Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
The Final Generation
I opened my eyes and the blue lights flowing down from the ceiling were blinding. I had to rapidly blink several times to be able to keep them open. I realized I was strapped to the bed so tightly; it would be impossible to escape. The white rooms made my heart beat faster in my chest, and the cold air was freezing. I wondered how I survived in this cold room. I recognized Henry with his old beat-up framed glasses lying to my left, and Arthur on my right. Earlier today I spotted them as I was walking towards my class, that’s the last thing I remembered. There were no monitors in the room keeping track of their heart rate, I had no idea if they were alive or not. I quietly said their names, and then raised my voice as loud as I could, having difficulty with the low amounts of air in my lungs. I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself down. I was two years older than my friends. I had to come up with a solution fast before someone came to check up on us. A window with blue curtains was an escape route I considered. I would rather break a bone or two than be stuck here. The sound of heels was echoing in the hallway, I kept my eyelids closed shut. As they were continuing, a soft hum was audibly happening at the same time.
By The Lady in White 5 years ago in Fiction
Fenced In
He came up slowly from sleep, for a moment reasonably comfortable and warm. As consciousness returned, the aches began to set in. Resigning himself to wakefulness, he opened his eyes and saw the familiar tin roof overhead. His feet left the covers and met the rough planks of the floor as he rose slowly from his bed with a groan and began to shuffle towards the washbasin.
By Matthew Shearer5 years ago in Fiction
The Remains of Hope
The smoke had barely settled on the ground from the last shell when Taro started running. He heard there should be enough canned goods and other supplies still left at this store to last a few more weeks. He just had to be the first to get them. Daily random bombings are normal around here. You just have to use them to your advantage. Taro felt like a buzzard scouting for lunch.
By LingTina V5 years ago in Fiction
Eden
“Next!” Terence belted again as he had done for several hours. The rain that had flooded the overgrown lawn earlier in the afternoon now remained as a slight drizzle, a nagging reminder of the woes that had enveloped Eden for the past several months. Pools of water dotted the flooded lawn, now gleaming purple lights against the grey evening, reflecting colors from the pristine skyline just across the river.
By Bklyn Stories5 years ago in Fiction
Post Apocalyptic Chronicles of a Misanthropic Teen
Do you remember when zombies were all the rage, when everyone was talking about a zombie apocalypse. I once saw a car that had a large Umbrella Corporation symbol on the hood. It was painted with blood splatters and said ‘Zombie killing machine’ on the driver side door. It was rolling through the grocery store parking lot. It was pretty epic at the time. Back then you played the one weapon game. ‘If a zombie apocalypse happened you could only choose 1 weapon, what would it be?’ Nearly everyone thought Daryl from The Walking Dead TV show had it right with the crossbow. Boy, were they wrong. It had to be the bad boy image with the sweet home Alabama heart. I totally loved him in Boondock Saints. That being said, when it comes to zombie killing a cross bow is a no go, you’re not fucking cool Daryl. I, however, chose the “oh Fuck” and run method. Seems to work better then Daryl’s dumb ass cross bow. Zombies are only dangerous for the first few months after death when they have muscle tone. They are fucking slow after that. They can barely hold themselves together and just gnaw on you if you get caught. They are more gross than anything. A lot of people kind of lose it after getting surrounded by a group of zombies chomping at you.
By Jennifer Fimbres5 years ago in Fiction
Who's That Venus...
At the sun’s too enthusiastic greeting I am transformed into a zombie with my urr-ing groans. My arms extend the bed’s blankets into wings to shield my baggaged eyes from the unwelcome light breaking through the hotels window. “Shut the curtains!” I barked towards my wickedly optimistic mother. Optimism, who needs to see the light of day when the darkness of night holds our dreams? “Rise and shine.” Who is she saying that too anyway? Me or the sun, because the sun has risen, and I am incapable of shinning. Last night’s tiresome adventure already has me grieved with Tasmania. Sun, why do you bother to reveal your face? Nobodies eyes can tolerate you anyway.
By Samuel Fletcher5 years ago in Fiction
Patterns in the Static
Floor 40 Apartment C1 — not quite the vertical halfway of a residential high-rise in the vastly overpopulated Central City. There are dozens of buildings just like it at the heart of town. You would be hard-pressed to find anything unique or special about these apartments. They are dwarfed by the surrounding skyscrapers and even from the rooftops, the Great Ocean was completely out of view. From the outside these buildings were nothing more than a jumble of glass and steel littered with cluttered balconies, crooked blinds and improperly fastened air conditioning units.
By Alek Kalinowski5 years ago in Fiction
The Household of Terrace Hill
Highlands of Apollo, U.L.O.P. (The United Land of The People), November 2086 It was cold. She could feel it seeping into her bones. She inhaled the damp, icy air. It stung her nose and made her throat tighten and ache. She scrunched her body more tightly together and wrapped her arms around herself drawing her thick shaw closer. It was morning already. She dreaded the day. She could sense the touch of sunlight on her face, and hear the utterly cheerful birds screeching outside her window. They were making her aware that it was time to get up. She squinted her eyes wishing for just a few more hours of sleep. She would have to let more people go today. She couldn’t help them anymore. She couldn’t protect them. She had nothing to offer. No place. No home. No position.
By Brianna Mcalister5 years ago in Fiction
Blacklisted
There were angry cries of cancel culture at first, but when the amendments were made to the law, it was like we woke up all at once. When people stopped blaming women and started accepting sexual violence as a crime instead of a scandal, it finally stopped happening. For once, we were all on the same page.
By Bonnie Joy Sludikoff5 years ago in Fiction
