Fantasy
Trinkets of Salvation
The sound of feet hitting the pavement was made more evident by the recent rinse of rain, which left a calm that could be seen in the droplets sprinkled over the concrete. He welcomed the change in weather, yet, it did beg the question if this unironic instance of nature mocking life was directed solely at him. Their purity was unequivocally the last occurrence of such a sentiment left; untouched by the tension that usually overwhelmed the heavy air.
By Colin White5 years ago in Fiction
Nothing After the Tornado
“A tornado watch is being issued in multiple counties across the United States starting now through the rest of the night. Northern Maine is expected to receive the brunt of the storm.” Megan’s jaw was dropped as she watched the blonde news anchor warn Mainers about the sudden and unexpected storm. Her younger brother, Anthony, sat next to her, annoyingly playing Minecraft on his iPhone.
By Kaylee Meyer5 years ago in Fiction
The Final Storm
The rain fell on the concrete like drips of black oil, thick and heavy. It coated everything in a dark shiny sheen, as if the world had been dropped in a tank of toxic waste. I don't know if it could even be called rain anymore. The stench of it was revolting and I could no longer remember the rain the way that it was before. Matter of fact I couldn't remember much at all how our world was before the sky turned black. I couldn't even remember who I was or who I had been. What I did know was how to survive and my instincts were telling me I couldn't stay out here on the streets much longer. The rain brought with it the Wrens and the rest of the monsters that we lived with now. The few of us that survived, have spent half a year in hiding, or fighting for our lives. There are pockets of humans left, at least that's what I hear. When you run into travelers, there is no way to know if the information we share is real or we are all just trying to make sense of this disaster, hopeful for some sort of a future. During the first days, we all thought the storm would go away. We hid, we found others, and we sheltered in place together. Until the food ran out, and our supplies got low, and people started killing each other before the Wrens even got to them. We all turned into our own monsters just to survive and it didn't take as long as you’d think. It wasn't just the streets that were unsafe then, our bunkers and hideouts were covered in blood as well.
By Sera Henry5 years ago in Fiction
Remnants
The curse was set upon us when there was nothing I could do. An infant emerging in new flesh, lifted into its glaze. I remember the time when they first told me of it, a surge of disillusionment in the folktale of a radiating, crystallized infant. One who would become the catalyst of pestilence, drought and famine, setting the world ablaze in a mass of sandstorms. The world desperately began to search of magics to break the curse, when all else had failed.
By Duane Sykes5 years ago in Fiction
Surface Area
Afternoon, July 14, 2022 Plink plinkity plink. Bits of gravel and dust fall onto my head, roll down my neck and shoulders and drop some 100 feet below me. My entire body is dripping with sweat, my bare shoulders and neck collect the dust into a grit-filled mud. Dust and grit and mud, things I hate with a loathing usually reserved for murderers and thieves. Little did I know that this would be a trivial problem compared to my new reality. I was about to discover a stark reality of barrenness and emptiness on the “surface” of what is now the earth and would soon exist below my “surface." I would soon realize, deep inside my core, at a depth I have never examined, that I was truly alone.
By Karlo Asko 5 years ago in Fiction
Dear Diary
October 14, 77 P.C. Dear Diary- This morning, like many others, I took the mountain path before sunrise. Climbing the mountain, I cautiously hoped today would be the day he would come back for me. Days are long when you are waiting for someone. Walking this path up the mountain I always think back to his last words to me, “I’ll come back for you.” Breathing lightly to minimize effects of the miasma clinging to the treacherous path, I seek beauty in this gray world. I am grateful for the thin air, at this altitude it maximizes the length of outdoor exposure. Conditions permitting, I often visit this high vantage point at dawn or dusk. The palate of my existence is so gray, even a momentary reprieve is sublime. Perched upon my rock high above the bunker facing east, I wait, keeping my breath shallow, keeping my eyes to the horizon.
By Alex Rangel5 years ago in Fiction
Dinner with the Orwells
The fist hammering against our door sounds muted from where I hide in a hollowed-out wall behind my mom’s massive china cabinet. The voice that follows is harsh but muffled, so even the staccato authority of a Federal Citizen Protectorate officer is difficult to understand. What’s never hard to interpret, though, is the overt threat that even an eighth grader like me understands.
By Rich Smith5 years ago in Fiction
Out of Time
Elizabeth had heard stories of the days before the event. People lived and worked in towers made of glass, and traveled in machines that had polluted the air. They had grown arrogant, convinced that they were superior to the beasts that roamed the Earth, and yet, when the vampires emerged, their weapons and vehicles failed them. The world, as it was known then, ended in less than a week, and yet many said that what had taken it’s place was better.
By Kevin Bohan5 years ago in Fiction
Falling from Grace
The crystal clear waters barely lapped at my unclothed feet, and the place seemed to be frozen in the Dawn of the Morning. Light blue hues crested the gentle surrounding clouds, and the mist before me faded as the Golden Gate shined brightly before me, as if to welcome me home. The Gate was a lot taller than I expected... I had to crane my neck backwards, and even then I couldn't see the top of it. Did giants cross this threshold too, I wondered silently with a small snicker. The Gate creaked as it slowly opened, unaided, allowing me entry and beckoning me to enter. No one was here. Wasn't there supposed to be a Gatekeeper? Where was the fabled St. Peter? Shrugging, I slipped inside, and the Gate slammed shut as the metal clang of finality echoed around me. I blinked as the fog surrounding the Gate dissipated. Looking around, I saw the vast beauty and light hues of the rainbow in the immediate area, and yet, still I was refused a greeting by anyone. No St. Peter, no Angels, nothing. I began walking, in hopes that I might find someone to talk to. There had to be someone here, right? The gentle clouds clustered around my feet like dust, coming up in small swirls and attempting to attach themselves to my ankles in desperation, if only to be washed away by the rising tide below. The clear waters nearly covered my feet now, I noticed. Still, it was calming.
By DarkRandall5 years ago in Fiction
The Gift of the Unborn
On the brink of some undefinable moment, on the banks of the Outer Curl, Neu Scoutsland, before a small audience of villagers, Hugh Reãl commanded his rare & beautiful calf to once again perform its magical act; and, as all subservient creatures must when they are instructed by invocations & demands, the calf obliged.
By Clint James5 years ago in Fiction
