Short Story
A Heart Annihilated
He stared at the open locket; one half held a woman and the other a younger female. The man pulled it close to his heart and hugged it tightly. An arm lifted, it brought it to his lips. Tender kisses to each side preceded him closing the two metal halves. He slipped the heart shaped trinket over his neck and onto his chest. Whispered words of affection floated away on his breath.
By Seth Butterfield5 years ago in Fiction
The Locket
As he stared out across the remnants of the city, the wind swept through the derelict monoliths of days gone by. They reached ever upward, even as nature sought to reclaim what was once her own. The buildings screamed silently, unlike the wind that passed around their forms. An everlasting monument to mankind’s hubris. Even in death they stood as a perverse mockery of what once was. This place was now a grave and he had no business paying any respects to whatever inhabitants may have lingered there.
By 5 years ago in Fiction
Redlands
Twenty-eight years. That is how long Eilis Bridgeby has fought the pull of the woods before her, with its lush greens and cooling mist. Her clan called it the Wasteland, symbolic for all the opportunities that they would no longer have. She had only wandered near enough to feel the mist a handful of times, each time her fear reminding her not to stray too close, for even now, the beasts snarl, growl, and search for trespassers to prey upon.
By Randie Holdcraft5 years ago in Fiction
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Ten-year-old Me dragged from store to store. Momma has to buy her dresses, shoes, wigs and jewelry. I want to do my homework and read books of science, but I have to stand around waiting, bored and ignored. This small jewelry store is the boringest yet. Momma chats with the lone storekeeper lady and looks at ring after ring, necklace after necklace. One low countertop has several necklaces on top of the glass.
By Rick Riffel5 years ago in Fiction
The Others
Monday 11th June They were at the door again today. Knocking, shouting, begging to be let in. I’m not stupid, I didn’t let on that I heard them. I went to the window, peeled back a corner of the yellowed newspapers to try and get a look at them. Such cunning disguises they have! This time a dumpy looking ‘woman’ with straight, mousy brown hair and a crucifix round her neck. She left a box of something on the porch, but I shan’t go and see till nightfall. It’s not safe in daylight anymore.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
The Burning.
PART 1. CLIMATIC CHANGE. LIFE AS WE KNOW IT. It is the year 3003 today. Saima crawls out of her makeshift bed of straw and tries to register her mind back to reality. She focusses in on herself and tries to come out of her pleasant dream into the darkness of her life as it is now.
By Leonara Hansen 5 years ago in Fiction
Yellowstone
To Sara the earth looked soaked in a eerie florescent orange-red glow which she thought magical. Her uncle told her that the smoke in the atmosphere due to forest fires caused the light. The smoke followed you from Oregon to Utah, her uncle joked. Sara joked back I’m smoking. Sarah’s mom heard that out of context which made her panic for a moment which then brought laughter and caused Sara to pantomime vaping, pretending to be a sassy teen rebel.
By Cameron Glenn5 years ago in Fiction
Hope
I wish I had never opened it. But why would I not? How was I to know that something so beautiful was going to destroy everything I ever knew? I still remember the first time I opened it. I assumed it held a picture of a loved one. Instead I saw fire. I felt it burn my hands and I heard a scream that shook me to my core. I didn’t open it again for years. But it would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.
By Haley Jensen5 years ago in Fiction
Unexpected Warmth
It’s cold. That’s all I can think of as I huddle against the metal wall of the dumpster in which I am hiding. I can hear the crackling of my fire in the barrel just outside the bin, warm enough to melt the snow in a perfect circle around it. I desperately want to stand next to it, to thaw out my fingers and my feet but above the sound of the fire burning through the little fuel I had, I can hear their voices.
By David McClendon5 years ago in Fiction
