Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
When the lights go out
Dear Diary, 08/24/2103 Sometimes, but not very often, I miss how things used to be. Before everything went to hell and got messed up. I miss being able to drive everywhere I wanted to and fly everywhere a car couldn’t reach. I miss listening to electric lofi music with my Airpods. I remember how stoked I was when earbud headphones went wireless. That was one of my biggest issues back then. Getting my headphone cords snagged throughout the day. I miss my phone too. Being able to learn anything at the speed of light. Calling or texting anyone anywhere across the world. Nowadays, I can’t even begin to imagine where some of my friends and families are. I know where they were when everything went down, but now I have no clue. I miss my parents a lot and I have tried to write letters to them, but I never seem to get any back. Maybe the Postal Service hasn’t figured out how to fully revert yet. Not very many things have been able to revert back to the old ways quite yet. Actually, I think reverting is a relatively new thing that is still kind of catching on. Like slang and Silly Bands. Or One Direction. God, I even miss One Direction. I just want music back... Anyways, not many people have been able to figure out a way to use old, pre-modern techniques to replace the huge loss of modern-day technology.
By Angelina All Over5 years ago in Fiction
Story of the Sovereign
Maggie Goodsong reached a hand off the side of her bed as the sound of Blue Whispers echoed through her room. The sound originated from two blue birds singing on her window sill, chests puffed out as they performed a well-practiced routine which, upon finishing, received praise from Maggie who had just finished putting her outfit together. As Maggie approached the window sill, both birds took flight, hovering a meter from the window expectantly.
By Brett Hart5 years ago in Fiction
The Cost of Hope
Day -01: Preparation Grubosh cubes weren’t the best tasting food and I suppose that’s the idea, but at least we had plenty of them. The pale white cubes with tiny Gs on all 6 sides were easy to store, which is why I obtained so many. I stuffed the last of the water purification trodes into the second duffle bag as I heard a noise in the front room. I grabbed the bags and quickly threw them into the closet.
By Steven Allen5 years ago in Fiction
Stick with Me
Finally, after ten long hours of boredom, Mitch’s shift came to an end. As Mitchell locked the bookshop for the evening and said goodbye to the part time worker who had closed with him, he realized how truly exhausted he was. His body ached, his mind felt frayed like worn rope, and the magic that thrummed under his skin prickled incessantly for release.
By Margot Lambal5 years ago in Fiction
My treasure
She puts the novel down on the table and looks at the clock. Soon, he'll stand at the door, smelling of Dior, smile, say hi, kiss her lightly on the chin and go into her apartment. Then, he'll sit down, ask if they should order something or find somewhere to eat. He'll expect that she'll know what she wants and that she'll ring for something or be ready to leave the apartment soon after. He's not the type who likes to wait. She takes a scruffy note up from the trash can and twists it between her fingers. She's in doubt about whether she should show it to him or not. More of them have arrived in the last few days, but she hasn't saved them. She can remember what was written on most of them. There was no reason to make him worried. She isn't even worried herself. Maybe she should try to show him the last one. She hurries to the bathroom.
By Mette Honoré5 years ago in Fiction
Gray Skies
After the bombs went off, our lives got turned upside down, and things we had known all of our lives suddenly became uncertainties. I was barely eight years old when the bombs went off, and now I’m nearly double that. They weren’t nukes, or so the Government told us — not that you should trust those liars to start with. It’s easier to say what they weren’t, rather than what they were, because truthfully, we’re still not entirely sure what they were. I mean, they were your typical dummy bombs that massive planes dropped from high in the gray sky — isn’t it strange how I remember the weather conditions that fateful day? At first, nothing really happened, except some buildings being destroyed from the impacts, but nothing major, like explosions or anything like that. We woke up the next morning, and everything was still mostly the same. Of course, the Government was in a sheer panic, but that was also typical of any Friday morning, truthfully. A week or two went by, three, four, and still nothing really looked out of place.
By Alton Modlin5 years ago in Fiction
How I Killed the Bugger
I relaxed in my bed after a hard night of cleaning about half my room. I am now convinced The Dreaded Centipede is indeed gone, having spent the better part of 3 hours stomping around and moving things to ensure this. So I now snuggle into my new made bed, feeling itches and tingles every other minute, instead of every minute. I relax and feel the built up tension ease away.
By Rose Armitage5 years ago in Fiction
turn the music up
Like he had many times before Burton had his music loud and his eyes closed, pretending the world around him didn't exist. His desk, his laptop was all there was. Of course he was almost right, there wasn't that much left outside the window. He could see buildings, smell smoke and even a few sirens from the remaining law enforcement that hadn't simply given up or died.
By ASHLEY SMITH5 years ago in Fiction
Open Heart and Empty Heads
You know what I hate about living in a post-apocalyptic world? Most people would say it’s the zombies, but personally, I don’t see what the big deal is. First, zombies are really slow and they’re always moaning, so it’s not like they can sneak up on you. Second, one bullet in the head and they’re down. As long as you don’t panic and do something stupid like tripping when you’re running away, zombies aren’t so bad. They’re definitely not as bad as those motorcycle gangs in bondage outfits that are always looking for “juice” for their vehicles. If the dopes didn’t spend so much time driving around, they wouldn’t need so much “juice”. But again, they mostly have little crossbows, so as long as you’re armed, not much of a problem. Actually, last time I saw some of them I said they could find “juice” in an area that I knew had zombies. I figure, two birds with one stone.
By Antonella Di Minni5 years ago in Fiction
