Excerpt
Left Behind
As the fifth drone flew over our house in the past five minutes and left my line of sight, I knew we were in the clear. I gave off a loud whistle to signal Ollie that we were safe and then I carefully slid myself along the attic’s floor to avoid the low-hanging ceiling. I also knew I shouldn’t make any sudden movements that might cause me to come crashing through the roof. The house we were squatting in tonight was made in the late twentieth century due to the pictures hanging on the walls throughout the house as well as the layer of mold and dust that covered the floors and furniture. Ollie despised the people who lived during this time in history because he blames them for how the world ended up. War, famine, and climate change definitely turned our world upside down and he believes the people to blame are the same people who owned houses like the one we are in tonight. I don’t follow that same mindset. Sure these people should have made better judgment calls when they started seeing the early signs of climate change. They should have bought cars that weren’t so demanding in fuel. They should have saved the precious freshwater they had such easy access to instead of drowning their lawns in it. They should have eaten less meat and sprayed fewer chemicals into the world. But, honestly, I don’t blame them as much as Ollie does. They were just clueless. My mother always told me “ignorance is bliss” when she would explain how the earth became how it is today. It took me a while to understand exactly what she meant by that, but I have learned the meaning from firsthand experience now that Ollie and I have lived on our own the past few years.
By Katie McKittrick5 years ago in Fiction
The Weavings of Ordus
Ordus sat down heavily, wearily, on the small hillock sprouting tufts of katto grass, jasmine, and thorny looking brushweed. He dropped his helmet on the ground between his legs and laid his head on his crossed arms resting on his knees. With his eyes closed he focused on the immediate silence, no birds melodiously twitting, no insects incessantly chirking, only the faintest din of low moans in the distance reached his ears, subtly piercing the ringing that throbbed there. He could hear his sweat plopping in fat drops from his brow to land on the wide brim of his kattoir helmet. He could hear the slow, sharp inhale of his ragged breaths. He believed, with his eyes closed tightly, if he held his breath, he would be able to hear the sizzle of spilt blood boiling in the sun.
By Clint Jones5 years ago in Fiction
Birthday Gifts
Nothing burned like sunshine on skin scrubbed raw with lye soap and steel wool. Traders were coming to West this morning. Display was to begin just before the second feed. Dune cringed when Bell’s rough hands turned him around to inspect his face and hair. Before his bath, she had given him a portion of her morning meal as a gift for what was considered the start of his twentieth year. This was not how he wanted to celebrate.
By Casey A Clark5 years ago in Fiction
A Boulevard of Lost Memories
The wind whistled through the skeletons and remains of ancient buildings, an echoing scream of a time long passed. With careful steps I walked across broken stone and hard, packed dirt. Deeper into the once great town I ventured, a mixture of awe and melancholy building within my chest. Even after hundreds of years, the place still held a fragment of its former beauty. The hints of a people who cared not just for each other but for their surroundings, the love that still lingered in the architecture of flowing buildings. A land of peace torn asunder by the rise of evils that had sprouted and grown around them. Something harder than rock underneath my feet interrupted my thoughts, and I carefully reached down with a gauntlet covered hand. I tentatively brushed away the dust and nature's debris, a hint of dirty silver and studded emeralds glinted up at me from the midday sun looming above. With two fingers I gave it a small tug, and I lifted the small artifact closer for inspection. A locket, heart shaped and missing its chain, with a crack running partially across its center face. Any defining features or inscriptions had been worn away ages ago, and the release mechanism was gummed up with dirt. After considering the soiled surface, I took to running my fingers over it to gently shake off the coating. And in the process I found to my dismay that the edges had since long been stamped shut. With a frown I tried to pry it open, fingers gripping uselessly at the sides. Enough weight had been put on it, repeatedly, to seal it away from prying eyes. Perhaps from the feet of fleeing civilians? Or had the thunderous pounding of monstrous limbs trampled it into submission? I bit my bottom lip to prevent a frustrated sigh from emerging, and closed my eyes to focus on the locket in my hand. A deep breath in, a long breath out, letting my awareness seep into my surroundings. Here, surrounded by destruction and death and the decay of a civilization, I was in my element. Feeling the echo of blood on the locket, long since removed visually by nature, the tiny forces of life and death coated across the metal that I reached for, letting my will wash over them. With a mental twist I exerted change, letting my will shape reality itself. I opened my eyes to look at the black sludge that I had formed over the locket. A precise flick and it began to flow, seeping into the infinitesimally small gap between the edges. And a simple command was all that was needed for the sludge to expand, push, strain, and in a heartbeat the locket popped open in an audible snap. Sighing, I released my power. With a snap of my wrist I shook the sludge free and brought the locket closer in one fluid motion, and in dwindling excitement I peered into the surprisingly empty recess. Instead of a photo, there was a piece of cloth wedged into one side. The other was home to an etching featuring a strand of numbers that I did not recognize. A code? A serial identifier? I slowly traced my fingers over the scratchings; I could feel the echoes of feelings. This was something important to whoever made it. A reminder of death? No, the feelings were…joyous. They evoked within me a sense of mornings spent with Sel, of soft murmurs that made my heart race. A memory to be cherished, a moment captured during a time when everything was breaking. The cloth was similar in feel, silken smoothness tinted with anxiety. Worry. Love. A piece of a larger whole, an event, multiple people's emotions merged into one, defying the test of time. A joining ceremony, perhaps? It felt like the kind of ornate material the clothes would be made from, and the feelings were like the stories people told afterwards. With a gentle pinch, I sealed the locket, tucking it into one of the pouches on my hips. The world needs more reminders, after all, I thought with a glance at the ruins around me. "Morana?" Sel's voice broke the silence. "Yes?" "We should move on before it gets dark. I didn't see any dens in the open, and getting ambushed would not be ideal." "It wouldn't be, no," I agreed with a sigh. "We'll let the men know we'll travel this way tomorrow to make sure it's clear." "Yes ma'am." A breath of hesitation. "And Morana?" "Yeah, Sel?" "You were right. It really is beautiful out here."
By Ashley Calderon5 years ago in Fiction
Code: Family
Welcome to Newer Metro, the product of science and the consequence of greed. Once a thriving mega-city that would advocate for change as well as the environment, now reduced to graveyards of mechs and droids assigned to assist humanity. Almost a lifetime ago, Ives’ Corp introduced a new AI form of technology. Arthur Ives’ research was dedicated to the advancement of robotics that would undoubtedly benefit mankind. He built the perfect empire...
By Sunny Higgins5 years ago in Fiction
A Cool London Pad Until Disaster Hit
I hitched an apartment in just my kind of place. If I have to live in centre city. It must be glam. I cannot bear to be stuck in any kind of dump. Partly because I am rather past the bend on the road of living cheap. Partially due also, to being somewhat spoilt in ways of being a lucky one, at spotting a good catch. This might be because I know the city like the back of my hand. I managed to dig out the best at best price-rate too. The one thing I have recognised about city living is, there is always a fly in the ointment. No matter how lucky you think are on catching a bargain.
By Black Dog Productions5 years ago in Fiction
The Diary of [REDACTED]
18th of May 2047 I was almost caught! I sneaked out last night to try and scrounge up whatever food I could find in this God-forsaken town. As I was walking, I became aware that I had eyes on me. I led my admirer around in a useless circle of lefts and rights before finally ditching them and returning here. I will do some recon before I go to leave tonight. Unfortunately, I have no choice but pass by where I went last night.
By John Thomas5 years ago in Fiction
