Latest Stories
Most recently published stories 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
The Timeless Hero
The Timeless Hero Since I was a small child I felt like people needed me. I didn't know who and I didn't know where, but I knew people were in danger and only I could help them. I never knew my family. For most of my childhood I traveled around the country trying to help where I could. As time went on I acquired many useful skills and talents. It was a simpler time then, a time when you could hop on the railroad and find work in the next city. I have seen a lot of different times and whens since then. I always thought I was destined for greatness, but little did I know how much things would change for me when I turned 21. At the time I was living in Alaska and had been living with a self described monk in the mountains. He had been teaching me survival skills and martial arts. He taught me how to live off the land, and during a routine winter outing alone in the heartland, I heard the first of the screams. Suddenly it seemed as if I was surrounded by people in the most terrible of agony. I covered my ears but to no avail, still the screaming persisted. Where are they? How do I help them? I ran towards what I thought was the source, a small cave up the mountain. As I grew near, it felt like the screams were physical, as if I was running into the very soundwaves that the voices travelled through. I began to feel a pulsing in my chest. I could no longer block out the screams, and I reached up to find blood leaking from my ears. Regardless, I pressed on, only wanting to help end these people’s suffering. As I neared the cave, I started to see a golden light radiate outwards, and it felt like it was encapsulating me. My eyes fixed upon the most beautiful Locket. A heart of pure gold with Lapis Lazuli engravings. In Latin it read “Invictus” across the front. Overwhelmed by the lights and sounds around me, I fall to the ground in front of me. I reach for the Locket to feel some comfort and lose myself in the screaming.
By Jacob Hodge5 years ago in Fiction
Wulfric's Progeny
Ruth moved slowly down the side of the road dodging rusted out cars on flat tires, using the ample shade and plant life that had been slowly overtaking the city street as concealment whenever possible. As quiet as she was, she could hear her shadow close behind her. The kid was almost as quiet as her, she thought proudly. She’d picked up her survival skills much faster than Ruth had thought possible. They had been out for two days scouting for supplies and marking their locations on a map for larger crews to scoop up later. She had let the kid direct their efforts for most of the time, sort of a hands-on exercise to test her skillset so far.
By Mylon Gladden 5 years ago in Fiction
The Heart In My Hand
Monday night, and I got my agenda. In the mail, hand delivered, like every week. My brief enclosed - faces, disputes, relevant spots on the public consciousness. Not-quite-Monday-evening-television-news level information; security level 4 or 5, I can never be sure. Somewhere just above where the average citizen sits, brewing up unsettled thoughts about this or that word in the newspaper, where I may sweep in and smooth over those cerebral wrinkles with a calm hand on the shoulder and a laugh. A familiar routine, and one that I had maintained this Monday evening up to the swift whisper of the package in the door. Sitting in the near darkness, face in full blue illumination of the Monday evening news, bi-weekly standard-issued glass of wine tight in my hand, a perfect stony calm, then the footsteps of the courier and the rattle, swish and heavy smack of the dense envelope. My exterior barren of reaction, I finish my wine - a bitter, weak white, ice cold in my hand - and retrieve the package from the doormat to review this week's agenda. Then - as the last vestiges of a grey day in the city fade from the window - I get to work.
By Finn Kelly5 years ago in Fiction
Poppy, hand me that locket, dear!
Act One Tim drummed on his desk with the fingertips of his left hand while he waited for the webpage to load. His other hand contained a silver heart-shaped locket, the protective coat had begun to wear and the metal underneath was tarnished. After gently scrubbing the surface using baking soda and an old toothbrush, Tim had switched on his desktop to investigate its origin.
By Shazia Copley5 years ago in Fiction
Excavation of an Eight-Pocket
By the time Petunia Gomight reached the age of forty-four, she’d survived seven different wars on three different planets; Aur, Mordere, and Earth. Aur’s troubles began when solar flares from the red dwarf named Ictus burned away the surface of her home, leaving nothing but the connected subterranean complex that stretched from one part of Aur to the next. It wasn’t all so bad until the planet Mordere introduced a destabilizing agent that would further destroy Aur’s ability to grow food. Hunger spread in the places solar flares couldn’t reach, and when Aur was at her weakest, Mordere moved in and claimed the scorched planet as their own for the sole reason it would give them another seat in the Celestial Legislature. Petunia was barely an adult, but she fought alongside her scattered family, her brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and more. Petunia, always the pragmatic one, drove herself deeper into Aur’s crust until she resurrected herself with an army only spoken of through myth.
By M. J. Luke5 years ago in Fiction
Flight 217
It was dark. We hadn’t seen the sun in days. Even when it was it’s turn to relieve the moon and take over the skies, it was hidden by smog and all of the remnants of war. Unable to distinguish noon from the beginnings of night, we were always surrounded by skies that more so resembled a darkened sunset than daytime.
By Tiera Williams5 years ago in Fiction
Midnight discovery
It was a little past nine in the evening. The night air carried a sting of cold in the dehydrated atmosphere. The usual mix of smog and dust defined the atmosphere. T-14 thought that surely all this night was lacking was a generous spray of moisture and his scene would disappear under a tiny white blanket.
By Scott Trudeau5 years ago in Fiction
NEW BEGINNING
The room was dim, dank, and had a smokey, musty smell to it. Modern conveniences were long in the past. Occasional conversation was low and sporadic. Everyone was mostly too paranoid to talk much, or loud.No one knew who they could, or could not trust. It had been this way since the darkness came long ago. Tierra Reed had grown used to the smells of Culverton. She had been born and raised here. She was the daughter of a program writer for the ancient Department of Justice, or DOJ, as it had been known back then. He was dead now, or so everyone suspected. It had been him who had written the program that was supposed to defeat all enemies both, 'foreign and domestic'. Ultimately, when uploaded into the world wide web, everything had stopped. Within seconds the entire electronic systems the world had come to take for granted were gone.
By Larry E. Huddleston5 years ago in Fiction
Oil & Water
1 Falling – like the bass drops in a good slow-banger, or a spirit broken – falling like tension in a dim club when the rhythm picks up – the sensation was unmistakably like falling. A few of us were dancing, thick kids and punks with dreadlocks, long fingers lit up at their tips with neon extensions. Looking alien wasn’t hardly a thing in downtown that year, like the sky was black and red, peaking in by the warehouse slats up above us. Just another night in a dive, I remember thinking, not the wild scene, but these dancers’d fit that role. I sat apart, slouched a bit, hiding behind my hair.
By River Alison5 years ago in Fiction
Heart Shaped Lockets
Summation of the facts and circumstances regarding a Disturbing Intentional Event (DIE) committed within the States and Independent Expeditionary (SANE) sovereign zone in Special Ration Sector (SPECRAT 3) three. An unconscious male was found just outside SPECRAT 3 and was detained as per armistice terms. Subsequent interview by the Ministry of Truth and Confession has confirmed our suspicion of the complete breakdown of what can charitably be considered society in the SANE, and in particular the SPECRAT areas adjacent to our mutual border.
By Michael Capriola5 years ago in Fiction
