Adventure
Adrift
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. So, what then, if anything, are these echoes I hear so clearly? The resonance of a voice drifting through the vast emptiness of the cosmos, defying the known laws of our universe? Or are these hopeless screams radiating only inside my mind as I drift further into the void?
By Robert Angus3 years ago in Fiction
Words To Die By
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Jennings grunted sourly, staring at the poster beside the airlock door, and reread the words yet again. The poster was the only thing decorating the bare 20’ X 20’ airlock used to execute prisoners. “The warden was truly a twisted bitch,” he thought. She had even pasted one of those ‘have a nice day’ yellow smiley faces beside the word scream. Jennings waited for death. It was close now. Any moment the airlock door would open, and he would be ejected into space. Three years he had spent on Kranock 9, this death row prison, convicted for the murder of his wife. Thirty-six agonizing months waiting for all his legal appeals to fail, and lead him to this moment. His wife was dead, murdered, and he had been blamed for it. It didn’t matter that he was innocent, that the frame job was perfect, the judge and system corrupt. All that mattered was his joy, his life and his future, had been snuffed out in an instant.
By Brian Cochran3 years ago in Fiction
The Continuing Adventures of Draco Moonbeam
Ava voiced her ideas about a plan to escape. And Draco signaled his approval or disapproval of the various ideas through his silent gestures and facial expressions. Ava continued various ideas until Draco gave enough satisfactory responses that it felt relatively complete and doable.
By John Markham3 years ago in Fiction
Nightmare Train
"Paula, that never happened. Your memory is off. You have such a vivid imagination," I hear my mom say to me, her voice coming out of the fog. I try to keep her opinion of me in mind as I take in my surreal surroundings. I can't decide if they are real or not. A chill runs down my spine as I observe the fog in front of me. There is a loud mechanical rumbling sound coming from behind me. Everything seems to be a blur. Without meaning to, I start walking forward. I know there is a cliff ahead but I fear the mechanical rumbling from behind more than the cliff. I hear gravel crunch beneath my favorite blue pumps, but I don't feel the pumps pinch my feet or the gravel give way to my weight. Come to think of it, I don't feel anything. I keep walking forward. I start to move faster as the rumbling gets louder. Soon I am running, and my pumps miraculously stay on. Then I see that I am falling. I can still hear the rumbling. The wall of rock rushes past me. I see the ground approaching fast. I feel hard wood hit my back and my eyes open. Breathing rapidly, I take in my surroundings. I have a blanket wrapped around me. To my right there is a bed and blue skies that can be seen out of the window next to it. On my left, I can see the steep cliff wall rising high above me. I can tell by looking out the window I'm not currently in my home country of Chile. It's dense with shrubbery you would expect to find in the cloud forest in the Andes of Peru. Physically, something doesn't feel right. I look down and notice that I'm no longer wearing my blue pumps and dress that I had on last time I remember being concious. Instead, I am wearing red silk pajamas with white trim. I place my hands on my buttocks and my stomach churns. Someone has taken off my underwear. I can feel that my bra is gone too. I'm lightheaded as the realization of my situation starts to sink in. I have been kidnapped. I start to think back to the events of yesterday. I was visiting my parents after Fall semester and we were celebrating Fiesta de la Tirana. We had just finished watching a performance of Diablada, the Dance of the Devils. Several of the dancers were walking around still in costume. A few of the male dancers dressed as devils came up to me in an attempt to flirt with me. I waved them off saying I had a boyfriend already, even though that's a lie. One of them though had been extra persistent and insisted it didn't matter if I had a boyfriend. I kept telling him I didn't need another man in my life. He tried to reach out and take my hand, but I pulled it away. Then my dad came up beside me and asked the dancer what was he doing talking to his daughter and yelled at him to get away. Before walking off, I got a good glimpse of the dancer's glaring eyes. His eyes were filled with desire and anger. Could he have been the one that kidnapped me? Or perhaps one of the other dancers? Surely there is more to the story. I know I heard someone speaking to me in a Peruvian accent at some point. I try to remember more of what happened yesterday when the train whistle interrupts my thoughts. I look towards the front of the train. I start to weigh my options. I can stay here, confused and terrified until something happens, or I could start searching for answers. My hands fly to my ears as the whistle blows again. If I start exploring, I could try to look for people or clues. People would have answers, but clues are safer. There is at least one other person on this train if the whistle is being blown. They were dressed as devils, I think to myself. Or did I just imagine the dancers dressed as devils? Perhaps I dreamt I met the dancers after the show was over. They were very handsome afterall. I look out the window and watch as a mixture of trees and flowers flash by. Nothing makes sense anymore. My stomach churns again and my brain feels cold. I guess having a mild brain freeze is just another sign my body is giving me that I'm afraid. If there are devils on this train, then I don't want to meet them. I turn and start heading to the back of the train. As I approach the back of the car I notice there is a door facing the cliff. I start to feel a faint glimmer of hope. If I can open it, I might be free from this living nightmare sooner than I expect. I grab the doorknob and turn. I here the click of a lock. I look more closely at the doorknob and my heart sinks. I see a keyhole on my side of the door. Since I'm now calm enough to be able to consider my potential means of escape, I go to one of the windows. I run my fingers along the top trim. There is no latch. I try the bottom. As I run my fingers along the bottom trim, I notice the scenery in front of me is leaving my view at an increasing rate. What was once easy to look at now looks a little blurry unless I allow my eyes to follow it for a brief moment. I still can't find a latch. I think now will be a good time to try the adjoining car if I can get in. I turn the doorknob and it opens with ease. I look in the hallway and I realize I never thought I would miss train cars that had nothing but a small railing and open space between them. I walk through the hallway and find myself in a dining car. All the tables are neatly arranged with shiny silverware, ivory napkins, and wine glasses that shake ever so slightly with the motion of the train. I observe each table carefully as I go, checking the bottom as well as the top. On the center table there is a large bottle of Rose Champagne in a bucket of ice. Next to it is a bouquet of two dozen red roses in a red heart shaped vase and a small card decorated by pink striping and "Paula" in the center. I open the card and it says "From X". I drop the card and move further down the car. As I walk I have a flashback. On the day before yesterday, I had a long conversation at a cafe with a young man who was going to dance in the Kayahualla. To participate, he was going to wear an outfit that had a large bib marked by an "X". He said he chose to dance in the Kayahualla because he believed the "X" symbolized his name. When I asked the man what his name is, he had said Alexander. But Alexander was from a poor farming family. Or so he said. Or did he say? My mom has always insisted I was prone to exaggeration and mixing up facts. Once we were arguing over what happened to a hat we shared. I told her I had last seen her wear it Sunday. She then insisted I was wrong and instead I was the one to wear it Sunday. Needless to say, we haven't found the hat since and wish we had. That would be a happier memory with my mother. Now filling myself with doubt, I turn around and head back to the table. I pick up the card and examine it more closely. The edges are perfectly crisp. The handwriting has a loose and flowing look to it, with the "X" having a slightly exaggerated swooping tail. Then I detect a faint smell. I bring the card closer to my face and breath in a deep whiff. It's smells heavenly. It's a type of cologne. It's probably a very expensive cologne, given that I hate most basic colognes. A voice comes to mind. Not a face, just a voice. It's the Peruvian accent again. I smell the card once more. Yes, I do believe at some point I heard someone with a Peruvian accent speaking and I smelled this cologne. I find it puzzling a Peruvian would be at the Fiesta de la Tirana to kidnap someone like me and then place me on a train seemly going nowhere in particular in the middle of the Andes Mountains. It seems like such an odd way of going about kidnapping someone.
By R.L.K. Crouse3 years ago in Fiction
Bad Vibrations
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Unfortunately, the same could not be said within the pressurized compartments of a mid-size mining ship such as the Darkling Quasar, affectionately known as DQ by most of its crew of forty-two.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Fiction
Breathless Planet
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But at that moment, Zaiya was screaming into her pillow. Knowing her roommate Leanne would cajole her if she heard, Zaiya stopped. Lifting her tear-streamed face up from the pillow, she gasped recycled air for a brief moment. Out the tiny round window, space loomed. The space station had been orbiting Mars for two years now, with multiple trips to its barren land. Zaiya had spent her entire life training to be on this journey, giving up all semblance of “normal” life back on Earth. She had breezed through high school, earning scholarships and attending MIT at the age of 18, graduating at 22. She had done an internship with NASA for six grueling months, landing a job here on the SpaceX Station 10. It was 2042, and life in space was becoming a common occurrence for anyone with a science major.
By Cristina Petersen3 years ago in Fiction
Can't Stop the Train
Amelia took a deep breath and slowly stretched her neck from side to side. Click click click Clack. Click click click Clack. The lulling rhythm and slight swaying motion relaxed her. Wait, where am I? She thought to herself. The uncertainty of the situation forced her to open her eyes. Like coming out of a trance, she rapidly blinked her eyes to focus.
By Dianna Medearis3 years ago in Fiction
Drifter
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. They, the progenitors of our journey into the stars, and the harbingers of our near annihilation. They were brazen fools who knew nothing of the cosmos. I will ensure their mistakes never happened. I will stop them from destroying themselves.
By Addison Horner3 years ago in Fiction
