Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
VIRTUOSO
FLATTERINGLY FEARFUL IN ITS PLACE, innocent, scared of life's fate. Faultless rebellion in its wake, given life from the passions of sin. A fact understood in this world whenever we breed, there had to be something more than just a seed. History plays itself over and over; this time, everything learned after 2078 is computerized. The Internet virus of 2678 left the world in dismay. The total repair took twenty-two years, initiating the outbreak of many wars. Thousands of lives, young and old, paid a terrible price during this time. Gray-covered skies sucked the dreams away from those who lost hope. When no one thought life could become worse, the Military stepped in and strong-armed as usual with un-Godly control. This behaviour never stopped; it grew stronger. Past heroes who left their stories upon paper of their trials and tribulations gave new hope to the few who found such treasures buried in the rubble. Convinced their time was short, some Scientists fled underground. With the apparent prediction of Internet theft, war and destruction will come sooner or later. The few newly born heroes desperately tried to take steps to protect the future of the human race. Then again, life shall spin its web of warnings. All those who should have listened to the warnings played follow the leader. Rewarded with gifts from the Military, it made their lives more pleasant.
By Marsha L Ceniceros5 years ago in Fiction
Day Forty-Nine
Day forty-nine. It starts like my last forty-eight days. A guard trails her baton down the wall of doors, shouting “Rise and Shine” like it’s some sunny, happy morning and she’s about to serve me blueberry pancakes and hot coffee. My sleeping set of black sweatpants and sweatshirt is switched for my day set of black sweatpants and a black t-shirt, a small comfort in this overcrowded Colorado fortress.
By Cori Schwabe5 years ago in Fiction
Misguided Loneliness
After the war, things weren't the same. Jobs were plenty, workers are far and few between. The economy has collapsed and money has lost most of it's value. So the lucky ones who have a job can barely make ends meet. You are one of the lucky ones.
By jamie mckee5 years ago in Fiction
A Heartless World
Unsympathetic landscapes’ discordant correspondence to the despondent few who tenaciously clutched and clawed to continue through—beyond The Event—was conspicuously conveyed upon each extant entity’s countenance: Brief time and magnitude bitterly inscribed lines of old age on the youngest among the living; disaster’s sullen strokes left horizontal markings and daubs of distress on the matured as veritable war paints, recasting formerly tender, expressive visages into unsettled yet deadened semblances. Bodies spoke solely in doleful languages: Dead and persisting. Maimed survivors haggardly schlepped their rattled habitus across and throughout provisional, unlawful open market areas, inversely to the expedient scavengers who industriously lugged their loot for barter. It was a heartless world. Fitness amounted to affluence: The well who narrowly—fortunately—circumvented injurious ramifications of the cataclysm quickly mobilized to covetously monopolize commodities in order to ensure their continuity, as well as the endurance of uneven, unsteady agglomerations composed of other ostensibly able constituents, which deficiently filled the voids of power generated by the collapsed, organized political groups that preceded them. Extortion and thievery were frequently the means of obtaining valuables or perishables within the walls where the rats raced; outside the bounds of the shantytown, however, finders were keepers. Principally, living conditions were as poor as the paupers. The encampment comprised shabby, make-shift shacks, lacking most fundamental amenities aside from the crudest of plumbing systems. Fashioned alleys were bored through otherwise immovable debris, connecting residences and forming streets. The breezeways framed by fixed wreckage were exploited by irreproachable, loitering denizens who maintained a consistent clamor most hours of the day—which enshrouded skulkers and their intentions entirely.
By Joseph Severo5 years ago in Fiction
Goodbye Oak Ridge
I loved Milo Jackson. Not because we were of the same age and of opposite anatomies, but because she was different. Milo and I were young when we met. She is long gone and I am now a tired old man. Milo lived as both victim and villain. It is doubtful this story will bring you closer to any understanding, but it was important that I put pencil to paper anyway.
By Sean Rohrer5 years ago in Fiction
A Conversation At The End Of The World
It’s quiet atop the hill except for a wind rustling through autumn-painted trees. In the distance there are sounds, so many of them. Sirens, soaring above the rising swell of countless vehicle alarms and muffled announcements echoing urgently across the cityscape. Columns of smoke, more and more of them, spiral into the clear skies, black banners waving for attention. A lone skyscraper, pointing frantically at something unseen above, disintegrates with a confused groan, collapsing down into a silvery cloud that shoots high into the air, a towering ghost composed of sparkling glass dust and metal particulate.
By Pee Eye Bee5 years ago in Fiction
The Secret of the Locket
Mark stared at the thick, heavy, intricately carved frame that he had taken from the crumbling building. He’d originally taken it to use as fire wood, but something told him to hold onto it. Once upon a time, the building had been one of the national museums, according to the dilapidated signage. The rubble had been mostly cleared out, and the building had been ransacked. Mark didn’t think anyone had been in the area in quite a few years.
By Connor Strange5 years ago in Fiction
Petrichor
The robot eyed Genevieve suspiciously while Moseley spoke. “So further this way, and then, what, how far was it?” “42 KLICKS DUE SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST AT 11.3493° NORTH, 142.1996° EAST,” The multi-armed salvage unit sputtered at the pair, one ocular module assessing Gen. She pulled her helmet down and straightened her hood, peering out from sunburnt goggles.
By Ian M. Mori5 years ago in Fiction
