Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
The Cause
“Come on!” she shouted, running into the rubble-filled street of the ruined city, her blonde hair trailing behind her and her trademark heart-shaped locket bouncing as she ran. My feet and my heart pounded as I struggled to keep up with her. She was young, and always seemed to have boundless energy. We dodged sniper fire as we ran from cover to cover, finally falling behind the ruins of a bank building.
By Daniel Schwartz5 years ago in Fiction
Staring into the Abyss
Long ago there existed a world dominated by hairless monkeys. They created a great and terrible civilisation of kindness and cruelty, connection and isolation, war and peace, freedom and slavery, hope and despair. For as long as they existed, they were consumed with the question, ‘Are we alone in the universe?’ And never, even for a moment did they think to ask that most obvious and terrifying of questions, ‘What if they’re like us?’
By Lachlan Hedge5 years ago in Fiction
Gingerbread
The sky was the same dismal grey as it always had been. The thick swirling mist high over the rundown village easily watered out the supposed sunlight into a pale and dreary glow despite it being closer to noon. It made the world appear as though it was forever trapped in some sort of dismal, monogram filter. However, this was common. Standard actually. Every day was the same: monotonous and dim. But everyone had long since gotten used to it. They would hardly even cast a weary eye upwards to the heavens anymore, even by chance. They preferred to keep their eyes trained to the ground crunching beneath their old shoes, or more usually glancing this way and that to keep their eye safely trained on things… on everyone else. It was a habit long since established by years of practice. People needed to be watched. It was a highly well-known yet unspoken rule in the village. You must keep an eye on everyone. Never let them out of your sight. Never lose track of them. And never, ever go into the woods. Especially alone. Especially at night. It was harder to keep watch under those circumstances.
By Kaitlin Christensen5 years ago in Fiction
Rule 11
I’m Seth. I lived with the men of my family. My sisters live in the house with the women. My dad was a builder, like I was learning to be. This year he retires and goes to the city to be with Mom. She was a cook, like my sisters are, but once she and Dad are reunited, all their kids will build and cook for them. That’s how it was supposed to be. I’m not sure how many sisters I have. I only really knew Kara, who is eleven now, like me. I was the youngest boy in the house, but my younger brother was born this year in the city. When he turns ten, he’ll know The Ten Rules like you and I do.
By Sickness and Heart5 years ago in Fiction
Alone, at the End of all Things
No one ever said the apocalypse would be so lonely. She’s been on her own for some time now, since the last community fell to infighting, and the one before that to a dictator. Mayhaps a dystopia will rise out of the ash and rubble, but for now society consists of isolationist colonies too greedy or afraid to interact with one another.
By Seelle Clarkson5 years ago in Fiction
A Voice from the Void
The drop-off. The period of time that doesn't exist. Except for yours truly. My life exists in this emptiness, this void, the in-between, the "Ah, I was nowhere near there Officer, been fucking here all night ain't I?" and anonymous check-ins to hotel rooms.
By Jessica Rose5 years ago in Fiction
Hidden
There were those days where I could hear them whispering. Anytime my parents would catch even a glimpse of me eavesdropping, the conversation would either change or completely topple down. Never being able to make up a single word, I'd always assume the subject was serious. My parents were the usual boring, gloomy adults, and it tended to bum me out most days. Heck, with all these tight-fitted rules in our house, there was no way any middle-school child would ever experience any gram of joy. Dad would say "it's for my safety", which a stubborn child like me would eventually have their cautiousness wear away after the first ten reps of lessons. Mom, at some point, began noticing how plagued I've become from Dad's "wild rambles", so she'd make sure I was aware it was merely the government's regulation of everything that was taking a significant toll on Dad's mental state, resulting in a scar of frantic mania.
By Kalina Xiong5 years ago in Fiction
Knock Knock
Knock Knock. It was a very odd sound. Not the type of knock that you usually come to expect from social normalities. It was a hollow knock. When you hear a knock you go to the front door to see who it is. But alas when I turned the cold brass handle to the cool breeze outside there was no one there. So who could have made that unprecedented sound, the sound that I had heard so many times before and had always been greeted with a response. I am alone.
By Kyle Dever5 years ago in Fiction
A Graduation Gift
Dearest Candidate-Computer-Engineer (56732.3602138): I pray this gift and message reaches you peacefully. This necklace is yours now, take care, because it wouldn’t be mine to share without purpose. Metals for this locket and chain were mined by people long ago. It might have been part of a Mayan idol or maybe the calf that Moses condemned. Perhaps it was part of the knife that stabbed Jesus or Caesar. It doesn’t matter because it cannot be any of those things anymore. They took it from Bert when we were arrested. I gave her a heart shaped locket because Grandma had one where she kept a picture of Grandpa trapped inside. Grandma used to fumble with his portrait as it dangled against her chest, and she blabbed about the fires that burned down the planet and her cabin; about the plagues that killed everyone but us. All of that was back in the ‘20’s or ‘30’s, before we left Earth. This little locket is from Earth, just like Grandma and Grandpa, and all the moms and dads, just like you. They are me and I am you, so pay attention to our story - because it is your story.
By Cean Mills5 years ago in Fiction
PARADISE
Paradise is not a chaise on some tropical beach with a view of the sun dipping over the horizon. Paradise is not a balcony view of Venice and a glass of 2024 Giuseppe Quintarelli. No. Because no beach, no romantic city, no expensive, classy wines are left to enjoy.
By Sophie Xavier5 years ago in Fiction
