Anthony Diaz
Bio
Writer of Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Horror, and sometimes Poetry.
Stories (42)
Filter by community
Callback - Chapter One. Content Warning.
The state of the world in 2099 could be described in a multitude of rude, vulgar, or obscene sentences. Much like centuries before, it could be all about perspective. Those who have everything tend to look at life differently than those struggling to survive. It could be said, however, that happiness or contentment could be viewed as the opposite of the previous statement. Those who have everything may not be as happy as those struggling. Not much has changed since I, your narrator, began this narrative and looked upon the world with a tired set of eyes. Just like those brilliant before me who viewed their time in this world as four-letter curse words, wishing someone would change it for the better, the same was true for Cora and her love Celeste. Cora was tired; she sacrificed enough time to earn her retirement and live a life with Celeste that they had been wishing for all those years prior. But much like life, it has an interesting way of showing who is in charge.
By Anthony Diazabout a year ago in Filthy
Callback - Prologue. Content Warning.
Cora adjusted her knee-length dark blue cap-sleeve wrap dress in the full body mirror in an elegant private bathroom on the second floor of Club Black. The fabric, in enough direct light, revealed her shapely youthful breasts. The dress amplified her shapely figure as she moved in front of the mirror in quarter turns, checking the roundness of her hips, ensuring that she would have every set of eyes on her. She wore a modest and comfortable pair of dark blue lace hipster underwear, also visible with enough direct light. Her eyes, green and sharp, offered a hypnotic trance against her white skin. Her hair, metallic silver in color, was perfectly straightened and fell a few inches below her collarbone. Her skin showed no blemishes, no scratches, it was perfect and smooth.
By Anthony Diazabout a year ago in Filthy
Once Upon A Time
Don’t be frightened of my appearance. I know at first glance, the melting of my features is grotesque, and you fight every urge to flee, but please stay and listen to me. What you observe is one of many. For, you see, I can manipulate myself and create the most ravishing of man or woman. I can shift into the wondering wolf or precious feline and tell tales of wonderous adventure. So much so that you will believe you are there as heroes in the webs, I weave with words. Will that please you? If not, I can emerge a figure of bizarre shapes with monstrous appendages, and you will realize every torment I present to you as truth. How did I become such a being? Woe the years, dreaming and fantasizing of being the world’s next most fantastic author. How I longed for it. Hours upon hours of placing words onto paper for no one to read. Endless nights were spent speaking into empty ears. They mocked me. They all pretended they cared about my superior craft. They saw me wither away into that dark corner, and all they had to do was listen. Listen to my stories. They took everything from me. My dreams were crushed into tiny pieces of worthlessness and regret. However, all that has changed now that I have you, my reader. Heed my warning; my words have power. The transformation into the worlds I created for you is painless but, unfortunately, permanent. Every single detail will become your reality. Please do not be afraid. Oh dear, my apologies: I nearly forgot to tell you my name in all this excitement. You may call me The Narrator.
By Anthony Diazabout a year ago in Fiction
A Minute Lost
I don’t remember the date. I do recall that it was the summer, whether or not it was June, July, or August; it doesn’t really matter. The year was 2003. It was hot. It was South Texas hot. It was San Antonio with no wind hot. For those reading this and wondering, well, how sweltering could it possibly get in San Antonio, Texas? A quick Google search placed the average temperatures of well over ninety degrees Fahrenheit, sometimes hitting triple digits, along with a hundred percent humidity. It's quite commonplace in South Texas. The takeaway from this beginning is that it wasn’t the best backdrop for what I was asked to do that day. I won’t get too much into the macro explanation or the overall arching motivation as to why I was asked to do this one thing, but I was invited to run an undisclosed distance with a group of others as a way to observe the state of my physical prowess at that current time to gauge whether or not I needed to improve or if I met a certain standard set by an organization. Now, at the time, I considered myself a decently athletic individual. A simple run around the block shouldn’t have been too difficult, so I blew it off. I chalked it up to a jog I didn’t need to prep for. I used to do these all the time. I did this all the time because I enjoyed running. If you talk to avid runners, some might mention a phenomenon known as the “runners high.” It is a place of euphoria that some runners experience when placed in a strenuous physical state for long periods of time. Nothing no longer mattered when I would slowly climb into the runner's high. It was just me, my breathing, my music, and my empty thoughts. It was myself versus distance. The lactic acid burn and occasional muscle pump were addicting.
By Anthony Diaz2 years ago in Fiction
Here's To Vocal In 2024
So, what are my aspirations as a creator on Vocal in 2024? I continue to read that sentence over and over again, and I want to repeatedly bang my head on a concrete wall. Of course, I'm not going to do that; I actually am a decent-looking human, at least my wife tells me from time to time, and in doing so will ultimately not be favorable for me, much like my Vocal "career" thus far.
By Anthony Diaz2 years ago in Writers
Necessity
Tony’s heart continued to pump with adrenaline and ferocity. The desperation, the necessity for this to work, with only a few days preparation, yielded Tony currently two hundred and fifty thousand dollars richer. He quickly started his car; music blared through the speakers, he was too nervous to turn down the volume before moving into the lightly guarded downstairs staging area. Only a fool would attempt to steal from them, but this was the safest way to get the money he desperately needed. Tony would have never otherwise stolen from anyone, but he felt his honest way of living never granted him the freedom of bills due. His love was fading and no one was coming to their rescue. He took every precaution he could think of and calculated he had at least an hour before anyone would discover the group of hogtied men. He put his car into drive and casually exited the alleyway. His eyes began to water as he felt a weight lift from his chest. The light turned from red to green on this busy morning intersection. Had Tony, the overly cautious man, looked at the intersection prior to crossing, he would have seen the truck.
By Anthony Diaz3 years ago in Fiction
D.B. Cooper
The following is a transcript from a phone interview. I’m here to tell you that D. B. Cooper is alive and well. How do I know this? Because I helped him that night he took the Boeing 727 hostage and demanded the $200,000. So in a way, this is a written confession of my involvement in helping D.B. Cooper escape on November 24, 1971. So who am I? I’m a nobody. Believe me. Also I want to start off by saying that I didn’t know what good ole’ Danny was going to do. Honest. You see, let me begin by telling you how we know each other. I first met Dan Cooper in Vietnam in 1969. I was attached to the 3rd Marine Division and I was a fresh Corporal entering country for my first tour. Dan was attached to the 101st Airborne and was already hitting his third rotation in theater. If my military jargon has your head spinnin’ I do apologize. Where was I? Oh right. My squad got wiped clean while we were patrolling an area with cu chi tunnels. If you don’t know what those are, let me tell you. You have a new fear to discover once you start exploring these large and intricate tunnels in Vietnam. Well, I was trying to clear out a section of those cu chi tunnels when Sergeant Dan Cooper yanked me from my flak jacket and pulled me away from a spring loaded trap. He asked who I was, and when I explained I was the last one left, I followed him and the rest of his platoon off towards Saigon. It was there where I met up with the rest of my unit. Along the way Sergeant Cooper kept telling me stories about the fortune that could be had if someone just had enough guts to pull off something wild and unheard of. He kept talking about how he met another Army soldier, a career man named Vining. You see, Vining was regular Army and was going to make some special team of people. Cooper said he was going to be on his new team? I can’t remember those details. All I know is that once he helped me get back to my unit, I gave him my contact information and told him if he was ever in Washington State to look me up and I would buy the first round. You know, as a thank you for helping me.
By Anthony Diaz3 years ago in Fiction
Riverwalk
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. The room was a lower-level hotel suite of the long-abandoned Marriotts in downtown San Antonio Texas. It offered a view of interstate thirty-seven and the fortified areas within a few miles north of her sight. On this day, October 3rd, 2188, it began to rain in the early morning hours but cleared early enough for the sun to rise to a cloudless sky. She woke up alone in her inherited room once belonging to her father. Coffee was scarce these days, but with an almost guaranteed arrival of supplies within the next few days, she allowed herself the freedom to make a more potent brew in her Chemex coffee maker. She used a quarter of her daily water rations for her morning routine. The morning rain brought good fortune upon her and her community within the borders of Riverwalk. The community was appropriately managed and would not allow anything to go to waste, especially rainwater. The rainwater would have to be rigorously tested for safe drinkable levels, but of course, that would be after the multiple filtration steps and de-radiation.
By Anthony Diaz3 years ago in Fiction
The Night Shift
Dear Mom, This is my second week at the Texas State Aquarium night shift. The lights from the Harbor Bridge twinkle through the large windows and make a perfect backdrop to the dolphin stage. I can see the U.S.S. Lexington past the raptor exhibit. They are calm at the moment. The injured Cooper’s Hawk is healing well in her private space. My rounds tonight should be extra enjoyable. We have a new addition to our sea turtle family! Well, at least until she is ready to be released back in the wild. She was caught by a local fisherman and noticed something growing in her eye. At first, we all thought it may be Fibropapillomatosis, but it turns out it was just some abnormal skin growth. The veterinarian here said she would be just fine and should be back in the ocean real soon. Until then, she likes to swim around, and she seems pretty interested in the otter exhibit next door. I think if these Greens could talk, they would have a story to tell.
By Anthony Diaz3 years ago in Horror
