Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
A metal heart, much like my own
"It's not right, y'know!" The synth's head slowly moves up, looking away from the countertop he was stationed behind and in the process of wiping down for the fifteenth time since the marketplace had opened that morning. Standing on the other side was a man- A human, specifically, and not a particularly healthy one either from what he could gather- assuming his scanning equipment wasn't acting up again.
By Maxwell kattermann5 years ago in Fiction
The Secret Apocalypse
Veda stood in front of the pond, tears streaming down her face. She felt broken. She didn’t know that she had any strength left within her to continue. The last year of her life had been so intense, so emotionally difficult, and Veda was tired of being strong.
By A.M. Harte5 years ago in Fiction
The World As You Once Saw It
Sunday, June 4th, 2122. I’ve been writing for months, so I suppose I should mention how we got here. It gets colder, and darker, the deeper you delve into the earth. And then as time went on it got warmer. Hotter. Almost to the point that it would be uncomfortable. And then it did become uncomfortable. On the way down we build tracks for old mining carts, vertical and once smooth. The tracks are old now, and begging to be replaced or at the very least repaired, so that the nerve-wracking climbs and descents might become less so. When first built they would rattle and creak already, but now there’s clacking, and screeching, and non-rhythmic jolts and jerks that make you wonder if the tracks are finally going to crumble to pieces, unseating the carts as a result, and plummeting the passengers into the darkness below.
By Matt Coryell5 years ago in Fiction
Queen of Hearts. Top Story - June 2021.
There was no one left in the city after the blasts. Or so he thought as he continued to scavenge for any remaining food in the area. Where once stood "the greatest city in the world" was now an empty wasteland of what used to be. Buildings that once blocked the sky had become piles at his feet. He only knew survival. He only knew war. He once had peace but he lost that.
By Shannon van Alst5 years ago in Fiction
Living?
We are being watched. Privacy is a laughable thought because we are always watched. If you want to be a part of modern civilization, you will accept this fact. With the use of cameras, GPS and microphones in smart watches, phones and smart glasses\H.U.D’s, there is never a time that you are not being listened to or when your location is unknown. The truly maddening part is that we not only allowed this to happen, we made it happen. People were worried about being tracked with microchips implanted under their skin but then chose to carry them in their devices without a second thought.
By L. A. McCullough5 years ago in Fiction
Love is Long and Deathly
The kid crested the hillside at night with the fires of the city flickering over his shoulder and the screams of people fading in the distance. He sifted through the darkness with his hands outstretched. It was a void he could not be birthed from. Branches grazed his face and neck and entangled his tattered clothes. He became so lost and without hope that there were times he would sit on his knees and place his head in his hands. Often tears came. He felt above his eye and found something sticky between his fingers. He brought it to his lips and tasted his blood. He wiped his sleeve across the cut and moved about in the darkness.
By Kincaid Jenkins5 years ago in Fiction
Triumph Over Earth's Tragedy
If you want to know the truth, listen to a person's thoughts. That's exactly what an extraterrestrial is doing, early morning over a neighborhood. A vibrating hood containing his selected study. A study he's been on since 1990. He's been present since the beginning stage of this study's of 30 years. Though a one-sided relationship, the extraterrestrial feels a tight-knit-bond with his extraordinary host. He hovers hologramed in his silvery smooth oval spaceship. Sitting comfy in his invisible single-pilot cockpit, he propels a bit closer to listen intently. His eyes focus in on her like laser beams as she stands at the open back door of her kitchen. He opens his listening portal attempting to interpret and understand the human's thought pattern. He is endlessly entertained by the life of this left-handed, African-American female human being. Fascinated by her being born and raised in Baltimore City's ghetto regions and surviving triumphantly. She survived and knows she blessed to be alive. With an always high crime rate, Baltimore is a city in which you dodge troubled bullets daily. An abundance of Bullet Bills flying like a hard-level board of Mario Brothers. So much hunger. Too much poverty. Walking down the street becomes a gamble. For her it became too much to handle. So she found a mental beach and imaginary sandals. Embracing hope through comforting thoughts, she found a way to break free each day. And every morning the extraterrestrial loved listening to the cute things she'd say. Constantly speaking to herself. Sometimes in a third person way. He begins his journal log of study day 11,120.
By Ebony Burns5 years ago in Fiction
The Last Song
“Are you really the one?” the guard asked. His voice was grittier than Melonie expected. Sounding full of dirt and dust. She contemplated not acknowledging him but saw no immediate victory in defiance. “Yes,” Melonie muttered softly, “It’s me.” The guard took a moment to look her over, not sure if he was more disgusted at her willingness to admit her crime or saddened that she had seemingly lost all hope. The Reset had taken everything. All electricity had been gone for years, but the humble roar of torch flames or candles was more evident that night. They seem to blend well with the musty basement Melonie was being held in.
By Sherman B. Mason5 years ago in Fiction
This Mind of Theirs
I tossed and turned uncomfortably inside my head, waiting for the day when my mind would no longer be my own. It would still contain my memories and the little knowledge I know of the world, but it would be forced below the surface by memories that don't belong to me. I always wondered if being a conduit for our ancestors' memories affected my father at all? Questions like that kept me awake on countless occasions because I knew one day, I'd have the answers. Inevitably, my father would perish, and he will leave behind his entire legacy and the legacy of those who came before. His mind and everything that fills it will transfer to the next in line, me.
By CreepyAuthor5 years ago in Fiction
Sol Survivor
In the year 2051, Texico’s immigration crisis was eliminated. There were no more immigrants trying to get in. There were no more racists trying to keep them out. This was accomplished by a satellite which turned the sun into a death-beam. The death-beam got rid of all the rotten eggs.
By Victor Javier Ortiz5 years ago in Fiction
