Nicholas Thompson
Stories (2)
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It Lives in the Barn
The wind blew softly that morning, bringing with it an icy gloom that swallowed the sun and threatened rain. The chill was bitter, piercing, and made a person long for the warmth of Summer. But, there was no warmth here, only cold. It was a miserable Autumn day.
By Nicholas Thompson5 years ago in Fiction
The Choosing
A heart shaped locket. That is what Alex remembered about the man. She could not recall his name, his face, what he was wearing, but she could remember that locket. It was the way he held it, its chain wrapped around his hand and through his fingers, as though he were afraid of losing it. She remembered how he had kissed it when his name was called at last year’s Choosing, as though all his hope and luck resided in that small piece of dinted silver. Alex knew better. There was no hope for those picked by the Choosing, no luck for the people selected to go outside. And yet, every year, on the fourth day of the seventh month, everyone gathered inside the town square and awaited the governor for that year’s Choosing Ceremony, to decide who would leave the safety of the community, to see who would venture outside the wall’s protective embrace. The governor claimed it was vital for their future, that they had to find other survivors in the wastes, other communities like theirs. Alex knew that was stupid. There were no other communities, there were no other survivors. Anyone who was still out in that bleak, barren nothingness was dead. She had seen enough ceremonies, seen enough people leave and never come back, to know that much. There was nothing.
By Nicholas Thompson5 years ago in Fiction
