John Moore
Bio
Engineer who wants to go pro at writing. Lover of all things sci-fi and fantasy.
Catholic trying to balance faith and reason in my work and build something beautiful along the way.
Achievements (1)
Stories (11)
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To Save a Life
“If the calculations are right, you should land in the Community Gardens just north of Vine Street.” The technician tapped the icons on his tablet and Erik felt the prickle of static electricity wash over him. Every hair on his body stood on end and the light cotton t-shirt clung to his flesh like a second skin.
By John Moore3 years ago in Futurism
Tower of Ash
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. She drew her fingers over the moisture gathering on the cold glass of her suitor’s room. Shapes sprang from her fingertips as she idly drew shapes. Memories of another time, before all of this. She knew the shapes were called animals, but anything more had been lost to the passage of time.
By John Moore3 years ago in Fiction
Beneath the Green Boughs
The great monarch drifted lazily on the cool evening breeze, wandering towards the reds and oranges of the sunset. Every flap of his elegant wings brought him closer to that painted sky. As the great orange ball of light descended, he drifted towards his roost in the forest. It offered protection for his kind, though he didn’t think of safety in the way that men would understand. He scarcely thought at all.
By John Moore3 years ago in Fiction
Voidborn
No one can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. By ‘they,’ I refer to that pampered segment of humanity who keep their feet firmly rooted to the homeworlds. Earth, Mars, even Venus, it’s all the same once you go down the gravity well. Although strictly speaking, those planetborn humans would be correct. But out here in the dark, those of us in the clans know differently. We all have radios, and I have heard many screams across the cold vacuum of space. That’s where the money is made.
By John Moore3 years ago in Futurism
Beyond the Sun's Light
No one can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. By ‘they,’ I refer to that segment of humanity whose ancestors never ventured into the void. They’re not wrong, strictly speaking. A man without his suit, screaming into the void will be dead silent, special emphasis on dead. But a man in his suit still has a radio, and I have heard many screams across the cold vacuum of space. I fear my voice may soon join that unfortunate chorus of souls. Should the most likely outcome occur, let this record bear testimony to the events on this godforsaken ship. My name is Jan Sobra of Clan Sama, and maybe I can spare another soul from that silent scream into the night.
By John Moore3 years ago in Futurism
Terminus Rail
The rhythmic clack clack clack broke through Mark’s dreamless sleep and roused him with a start. He didn’t remember dozing off in his seat; the previous night must have taken more out of him than he remembered, what little he could remember after leaving the bar. The clack clack clack continued to rattle around him as he gradually broke through the early morning fog of sleepiness. He was glad to have splurged on the upgraded ergonomic desk chair for his home office. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d pass out in the chair after a night out on the town.
By John Moore3 years ago in Fiction
The Lonely Cabin. Runner-Up in Campfire Ghost Story Challenge.
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Jack had hiked for so long that all thoughts of danger were pushed from his mind. Three months on the Appalachian Trail was hard enough on the body, but no one ever talked about the toll it took on the spirit. The human soul wasn’t meant to be alone for so long. As darkness descended and the creatures began their nightly songs, the candle beckoned him in like an old friend with the promises of hearth and home. Both were much needed after a week of cold rain and three months spent sleeping on the hard ground. Not to mention the thought of some company.
By John Moore4 years ago in Horror
The Game of My Life. Top Story - June 2022.
I dug my cleat into the dirt on the mound and looked at my catcher for the sign. There were two outs and the tying run was on second in the tenth inning. The tenth inning of a high school game. We’d already played an extra half game of this district playoff on a hot, muggy summer night in Memphis. My team had no business being in this game, let alone being ahead with a chance to win. It was the end of a tumultuous senior year. Our team had struggled, practices and games ended up in us getting mercilessly berated by our head coach, and morale was generally low.
By John Moore4 years ago in Families
The Dark Glen
Doran returned to the glen just as the Maiden broke through the clouds. The moon’s light bathed the clearing in indigo bringing night glories into full bloom. Even in his desperation, a small part of his mind marveled at the beauty of the clearing which was aglow in fluorescent shades of violet. He hoped he’d been quick enough in finding the hartstongue leaves. If Murai was still alive, they would stop the bleeding.
By John Moore4 years ago in Horror
The Fall of Valongard
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. At least that’s what the village elders claimed. The old men couldn’t say when the dragons had first made their way south to the verdant valley. All they could say for sure was the dragons arrived in a time far beyond living memory. The people of the Valley called it Kidron after their name for the hot springs that bubbled up from the ground, warming and nourishing the valley floor. The Valley dug long furrows, deep and green, on the surface of the continent which was otherwise nothing more than drab desert. Kidron wound its way for hundreds of leagues, following the hot spring rivulets. The great canyon walls rose miles above the Valley floor, touching the sky in rocky crenellations. It was along these outcroppings that their ancestors first saw the dragons.
By John Moore4 years ago in Fiction
