Horror
Everhere, Neverthere
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But they can hear me dancing. Dancing with my daughter in her bedroom, with our sock-covered feet softly scuffing across the hardwood floor, smiling as my paternal admiration fell onto her sparkling blue eyes. With a gaze and an understanding beyond her years, she buried her head into my stomach and embraced me tighter than I’d ever known her to do. It was almost as if she was saying goodbye. Mystified by the spear of endearment, it hit me like the weight of the universe, and my heart ached to show her the same. My eyes welled and I hugged her just as tightly. Possibly the best day we’ve ever shared, a full day for all of us; her mother, now comfortably reading a book in our bedroom, and I, with the most beautiful being we’ve ever known. It was the life I had dreamed to have, I don’t even know how I got it.
By Daniel Pierce3 years ago in Fiction
Monstera Albo
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. "You monster!" The night fell. Darkness took over then lit like a rainbow of bioluminescence against the black skyline. Illume, the first city of Bellamar, came alive at night. The colors of the city reflected from the windows and danced like a kaleidoscope, painting the eggshell white walls of the interior room in a shimmer of gradient hues.
By Iyre Wolfe3 years ago in Fiction
One Earth Week
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I knew it well enough- Confederated Logistics and Defense didn't waste its time hiring spacecrew without at least a couple semesters of university physics to their name. But cartwheeling there in the belly of nothing, a million impossibly distant stars spiraling across my splintering visor, I screamed all the same. It was the kind of unfiltered, instinctual scream that reveals you for the dumb, panicky animal you and your arboreal ancestors have always been. I knew no one could hear me, not even through my comms, whose delicate circuits some twerps at CLAD’s R&D labs had cleverly integrated into my now-fractured helmet visor. I knew, but the screams just kept coming, consuming whole gulps of my finite oxygen reserves, and my oh-so-developed primate brain didn't seem to care one bit that it was only killing me faster.
By Joshua Gardner3 years ago in Fiction
Blood of the Covenant
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Valyria gazed up at the sky that was covered by dark clouds; she wouldn’t know, as she had never been to space, despite her planet’s designation as an intergalactic trading hub.
By Haley Sladek3 years ago in Fiction
Deep Void
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But I doubt anyone has ever tried to do it to see if it was true. After what those mutinous dogs did to me, I may test the Theory out myself. It will be quicker than the fate that awaits me.
By Daniel Doney3 years ago in Fiction
Inmate 871
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. The words swam up unbidden to her mind. The only noise in the airlock was the hum of the station and the muted, sporadic thumps and bumps coming from the other side of the hatch. Alex drifted closer to the small window, her breath fogging up the glass. Inmate 871, also known as Alexandra Stiles, watched as a dead man thrashed and clawed at the hatch from the other side, its bloody teeth bared as it screamed in silent fury.
By Tylor Haydon3 years ago in Fiction
Excerpts from the Void
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Science doesn’t allow it. A scream needs an atmosphere to travel, a sea of invisible particles to carry it from the physically pained to the mentally scarred. Space lacks that atmosphere, that conduit needed for verbal communication between two conscious beings. It’s nothing more than a vacuum: cold, empty and devoid of substance. And yet some of you reading this might choose to disagree with my definition of space. You might try and tell me that planets, stars and countless other heavenly creations are within the all-encompassing body that we refer to as space, providing wonder and amazement to the few that are lucky enough to set eyes on them. But when you’ve been out here for as long as I’ve been, locked away in the most advanced prison that humanity has ever designed, sailing across the black, unerring void with the same monotonous faces for company and the same tiny specks on the horizon — specks that after months of approach seem just as infinitesimal as the first time you set your eyes on them — I would have to disagree.
By Cameron Adams3 years ago in Fiction
