Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Hail Britannia!
Part 1 Arriving home after several post-protest drinks, Michael opened his window, stretched a condom over the Fire Alert Unit and lit a cigarette. He opened his laptop, put on, for what must have been the hundredth time in life, the Dubliners classic 50th anniversary concert. He reached for a small black box hidden at the back of his top drawer. Opening it carefully, he took out the heart-shaped locket held within. He looked at the picture inside and examined the Gaelic inscription, 'Fillean an feall ar an bhfeallaire'; 'What goes around comes around'. It had belonged to his great-grandmother Orla, who had served with distinction in the Cumann na mBan. He'd only known her through stories, as she died long before he was born, but he always felt connected to the idea of her resistance.
By Pete Balloch5 years ago in Fiction
The Cure
The Earth kept asking us to do better. We said: “No fuck it, you deal!” So it did. December 31st, 2052. As we counted down, 3… 2… 1… most of the water evaporated or froze. We call it “the cure” because the world healed itself that day. People went crazy. Some thought it’d fix itself. However, within a year, all the crops died, the animals and eventually over 95% of the world’s population. It’s now 2057, five years after the water left. Those of us still alive, travel to rumors of where the water exists.
By Tresse Butler 5 years ago in Fiction
The New Room
Two thousand and forty. There were no weeks nor days. The hours didn’t have the sun to count, and they were all locked within those walls. It was a virus, they said. A virus that killed all men, something about the chromosome that was fatally attacked by an airborne disease.
By Sofia Duarte5 years ago in Fiction
Heirloom
It was a Saturday, deep in East Texas, when the whole town awoke for the ceremony. Alarms across the cluster of buildings screeched at 7 a.m. sharp; bleary-eyed teenagers shook off the clutches of sleep and adults stumbled into their kitchens to brew their morning coffee. The town was called Jacobson. Situated in the middle of what had been a forest, before all the trees had been sliced into stumps, it held 12,463 people. Of those 12,463, on that June 15, there were 196 12-year olds, all of whom were participating. Attendance of the ceremony, was, of course, mandatory, which is why the alarms woke every man, woman, teenager, and child, and all of them went to attend.
By Hudson Bennett5 years ago in Fiction
Archipelago Dystopia
Errol looked back in his mind at the reel that projected the past. As though, on a shelf in the corner of his inner sanctum, he picked up a dusty, old film spool and brushed it off to reveal a white label with the name ‘Michelle’ handwritten in red sharpie. He loaded it into the ancient projector that began to reel and whir in his third eye and settled in with the nostalgia of a beloved classic like being swallowed by a family sofa.
By Andreas Robichaux5 years ago in Fiction
The New Normal
Everything was prettier with radiation. Out the window the sun was rising, just creeping lazily up above the hobbled stumps of the buildings that still remained. As the big bright ball went higher, the colours came out. The nuclear material still in the air, tiny radioactive particles of the world as it was before, caught the light differently and gave sunrises a darker warmer hue. The sky was shot with reds, oranges and pretty pinks. Pink was always her favorite colour. If the bombs had made the world pink, then they couldn’t have been that bad.
By Russel Barrie5 years ago in Fiction
The Void
Eternal life is complete bull. The sort that both melts the cow on its way out and still has energy afterwards to reduce the fabric of society to gurgling mulch. It renders civilisation useless, unpicks the strings puppeteering it and lets it jolt closer to the ground with each loosened knot. All whilst dancing and taunting and smacking you in the face with this is what you wanted.
By Caitlin Britton5 years ago in Fiction
Rewind
So this is the end. Trapped in a mechanical fortress in the middle of downtown New York lying down on the cold, hard, steel floor as blood pours out from the opening in my chest. So much blood, but that’s not the worst of it. I look up at the screen in front of me, the only thing displayed on it is numbers. 00:27, 00:26, 00:25. It’s a countdown to destruction. Once that timer hits zero, everything will end. That machine is set to destroy all life on the planet. A nanoscopic nuke if you will. 00:21, 00:20, 0:19. It was my job to stop them. I was supposed to be the hero. 00:15, 0:14, 0:13. In the end, I couldn’t win. Every story I read, the hero always wins. 0:10, 0:09, 0:08. I guess I’m the exception. 0:05, 0;04, 0:03. I’m a failure. 0:01, 0:00. I’m sorry everyone. There’s the sphere that will engulf everything and end all life. Why do supervillains want to kill everyone? Wouldn’t that include themselves? Everything is going white. I’m dead.
By Jeremiah Ellison5 years ago in Fiction
