Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
The day my world fell silent
In 2020, humanity was struck hard with a pandemic. A very contagious and deadly upper respiratory virus claimed the lives of 3.4 million people worldwide that year. We were not ready for something so devastating and what was worse, we had no idea how to fight this virus. Despite the number of bodies that continued to stack up each day, officials stuck with the promise that things were under control and that life before the virus would resume in time. Vaccines were being rapidly developed and distributed worldwide. As people complied with receiving the vaccines and following health guidelines, it seemed that the fatalities from the virus had stabilized. Simultaneously as the virus ravaged our world, riots between civilians and law enforcement over human rights were constantly erupting through the cities across the nation, taking a violent turn as buildings were set on fire in every city. Business fronts were destroyed, and cars were overturned. More people fighting in the streets resulted in even more deaths. What we were not told is that the bodies that sat in the hospitals, funeral homes and mass graves waiting to be returned to their families for proper goodbyes, began to rise once again. This was held from public knowledge by officials across the world until it was too late. Military units had been ordered to move to the streets to try to contain the uprising of the undead but were unsuccessful. Many brave civilians joined at the front lines to try to fight them off, while others scrambled to make attempts of loading up their cars and evacuating. With millions of people trying to escape and nowhere to escape to, families ended up abandoning their cars and belongings to try their luck on foot. Life as we knew it was for sure over and within a month of the dead beginning to rise, millions of people were torn apart and devoured by the hoards, leading us to damn near extinction. The metropolises that were once booming and full of life and determination, now left to ruins. Windows and doors of every building shattered and looted. Broken down and abandoned cars blocked the streets. Scavengers picked off the flesh of corpses that lay scattered on the roads. Hoards of the undead continue to roam in search of the next unlucky soul to run into them. For those that have survived to this point, day to day is all about scavenging for food and resources and fighting off the undead as they wander about. One valuable thing that us survivors have learned is that the most effective way at killing the undead is a direct head shot. Day to day I find myself constantly reminiscing about life before all this.
By Alexander Silva5 years ago in Fiction
“Wouldn't That Be Nice”
I had a dream I went down Lincoln Road. I went to some kind of huge mansion and laid out tarps. I guess there were several floors. I went outside and sat on the grass. I guess we looked at the buildings across the street and imagined renting them. I eventually walked down the road and went to some kind of restaurant to pick up a order. I might have brought it back then forgot my salmon lock sandwich. I went inside and I thought the guy was joking with me. He reminded me of a past coworker. I saw what looked like some kind of frosty salmon locks but he handed me some kind of huge flat piece of bagel. It had nothing on it. I got upset but walked out anyways. Once outside the employee came running out and gave me another order. I guess it was a normal sized bagel to go with my over sized bagel bottom. I started walking home and they kept trying to cable out a crane cable or something. I eventually walked by a parking lot in Worcester. I guess I bought my green car there and traded it in. I saw several cars double parked with metal litter down the road. I guess the junk yard employee recognized me and came running after me. I saw some kind of car with a veteran plate drive by. I guess the junk yard guy gave me a set of wicked thin silver looking brass knuckles. We went into a building he managed or something and got a tour. I guess I saw a huge five foot by five foot rectangular block of green stone on a thirty or forty degree shelf. The stone was cut on the corner starting with a small missing triangle and lead up to a large missing corner triangle. It was hanging over the edge and engineered so it wouldn't fall. I saw a small tree in a pot next to it. I guess we got shown some kind of fire enclosure area before going outside. They mention some kind of company that had affiliations with a local lake commission. I saw hundreds of square stones with short grass growing up between the cracks. We walked under some kind of construction area and it looked like shit all over the ground. It looked dark under the edge of the building. I realized the material was mud once I stepped onto it. We eventually met a old guy that claimed to be a war hero. I guess someone did research and they said he wasn't the guy he claimed to be but someone else at the battle. They went on to talk about how some kind of psychologist with them was accused of doing experiments on people. They suggested the guy might have actually been the guy he claimed to be but with a brain transplant. We went to some kind of building and walked around. I guess it had the history of presidents. We eventually started to leave and said “too bad Lincoln wasn't still around to solve this veteran affair!” Just then a black security guard we vaguely noticed before said “Wouldn't that be nice.” I guess Morgan spent his life working in the building and barely got the attention he deserved. He handed us a heart shaped locket and I realized his hair looked exactly like george washington's hair. We went up into some kind of high part of the building. They talked about adding one more floor level but they couldn't solve the decorative stone problem. Someone with me pressed some area and it opened to a manhole cover in a street. They started talking about adding a couple floors, then they said they might as well build an entire building.
By Jeremiah Christian Obermeyer5 years ago in Fiction
To be free of one's past
Somersaulting over a small street food stand, Jasper tossed backwards whatever he could touch on the bench as he landed on his feet. His pursuers ducked and sidestepped in a desperate attempt to evade the slew of sloppy sauces and food crates that was raining towards them. It was just another hindrance to add to their already hulking, pearly armor and helmets, but they would not stop.
By A. P. Hephest5 years ago in Fiction
Bane's Talisman
I find myself clutching my mother’s long lost relic. I grasp my heart as tightly as humanly possible and immediately am overcome with happiness. There is no worry here; no pain or suffering. The only judgment is my own. I can smile and laugh and enjoy my mother’s presence. Today is a beautiful day. The birds are singing carols, the air is crisp and clean, and the sun breathes new life on me. Today is a perfect day for a walk in the park to celebrate the joys of life. Our dog, Hutch is with us. He is a remarkably sweet Sheltie worth more than gold. We begin to play fetch. I enjoy throwing the frisbee, but his brown, fraying tennis ball is his favorite. We spend hours, the 3 of us, enjoying every last moment together. Eventually we make our way back home. My favorite meal is on the dining table, ready for me to dig in. How I have missed my mom’s famous lasagna. She would only make it for special occasions. We stayed up late playing games and telling stories, until eventually my heavy eyes gave in and I fell asleep.
By Carver Phippen5 years ago in Fiction
The Perfect, Broken City
The Perfect, Broken City Day 1 Before recently, I have never had an issue keeping my thoughts from the Rebellion. If something has changed, I cannot identify what it is. Perhaps reviewing recent events will help me distinguish the error and revise it before something more sinister takes root.
By Dawnetta Henzman5 years ago in Fiction
Under the Lifeblood Sky
Amélie huddled in the corner of the cold skeleton; walls once bricked and beautiful, now reduced to crumbling faces and soot-like dust. The air was dank; thick with excrement and decay with no outlet to vent itself. It caught, musty and taut in her lungs like splayed filaments of spun cotton, fibrous and expansive. It reeked like the sewers her family frequented, moulding and rancid and so very dreary, but it was home. Something foul was drip-dripping against her forehead from the massive, sagging rafters, but she didn't have the energy to move away. It slid down her cheek, caught in the limp tangles of her tresses, mixed with the fine coating of dust there to dye a wash of raw umber. Amélie longed for the great outside-- up above --the adventures and the dangers and the heaving ocean with its mantle of blue-white seafoam. She yearned to feel the sun switch freely across her face like warm fingers, to have her golden curls laden heavy with morning dew instead of languid with condensation. Of these things she had only tales; sweet stories stitched to the fibre of her heart by rote repetition and the promise of more. The outside was not safe anymore, her mother warned. It had taken her father. It would take her too, if she gave it half a chance. There were monsters there, lurking in the dark, in alleys and entryways, ruins and graveyards and even churches. Hungry, brutish beasts that longed for little more than the opportunity to snatch her away. Mother said she wouldn't give them the chance. Amélie barely cared anymore. They were dying down here, in the lifeless dark. They had to do something.
By Elizabeth Noyes5 years ago in Fiction
Thorn from Bone
Lokey slammed the front door shut and watched the bus drive away, exhaust tumbling out of its pipes like a cantankerous dragon awoken from its slumber. A dragon surely awaited her upstairs once he saw her report card. Senior year did not agree with her.
By Saralyn Caine5 years ago in Fiction
LOVE'S LOCKET
Time slows in the unraveling of a fractured world that finally falls - no longer sustainable. Private corporations develop commercial space travel and other habitable zones are discovered. In a move to protect their interests and save lives, they leave the dying planet to colonize another world, they call Keplar. The exodus begins quietly and builds gradually until the last lottery ticket is drawn and those who could afford the tickets have already gone. Anger and resentment are all that remain.
By Darren Thompson5 years ago in Fiction
