Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Pillars of Sand
I still remember how hot it was that day. I was sweating as I stood in the middle of the desert in my turban and plain white robes, but I didn't think about it too much. I'd learned to live with it by then. In front of me, and beside me, and behind me to the edge of the visible horizon in the distance, were rows and rows of people that seemed to stretch all the way from one edge of the desert to the next. We were all adorned in the same turbans and plain white robes, and I could tell everyone else was sweating just as profusely in the heat as I was. But they learned to live with it. We all learned to live with it. Because that day, as we stood on the barren remains of what used to be inner city Seattle, we all knew we had no other choice.
By John Zhang5 years ago in Fiction
Too Late to Know
The cruellest torture of our lives is that we always have the time to do what we love, but not the foresight to know what we love. If I could rewind the clock, reset the day, force the dark present back into a blissful unknowable future, the irony would be that I would not know to act any different. When I was younger I thought the world would end by humanity’s own greed, a lust for comfort and luxury that would bring the oceans upon our doors and drown us in our short-sightedness. This would have been an easy end for me. Perhaps even preferable. When everyone is to blame it is easy to hide amongst the crowd of regret. But I now know the world didn’t end by sea, or fire or even ice; the world ended with the small metal locket now grasped tightly within my hand.
By James McIntosh5 years ago in Fiction
After the end
Lying prone on the floor of an old gas station convenience store, you look around at what remains of it. The counters that once would have been stocked with an overabundance of snacks and other junk are now bare. But the two full-sized, immaculate candy bars you now have in your backpack haven’t even expired. It was funny how quickly you went from trying to avoid snacks, to cherishing them. If Stinky and Co. don’t take everything from you, those will be amazing. Your empty stomach growled its appreciation.
By Aaron Lott5 years ago in Fiction
Radiotelegraphy
August 5th, 2035 - Morning The oatmeal was probably cold by now. Her steps around the house grew louder as she approached the bedroom door. I couldn’t be bothered today. I just wanted to go back to sleep. I was sitting on the side of the bed, holding the locket as usual when she threw the door open to make her announcement: “He’s here.”
By Ethan Hayes5 years ago in Fiction
Ghost of a Memory
Ghost of a Memory The dinner bell rang and I rowed in. Great blue herons were constant visitors to the pond, but this was the first year two had nested. It’s warm in June. Hard to believe two weeks ago I hadn’t even thought of warm weather. It was spring then. I wore an old Army jacket the last time I was on the pond photographing the herons. Some thought it funny for a girl to wear an Army jacket, but then I never cared what they thought of me. I had left the Army jacket and my camera in the cabin this day; it was a day for enjoying the newborn chicks. I would photograph them another day.
By Michael Thorn5 years ago in Fiction
