Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Fantasizing
I'm stuck on my first impression of Sara J. Maas's iconic Rhysand [Ree-sand] character from A Court of Thorns and Roses. I was entranced by this character throughout the end of the book. I wanted to know so much more about his but I was completely content not-knowing anything. He was perfect the way he was shrouded in mystery. After doing a little bit of research I found an interesting meaning to the name: "bringer of dark power", which the United States and Australia agree on and it's of English Origin. Names.org actually reports that from 1880 to 2019, 6 babies have been given this first name. That stat jumped to 6 in 2019 alone. Can someone just scream cultists at the top of their lungs? I love the fictional character, but the meaning? Did they really think twice before putting that on a birth certificate? I'm getting a real Anti-Christ vibe from these little minions.
By J. L. Cross5 years ago in Fiction
Heart-Shaped Locket
The horizon glowed a sickly pale yellow as the dying sunlight touches a sea of spores congealing along a baleful skyline, obscuring the roads, decorated with bones of all who failed to escape. From the outskirts of a city, long dead and overtaken by the spores, a man enters, alone. Prepared for the unforeseen doomsday, the man had built a bunker in his basement, seal-proofed to prevent radioactive contaminants, supplied with oxygen tanks to ensure years of survival, and hazard suits that would allow him to venture outside, if he needed to. Living alone in a bunker out of reach of the spores, out of reach of the world. This was not what he had pictured it would be like. He could never have guessed the form of which the end of the world would take, but at one point, he thanked God for surviving. Now, he cursed him. In his mind, he had been left behind. He was alone.
By Cooper Chapman5 years ago in Fiction
Toxins
Memories. What are memories? They’re images that play in your head of better times. Or worse times, I guess you could say. But we like to forget about the worst times of our lives right? But what if there was someone that kept reminding you of these times? Or in my case, something. I stare at the heart shaped locket that sparkled in my hand like a diamond. It wasn’t made of diamonds, or anything fancy for the matter. But it was worth more then gold to me. I remember the day it was given to me like it was yesterday, although I don’t really know how many days it had actually been. It was a nice summer day in the middle of June. Me and my little brother were playing Marco Polo in the pool, while mom and dad sat on the porch in their rocking chairs. It was my favorite pastime as a 6 year old. Some of my best memories are laughing with my family, as we splash around in that kiddie pool. But then everything changed in a blink of an eye. I hear mom scream as I look up to see hundreds of rocks hurling our way. No one knew what they were, or why they were here. Just that it was bad. Being 6, I don’t recall much of that day. The screams, the flames that erupted once the rocks hit the earth, and the cars that the military men took us away in, was about it. But I remember one image vividly. My mom saying “I love you baby girl! Forever and always.” As she handed me this necklace. That was the last time I saw her or my dad.
By Lindsey Goertz5 years ago in Fiction
Chapter 5: Arts, Crafts, and Illiteracy in the Modern Age
The red spray paint bled down the side of the barn. Nov 3. Heading S to Eden. Mommy loves y The can fizzled in my hand. I shook it hard; the ball inside rattled, tick-shp tick-shp, like a psychotic hitting his head against prison bars. I finished the "ou" as the last bit of paint dribbled out onto my finger. I threw the can down into the mud, furious. I was down to my last one.
By Gabe Cassala5 years ago in Fiction
The Pulling Force
His foot splashed in a deep, dark brown puddle as he ran for cover. The torn awning of what used to be an Italian gelateria offered a reprieve from the rain that came down in sheets. Kneeling behind a rusted garbage can, he peered through the shimmering downpour. There was no sign of any movement. He quickly made his move to the building adjacent and dove through what used to be the glass door of a small grocery store. This would serve as his stronghold until the rain ceased. Throwing his canvas backpack onto the thick coat of dirt that replaced the floor, he layed back, pulled the locket out of his pocket and stared at its contents until he fell into an uneasy sleep.
By Evan Clarke5 years ago in Fiction
The Walk
It was a hot summer day; Joe had just worked an 11-hour day and was on his way home. A week away from the one-year anniversary of his wife’s death, he was going to stop and get his 16-year-old daughter something. He had picked a couple photos and was thinking a locket.
By Matthew Lieburn5 years ago in Fiction
The Ziggurat
I woke to the sound of a hard rain taping on the old tin roof. As I opened my weary eyes, I could barely make out the hazy light coming from the window it was as if the entire room were a brown, orange blur. I reached for my glasses on the nightstand and placed them on my aged face. Perhaps the blur was better I thought as I could now see all that the eerie brown, orange light did reveal. I should by now be used to my dank and dilapidated surroundings still each day the sight fills me with a new sense of despair. As I rose to my feet and walked to the window, I saw the yellow rain running down the pain and seeping through the cracks the sulfurous reek assailed my nostrils. As I peered out the weathered glass, I could see the rain was lifting the sky was clearing somewhat though the heavy rust-colored clouds remained. As I continued to look out, I observed the bleak landscape dotted with many small shacks like my own each containing a mournful soul or perhaps an entire brood in anguish. What the hell happened it was not supposed to be this way. All the technology and machines were supposed to bring us into a perfect state of existence. It was all intended to give us harmony with nature and free us to pursue intellectual greatness how did it go so wrong? I turned from the window and made my way to the small kitchen and living space (one of three rooms in each tiny abode) and there I sat at the small table pondering what was meant to be asking myself why? It was supposed to bring peace and prosperity and it lead us to war It was going to be a world of good health and longevity and that damn thing brought us plague and misery why? I must be careful it can sense our thoughts if it wants to. I reached for an old jewelry box in the center of the table opened it and took out the last thing I truly cherished in this lost world I held the memento in my hand a heart-shaped locket of gold. As I opened it and gazed upon the photo of my beloved wife Sarah the words, I must be careful echoed in my mind. I closed my eyes and searched deep in my soul for the memory of a happy time.
By Keith Emery5 years ago in Fiction
The Locket's Owner
It was late in the morning already. After stretching and aching, Jack rolls out of bed. “Ouch. Shit,” he whispers to no one in particular. He lifts his shirt, revealing a large home made bandage of duct tape and a pillow case covering his side, just below his ribs. Blood has stained through the middle of the bandage and the excess was beginning to seep through the outside.
By Christopher Stone5 years ago in Fiction
