Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Fiction.

The Locket
All they had to do was pay it down. All those trillions in government spending, all the other trillions in sovereign debt worldwide. All they had to do was honor those interest payments, and turn the debt into loans, and let their repayment reduce the debt. Quite soon, the loans would be in the trillions, with monthly repayment in the billions, washing the debt away like a snowbank under spring rains. But no, the fools defaulted, and nobody would buy their bonds. Cash wiped out, when everybody ran to the banks. Retirement accounts too, No Social Security, and everybody hit the stores… Picked clean.. Then they hijacked the trucks, and the cities starved. Cops took off their bluesuits, to blend in. Hijackers found out they could cause a traffic jam, locking thousands in their cars, just waiting for a lucrative visit from the pedestrian gangs. Resistance draws fire from all. Nobody moving. The gang took the keys from those in front, so all are stuck, staked out in the sun to be picked clean. I put the locket under my shirt, hide most of my goods under the seat, and wait. They get here shortly. Guy in a truck resists.. Dead now. There’s a dozen in view. AKs. ARs, some pistols. They come to me, talk through my open window. I hand over my wallet, few bucks gone. They throw it back. Gal up the line won’t roll down her window. They blow it, and her.. Pull her out. Kid starts screaming.. They just walk away, going through her purse, throw it down. Shots fired from further back. Organized resistance coming. The gang melts away into the surrounding neighborhoods, leaving all the folks to abandon their cars in an impromptu parking lot, or not. They have time. They be back. Plenty will still be there to pick over later.
By Phil W Gray5 years ago in Fiction
A Father's Love
Blake sat safely in the living room of his inner house, or, at least what was his living room at one time, listening to the scraping sounds coming over the speakers from the outside monitors. He was crying, holding the silver heart-shaped locket his wife Devin had given him after Ashley was born, back before the “Cure” destroyed everything. He held it for a moment then opened it to look at the pictures he had crammed into it, then took it out to look at the strands of hair laced through it.
By George Jordan5 years ago in Fiction
The Happiest City on Earth!
The blinker on my wristband flashes red again signalling that I’m due for my monthly cleansing. Outside a car horn sounds, startling me from my thoughts. My daughter has come to pick me up to take me to the cleansing centre.
By joshua deacon5 years ago in Fiction
Emotional Slave
The year is 2050 and we are in the middle of another global pandemic. It is the sixth global pandemic since 2020. They are now a normal part of life. It’s not some future Dystopian society, it’s now. I watch robots delivering the news on a device that used to be called a phone, I still can’t believe this is happening. How did this happen? I am in shock. I will never have the answers.
By Jackie Nugara5 years ago in Fiction
New Vacilia Part II
Peter, Sam, and Rodger stood looking out of the windows for several minutes before Peter broke the silence. “We did it.” “Now what? Are we supposed to go back to living our old lives?” Rodger asked.
By Andy Ahart5 years ago in Fiction
New World Blues
“Damn dust.” Das slid his goggles back over his squinted eyes, wiped off the orange caked over the lenses with the back of his worn gloves, and slung his pack over his shoulder.
By Alex Dulson5 years ago in Fiction
Number 203
Keep your head down and don't make a sound. There are eyes and ears everywhere. Eyes from the indestructible security cameras swiveling upon whitewashed walls, ears from the tiny microphones embedded in every slave collar clasped around our bare throats. There is no such thing as privacy anymore, not since the incident of 2095—Callagan's Rebellion, led by Reese Callagan, an immoral anarchist who set the White House aflame, opened fire in the Senate, and threw the whole country into chaos.
By Netti5 years ago in Fiction
The Beginning of the End
Sixteen years. It has been sixteen years since I last saw my father, and even now, the burning image of his death continues to linger in the back of my mind. I twist the heart-shaped locket between my ragged bitten nails. Was it my fault? Had I prayed to God any harder, maybe someone would have heard my desperate plea for his life. That was the biggest lie I've ever told myself. No one was listening to us or watching over us as we struggled to survive. As for my mother, well, I have no idea where she is. Last I had heard of her; were only rumors of a raven-haired woman appearing with a locket similar to mine asking for some shelter somewhere near Boston, Massachusetts. Unfortunately, I've always been one or two steps behind her. All I know is that she's been busy.
By Jamie5 years ago in Fiction
The Mercury Experiment
A light flickered over a pale room. Damp. Cold. In the centre of the room a lone hospital bed sat under uncertain shadows.
By Lilia Peters5 years ago in Fiction
Dear Diary
"Dear Diary, It's been 282 days since the fallout. Jonny left yesterday morning to find food but he hasn't gotten back yet. I really hope he's okay. The raiders have been coming onto our side more and more. We're going to have to leave the city soon and try to build a farm or something. It's getting nearly impossible to find food. Teddy and Serena were found yesterday down by the bridge. Both of their throats had been slit. They were completely stripped! They even took Serena's heart-shaped locket! What the fuck did they need a locket for? Fucking idiots! There's got to be light at the end of the tunnel. Things are so bad here.
By Broderick McClendon5 years ago in Fiction
Endings and Beginnings
We now live in a world of fear, violence, death, looting, and ever-changing unwritten rules. Those of us clinging to our humanity are routinely hunted by the lackeys of the halfwits who looted the banks as the world economy collapsed. Their followers have not the sense to realise money holds neither value, nor power.
By Jarreck 5 years ago in Fiction
Freeing A God
A brown hand was pushed against the yellow stone, dirty nails and torn skin against the pitted rock. This young boy was leaning against the stone; sandals tied together around his neck, a torn tunic sitting oddly on his frame and a veil of sweat over his skin. The hand belonged to him, as did the pained breathing that echoed throughout the alleyway. Ragged breaths were being drawn up through his throat, tugging his stomach into a hollow below his ribcage.
By Rayne Goblinkore5 years ago in Fiction