Dammit Dierdre
Of all the times to die...
No one knows why Dierdre walked into the Atlantic, but she took the weapon with her. All that potential wasted; decades of research pickling while we start over.
At least the drive could be recovered. Divers are combing the sea floor–literally. My sister sold the combs that could save the world. Let's hope they find it before his friends arrive.
I still can't believe that heap of junk is an alien warship. Well, half a warship, anyway. Who crashes into a planet? That laser cannon tech is something else, though. It's so fast and quiet, you never even know it's
About the Creator
Maia Gadwall the metAlchemist
I fell in love with speculative fiction and poetry many years ago, but I have precious little time to write any. Then, I went crazy and started a cult called metAlchemy, or meta alchemy. I revere energy of all brands, esp. good, kind chaos.
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More stories from Maia Gadwall the metAlchemist and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Guild of Golden Lilies
I. Eiren leaned against Fyneas' spine, enjoying the rush of wind in her hair as the dragon soared through the clouds. Jespa sat beside her, her face stoic as always, her eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. They had been flying for hours, and the bag of stolen gold they carried between them felt heavier with each passing moment. But for Eiren, the adrenaline rush of their escape was still coursing through her veins, making her feel invincible.
By Maia Gadwall the metAlchemist3 years ago in Fiction
Is This The Cayman Islands?
"Masha, I thought I was going to the Cayman Islands, but Elon's driverless, flying car, must have gotten off course." "Did you watch the news, everything is on fire here?" I don't know Daddy, are you sure you are in the Cayman Islands, and did you take your immortality pill this morning?"
By Susan Payton6 days ago in Fiction
FPS: The Last Flame Challenge Winners
Welcome to our first Winners Announcement of the year and to the final challenge in the Fall Poetry Series. The Last Flame invited writers to sit with endings, using fire as a central image to consider what remains when something burns out: ash, warmth, memory, silence, or the faint promise of what comes next. The strongest pieces treated endings as gradual rather than sudden, allowing them to flicker, dim, and linger.
By Vocal Curation Team5 days ago in Resources
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