Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Finding Hope
I used to love the smell of the air after it rained. Though the smell was hard to describe, it reminded me of lying in the middle of a meadow; every smell its strongest, every animal its loudest, and the sun shining its brightest. It tickled my mother at times that I would describe a smell as beautiful but there was no other word for it. It saddened me to witness that all that beauty, everything that once was, was now gone.
By Le’Asia Harrison 5 years ago in Fiction
The Peridot Glow
The doorway to the dining room is etched with scratch marks from where we servants bump the swinging door with our silver plated trays, incoming with filled dishes and outgoing with empty plates and cups crusted with the residue of gluttony. I take a deep breath before I enter. The air is filled with fat, old man burps, burnt mushrooms, and the sour lust of war.
By Nicole Kramer5 years ago in Fiction
Into the Wastelands
Start writing..... Zander It’s so hard to breathe. I’ve felt pain before but nothing like this. It’s like someone has stuck a white hot iron rod down my throat. I haven’t had food in three days and I just finished the last bit of my water yesterday, it was windy and one of the hottest days yet. I try focusing on sitting up but I’m so disoriented it takes me forever just to get my hands under my shoulders to push myself up off the red dirt. As my head stops spinning I notice I’m inside of a culvert.
By Hailey Bayliss5 years ago in Fiction
The Burning Fields
They don’t tell us who it is we’re burning. They just bring the bodies by the truckload and dump them here for us. My fieldmate — Pox, he likes to be called — thinks of them like photographs; snapshots of who they were before they expired. We make up stories for them sometimes, dreaming up what kinds of people they were and what they had accomplished.
By Sean M Tirman5 years ago in Fiction
The Recruitment
“Open their minds,” Walters repeated to himself. Assigned with one task: a re-birthing, his words were to inspire action — a renewed idealism that would resonate within each and every person. He felt the enormous responsibility of the task at hand, wholly believing it was in the conscience of government duty to build up individual and social power. And he had inexhaustible reserves to do so. After all, a government must not lose sight of the economic interest at hand.
By Tristan Mayhew5 years ago in Fiction
Love and Doom
She wore a heart-shaped locket around her neck. She's had it since she was young. It's an antique-looking, somewhat ornate piece. Simple yet elegant. It hangs from a silver chain she polishes regularly. She never goes anywhere without it. This trip is no exception.
By John Lennon Boggs5 years ago in Fiction
The Ash Precipice
Joseph Rastan woke up startled and jolted, sitting up frightened and alert despite his lack of sleep. He instinctively checked his bedside for a firearm but there was none, a habit from years spent as a expendable soldier traded around fighting the battles that power structures did not want to be seen fighting. The room was dark and in his startled state he finally noticed he had fallen asleep beside his 6 year old daughter. His daughter could not sleep by herself since the events of 9 days ago. Just as Joseph gathered himself the room shook once again reminding him of the situation that had now blacked out the world. Looking through his daughter's window only a faint orange light could be seen through a haze of never ending smoke that would've been a sunny day only weeks ago. Joseph checked his watch, it was stuck at 11 am and time seemed to matter less with no sun, and no electricity. As he peered through the window a ruckus could be heard outside an uncommon noise since the city he lived in was now a ghost town. Joseph’s neighbor was arguing with his wife as they packed up a cart, the wife was angry about something and the husband was loading up the shopping cart with items holding a flashlight in his mouth acting like his wife wasn't even there. Minutes later the fight subsided as they left down the street kicking trash and maneuvering around dead vehicles that would never start again. Joseph peered out taking in the scenery from his 2nd story window, smirking, taking in the moment remembering back 2 years prior buying this big house being sold on its mountain and city views. These scenic views that today are now limited to a couple hundred feet obscured by thick smoke and raining ash.
By paul wilderman5 years ago in Fiction
R.A.M.
Desmond Adley was a decrepit gentleman of eighty-seven with a mind as unyielding as iron. He sat in his wicker chair in the corner of the ‘Daily Grind Cafe and Espresso Bar’ speaking in his unexpectedly loud and authoritative voice to any soul unfortunate enough to make eye contact. Surrounding Mr. Adley, the air filled with the heart-thawing smell of coffee and pastry, as if the very walls of the building were filter paper, diffusing the aroma for the entire block to enjoy. Behind the counter the baristas busied themselves, clanking and steaming, adding to the morning’s music. Meekly, the waitress approached the senior Adley with a sense of foreboding dread that appears only before a knowingly long and difficult customer interaction. The mousey girl straightened her glasses and pasted on her best toothpaste-commercial smile, feeling the muscles start to ache in weak protest. ‘So clean you can feel it!’ her mind poked through her a numb haze.
By Bianca Pole5 years ago in Fiction
Mama Blue
Trouble don't last always. Of my grandmother's adages I've kept that ground me in times of change, this one just hits different. It's almost radical. The reality is, that while I may be OK on this path, someone out there ain't doing quite as hot. Too soon? Apologies. I've been told my choice of words are like the sword, but, after all, is that not what He came to send? By the looks of it, God is a man of his word. Not that he has gender, though this is certainly some masculine destruction right here. Waves hotter than any of my kid summers in South Georgia. And who do we have to thank? That's right. Man. Men. War has not yet touched my family and yet it's a pervasive constant in our personal struggles for today's gold. Water. I am in the sixth generation of the Comfrey family, a name chosen - not given. Mama Blue named us and shared a seemingly insignificant small totem from child to child. Now, we all knew there would come a day where water wars would devastate this community. It is the lifeline, and our totem the Key to the Kingdom, quite literally.
By Janelle Wright5 years ago in Fiction
