
By Ebony Burns5 years ago in Fiction
The Last Song
“Are you really the one?” the guard asked. His voice was grittier than Melonie expected. Sounding full of dirt and dust. She contemplated not acknowledging him but saw no immediate victory in defiance. “Yes,” Melonie muttered softly, “It’s me.” The guard took a moment to look her over, not sure if he was more disgusted at her willingness to admit her crime or saddened that she had seemingly lost all hope. The Reset had taken everything. All electricity had been gone for years, but the humble roar of torch flames or candles was more evident that night. They seem to blend well with the musty basement Melonie was being held in.
By Sherman B. Mason5 years ago in Fiction
This Mind of Theirs
I tossed and turned uncomfortably inside my head, waiting for the day when my mind would no longer be my own. It would still contain my memories and the little knowledge I know of the world, but it would be forced below the surface by memories that don't belong to me. I always wondered if being a conduit for our ancestors' memories affected my father at all? Questions like that kept me awake on countless occasions because I knew one day, I'd have the answers. Inevitably, my father would perish, and he will leave behind his entire legacy and the legacy of those who came before. His mind and everything that fills it will transfer to the next in line, me.
By CreepyAuthor5 years ago in Fiction
Imagine
All good things must come to an end, and the end has come. The world does not remember how it fell apart nor does it care. Nations no longer vie for hegemonic power. The greatest cities lie destitute; the buildings that once touched the sky have toppled. Brick and mortar crumble beneath the feet of scavengers, as they pick through the lives of the dead. All that remains is the shadow of humanity that suffers and cries among ruins of the old world. Only the dead know true peace.
By Jericho Osborne5 years ago in Fiction
Terra Human
I felt a rough hand grab my upper arm in a vice-like grip. “Move it, Terra.” I grit my teeth but obediently walked a half step behind the Terran Recruitment Officer with his ample assortment of guns. He was still half dragging me but the hallway we were in was dark with flickering dull yellow lights. We got to an armored door at the end of the hall. Without another word the TR Officer pushed me inside, making me stumble on my way in. As I righted myself, the heavy door was closed and locked behind me. I glanced around at the new prison cell I was in.
By Jacqueline Stairs5 years ago in Fiction
Winter of the Silver Twilight
Snowflakes sparkle like diamonds as they fall to the ground. Glancing up I could see the moon through the curtain of falling gems. Looking down I continue deeper into the forest. I hurry because I hear the villagers behind me. Silent tears slide down my cheeks as I make my way through the dense trees. My heart aches to see him again, my love, I know it is impossible.
By Nakia Roberson5 years ago in Fiction
The Girl With The Heart Locket
She doesn’t remember who gave her the locket, or whose tiny childlike face was inside of it. Was it her face? She wished she could remember. She has spent so much time in this bunker with the other children. She vaguely remembers what her parents looked like, but after 17 years stuck in a bunker with the remaining surviving children, you long for freedom from the closed doors.
By Michelle Noon5 years ago in Fiction
The Hidden Seed
Ice crept up into her boots even as she walked, transforming her toiled sweat into a cacophony of crystal monsters nipping at her ankles. The world had changed so swiftly in Hester’s Freshman year of college when she arrived in Ohio a mere two years ago. She started as a youthful poppy in springtime and the earth had spurned her violently into everlasting winter, wilting her very being. She was one of the fortunate, however, she made it out alive with her skin, even if she couldn’t feel it through the cutting cold and ice.
By Teresa Fletcher 5 years ago in Fiction
The Only One Left Standing
The dead chickens in the coop should have been a sign. Gene could find no hole or crevice for a fox to have burrowed its way in, and no blood spotted the floor or the nests. It was as if someone had waved a hand over the animals and put them all to sleep.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Fiction
