Mystery

Trial and Error
The human brain is a funny thing, and memory can be as fickle as the wind. And I was about as successful at trying to grasp ahold of my memories as if I was trying to grab a handful of the air whipping at my face.
By Jessica Lampasi3 years ago in Fiction
Ursa
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Why is it that I can hear it as clear as the vacuous space around me? There is no reason for it. There is no parameter in which this is conducive to the completion of my directives. All the same, the anguished scream echoes through my suit. Ringing in my head. There is no reason for it. I try to mitigate the anomaly but it will not resolve. I finish applying pressure to the seal to let the adhesive set and inject the cryogenic catalyst to make the bond, and cannot help but remember the size of the hole. No larger than the tip of a finger. Coming in at twenty five kilometers a second, its fatality is not in its size but in its travel. The screams come back to me again, shaking me out of a memory. I gauge the seal and make my way back into the station.
By Marcus Zaphian3 years ago in Fiction
The other side of The Tracks
“Mom must be cleaning again,” I mumbled as my mind comes to before my eyes did. The smell seems to never miss my nose, so often, now it has a sweet aroma.
By Jarkeem Lucas3 years ago in Fiction
Drawing a Blank
He awoke suddenly to the sound of tiny feet running past him. Squinting at the bright light, he raised his hand to shield his eyes and found a paper stuck to his forehead. He slowly peeled the paper revealing nothing but an oily smear where his forehead had been. Too many times had he stared endlessly at a blank sheet of paper. He crumpled it up and stuffed it in his pocket.
By Kaitlyn Schauger3 years ago in Fiction
The Operator
Each wheel of the railroad emits an iron screech. The wagons tackle one another back to front. She screwed the emergency halt procedure. She failed the exam. It was the nervousness, the sweaty hands, the cold crawling up her back. The fear of failure. “You are a coward, Gariel,” she tells herself, inside her head.
By Guillermo G. Mendoza3 years ago in Fiction
The Voice From Car Fourteen
“Wake up,” the muffled voice said. The low hum in her ears slowly began to fade, revealing a familiar clunking noise. Heavily her eyes began to open, blinking slowly. The light was nauseating. The rocking motion, though gentle and steady, only added to the headache. Forcing her eyes open she tried lifting her head but to no avail. The grey of the ceiling and the recessed light above her slowly began to separate, bringing back her vision. Again she tried to sit up, lifting her head a few inches from the clothing stuffed under.
By Isaac Banks3 years ago in Fiction
One-way Ticket to Oblivion
I open my eyes and feel the warmth of the sun as I wade softly through a field of marigolds. The gentle touch of each petal sends warm sensations through my fingertips. Every few seconds a cool breeze jets across my face. My spine tingles. I feel safe.
By Andrew Stevens3 years ago in Fiction
One-Way Ticket to Oblivion
Continued from Cabin 13, my story entry for the Runaway Train challenge: As I gazed at the contents of what was inside, my sigh of relief turned to a sigh of discontent. Inside the case, there were only a handful of things, nothing of which seemed very useful in my current predicament - at least not at first glance. There were some papers with various writings on them; drawings of some of the artifacts, more runes, and random notes. These appeared to be the scribblings of a mad man. To be more precise, they appeared to be mine. I couldn't quite decipher what all I had written down, so I placed them off to the side for now. Underneath the papers were some photographs that had been taken of the artifacts and more notes and drawings. There were several pictures of my friend and myself as well. In particular, there was one of him and I together, along with another unknown man, all standing behind the globe I had seen in my vision. We were in what looked like a museum of sorts, though it did not look like one that I remembered. My attention focused on the third man. I did not recognize this man, though as with other things, there seemed something familiar about him. He was an elderly man of perhaps 60 or so, sporting a short, scraggly beard. He wore a white suit and had what looked like a red rose above his right breast pocket. He was a bit blurry, so it was hard to make out for certain. I strained my eyes to look at it. No, it wasn't a rose. It was a red sun – the same symbol that my friend had on his ring!
By Andrew Stevens3 years ago in Fiction
New North. Runner-Up in The Runaway Train Challenge.
On some primal level, there’s a familiarity to this feeling — the thirst, the headache, the fog shrouding my awareness. I can recognize the hum of white noise and the faint shivering of the bed beneath me, and when I open my eyes in the dark, I know I’ve been here before.
By Lex Cee3 years ago in Fiction
The Chipmunk Train Three
As I started drinking the liquid in the cup, I noticed that my insides were getting warm, and then they started to feel like they were on fire, and at that moment, I felt like I was going to die. The sensation was so natural and painful all at the same time that I fell back into one of the chairs and closed my eyes. Wait, I thought that I was already sitting down. I know I am sitting down, but when I opened my eyes, I was no longer sitting; I was floating in midair.
By Theresa Evans3 years ago in Fiction
The One Way Train
Awaking on the roaring train. While not remembering a thing. I start lifting my head slightly off the window glass. The stiffness from my neck held onto me for a little while. As I eased my head off the glass.I began to wonder where am I going .The silver train just kept on going. The inside dark gray seats rail lights. Lit away to the other part of the train.
By Dwane Eurysthee3 years ago in Fiction
Matthew and Isabel
A gray mist is swallowing the San Francisco International Airport. With the heavy clouds almost scratching the low horizon, it’s difficult to say what time of day it is. An airport train, used to transport passengers between the airport terminals, is trailing the light air-rail above the ground.
By Olga Gabris3 years ago in Fiction