Short Story
The Protector
“Quiet, now. Everything will be fine.” He says. In the twilight sky above them, patrolling ships in slow formations drag their search-lights between streets. Flames rise from the wreckage of burning buildings. The Thought Police are nearby, scouring the streets in regimented fashion, seeking out the cries of the wounded and afraid. They will take the young back to the State, and kill the rest.
By Matthew Reilly5 years ago in Fiction
Trekking to Kirra
“Gonnnng!” “Gonnnng!” The warning church bells rang loud in the distance. Milla woke to see her camp mates scrambling around in the fire light to pack everything at their tent sites. How many times did the bells ring already? The sound of boots scuffing against the dry red clay of the ground rustled in her ears. She felt drowsy from the lack of a good rest, but she jumped to her feet and immediately began breaking down her tent. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt safe enough to fully rest. Her memory of the last 7 months felt both like a blur and like a fresh wound. She often got lost in her own thoughts and memories of a time before the “Awakening”.
By Elora Keagan5 years ago in Fiction
I Can Succeed
Only a few Elders remembered what the world was like before the fall. They say society collapsed. Governments and corporations pushed too far. Bled the people dry of money, time, and sanity. People fought back and it was a bloody war that lasted many years. Now humanity is just a shell of it’s former self, using whatever old technology we can find just to try and survive.
By Matthew Daley5 years ago in Fiction
Lost Sanctity
LOST SANCTITY BY TIMOTHY S PURVIS You stand on the battle field trying desperately to blink. Smoke, and burning flesh, the pounding of warheads against the ancient soil, the screams of dying men (those who would be your friends), lay siege to the bitter taste that should be upon your tongue. Yet, it isn’t and you worry what this means.
By Timothy S Purvis5 years ago in Fiction
Atrophia
The end of the world was wholly, completely, painfully mundane. The preppers prepped, the religious prayed, and the larpers polished their collections of assault rifles and played a lot of Call of Duty. Only they did all those things over the span of decades, not weeks, like all the movies had predicted.
By Rebecca Sexton5 years ago in Fiction
The Redemption Project
Irony; A beautiful sunlit day, white fluffy clouds, the perfect picture of peace and tranquility. Played like a film in the windows of a train full of people all destined for death. And yet, not one fearful face was present in these seats. I could periodically hear the wheels of the dinner trolley as the hostess moved on to the next person in the aisle. Closely followed by the extravagant clink of cutlery being placed down, real silver, and the brief murmur of pleasantries that were often shadowed by the sound of escaping steam as meal covers were removed. The aromas that drifted down the carriage towards me were unrivalled by anything my nostrils had ever previously experienced. It was an unfamiliar tingle that I could not wait for my tastebuds to dance in. My ribs poked through my silk shirt, reaching out towards the sensations they so desperately craved. My curiosity of what it meant to feel full overcame me, and I peaked round the edge of my seat, watching the other passengers dive in greedily. It was the ultimate oxymoron; savages eating in a place of finery.
By Natasha Read5 years ago in Fiction
It's Only Temporary
Hope took a deep breath as she entered Quiescence. The building melded with the muted evening sky, a gentle blue gray. The inside was equally inoffensive, cool pastel walls and carpet. A receptionist sat behind a desk that appeared to be real mahogany and his crisp white button down had clearly been tailored. The artist in her could appreciate the way the windows focused the light on the plants scattered throughout the lobby.
By Nicole Beverly5 years ago in Fiction
Memories
I’d count up the days. It had been some time now and although the memories had lingered, I couldn’t remember the specific day she was taken away. The pamphlet said the promised land would be something to behold. We arrived hand in hand, onlooking the glorious nature of our new landscape. Except I lost her hand as we were separated at the gates. I stood strong, demanding answers, but the shadows in Kevlar had nothing to say to me. They just poked deeply into my kidney, moving me back in line.
By The Passionate Autistic5 years ago in Fiction
Drifting Dunes
Sand got in my face, and I almost threw it away when I brought my hands up to brush my eyes. It was a small thing--little, I mean; insignificant and little and adrift amidst the massive dunes that had piled up against the glass of the city buildings. But I had kept it, and as my hands came up, I clutched them tighter to keep it in my grasp--too tight, and the metal's edges cut against my palm. Wincing, I opened my eyes again against the wind, and opened my hand to look at it again.
By Justin von Bosau5 years ago in Fiction
Two Guys Walk Into a Bar...
Looking around, it was more or less what I had imagined – a cozy, dimly lit, undeniably chic, underground affair that owed much of its appeal to its incidental borrowing of 1920s speakeasy aesthetics. Though its ethos was founded on anything but the historical marshes of American culture. The Lobo was prided on a pedigree; passionately and purposefully Cuban.
By Brandon Lever5 years ago in Fiction
