Short Story
In The End
It had become an unspoken rule that whoever you’d been back then – before the black steel tendrils of their ships had dropped beneath the surface of the clouds to change our world forever – it didn’t matter anymore. We were all scavengers now, desperately ransacking the burned husk of what remained and scurrying between sanctuaries like drowning rats on a sinking ship.
By Shawn Starkweather5 years ago in Fiction
The Jaws of a Rodent
Fifteen years ago, when the very ground below us became blanketed with the thick, unbreathable smog, the only way we had left to go was up. The few who didn't manage to fall ill spent months attempting to build skyscrapers to salvage all that was left. They turned out to be mostly just skeletons of a sound structure, warped wooden platforms held together with metal beams and wooden planks hundreds of meters above the ground. Despite the distance, the fog is still smothering and grey, though my grandfather insists that it was much worse during his time below. When I was younger I used to pry for information about where the fog came from, but my grandfather would often just look askance and somehow avoid my questions. I still often find myself wondering how my mom could have possibly welcomed a child into a world full of wretched smog and swaying towers, but I'd never say that directly. I'm well aware that my family does all that they can for me, despite the circumstances.
By Devyn Lofthouse5 years ago in Fiction
Epilogue
She doesn’t listen anymore- not that she ever really did. I think, sometimes, she could hear me or sense me and direct the story accordingly. Now, she simply ignores me, pays me no mind or attention. She got what she wanted, after all, she got the satisfaction of typing out a pretty, perfect ending to a tragedy she didn’t have to survive. I think she enjoyed it, honestly. She invented a world and smashed it to pieces with plague and fascist warfare. She invented me, gave me long, black curls that flashed violet in the sunlight. I should be grateful to her that she went out of her way to make me exceptionally beautiful. My creator birthed me to be perfect. Then she took her perfect creation and battered, tortured, and exhausted it. Why breathe something so lovely into existence only to ruin it?
By Laurena Fauie5 years ago in Fiction
Recoil
My alarm going off was like a bell swinging back and forth in my head and rattling my brain. Those two hours of sleep were as useful as an umbrella in a hurricane. Since my husband died last year, I haven’t gotten more than four hours of sleep in a day. I finally went to the doctors last week to try to break this cycle, and the doctor started by recommending melatonin and a regular nighttime routine. Clearly, that hasn’t been working too well. I have another appointment today where I will hopefully get something stronger for my insomnia.
By Mikayla Plett5 years ago in Fiction
A TALE TAIL HEART
“Move. You,” he barked to the masked man closest to him. “Clear off the table. GO people. NOW” he ordered them as his hands cooked to a deep red under the ultraviolet solar dry-scrub vent. He winced as the denature was painful and everyone scrambled as they had done so many times before but this time was different. This time the patient was an eleven-year-old girl. This was the youngest so far. No one knew what would happen if you did this to a newborn baby, but if you did it to anyone over forty-six, up till now the outcome was usually bad. After thirty-six, the outcome was better bad, but you risked a scrambled mind about half the time and a sociopath the other half. Once someone came out sort of normal.
By CK Henson Hayes5 years ago in Fiction
The Illustrator
The truck came during the early morning, around 6 am. The sound of the engine outside our bedroom window stirred me awake. I felt my wife roll over, irritated at the disturbance. ‘Isaac, go pick it up. It gets smelly if you leave it out too long.’
By Orlagh Billing 5 years ago in Fiction
Coming Home
It has been almost 50 years since the world crumbled apart into the ruins of society, we find ourselves struggling to survive in today. Ever since the bombs decimated over half of the population of this dying planet, I have come to realize that we are undeniably a virus. The thought of being in control of our own destinies blinded us from the truth and that truth is, we were destined to fail. Instead of coming together and working out our differences, we pointed fingers while making excuses rather than accepting the consequences of our decisions. The crumbling and desolate landscape we scurry around in trying to make it another day is the result of our own demise and hubris.
By Joseph Ruhl5 years ago in Fiction
Fly Away Soul
Tap. Tap. Tap. The soft rhythmic sound echoed in the vast work room, off tempo of the classical music scratchily playing from a record player hidden deep in some forgotten corner. Rows upon rows of spools of red thread stood on massive bolts, taking up more than half of the room. A line from each spool led to the open side of the room making a pretty display of criss crossing patterns in the air. Each line ended at a central point where an old, worn spinning wheel sat before the only window in the room.
By S.R.Robertson_Author5 years ago in Fiction
On a Foundation of Memories
You saw her today, while you were dreaming. A child not more than ten twirling and skipping through a wheat field, the sun shimmering across her skin. There’s no fear in her eyes, no screaming or shrieking in pain. No, in this dream she’s happy, laughing even. A sound you haven’t heard in a long time.
By Hannah Sharpe5 years ago in Fiction
