Sci Fi
Zombie
Threegood wears a small, heart-shaped locket instead of a tie with his three piece suit. I’ve never asked him about it, because it’s not my place to ask too many questions. I don’t ask him about his name either, but for a different reason. See, my own name – that’s Prophet – my own name is also strange, and I don’t know how I got it. I’ve just always had it. What if I asked Threegood about his name, and he didn’t know either? I don’t want him to feel stupid like I am.
By Paul Harrison5 years ago in Fiction
A Locket Full of Dreams
The cross hairs are aimed squarely between his shoulder blades. I could end this threat right now. He’s fishing in my pond. The pond she and I had built the first week we settled here. Now there are more voices. More strangers are approaching the pond.
By Jeff Cochran5 years ago in Fiction
Sailing To Oblivion
Thunder roared in the distance as Gracie sifted thru the rubble of yet another town destroyed by the Great War. Survivors that she had met along the way each called it something different but since she was only in her late 20’s, to her it was the Great War. Her mom’s had guessed early on that there might be trouble and would prepare her for survival as best they could. With one mother being a nurse and the other being a soldier who flew Apache helicopters in Afghanistan her training was quite extensive. While Gracie was thankful for their training she still wished they were with her.
By R.S. Haspiel5 years ago in Fiction
Cerie
Cerie found herself outside in the wastelands, terrified by what she had just done. She had taken that old move-around machine, the hoover sand traveler, and left the safety of the Cities, speeding across a desert of broken land, stripped of resources hundreds of years before. The move around was ancient. Her family had kept it in running condition for centuries, ever since the reckoning. Everyone in her family knew how to operate a move around. But none had ever driven it. Instead, they did this all because someone long ago said someone would need it someday.
By Sharon Irwin5 years ago in Fiction
Ground Zero
Vercazzi took a deep breath as he looked around the once gleaming buildings of downtown Manhattan. The last five years had taken a toll that only had been imagined in the most elaborate of fantasies. Trees sprouted from the cracks of sidewalks, vines clung to the once polished windows. Every once and awhile a loud crack would be heard and parts of a building would fall down to the ground in a cacophony of noise that was heard by no one.
By James Mazza5 years ago in Fiction
Angel's Heart
Gasping for air, my heart pounds like a boxer working a heavy bag. The cool, night breeze makes me shiver after my dip in the cold, dark sewer. Sewers are the only place they don't monitor. My lungs ache from holding my breath. Feeling a bit dizzy from hypoxia, I strengthen my grip on the rough rebar steps leading up the side of the storm drain. Maybe hypoxia triggers memories, or maybe it's the adrenaline...I don't know. My mind wanders as I remember the way the sunlight gently caressed her hair and face on our day, making her seem more angelic than human. For a moment, I remember everything, the way she always covered her mouth when she smiled, the way she laughed with her eyes and the way she spoke volumes with only a look. Mostly, I remember the way she made me feel. I remember every detail, except one. Something's missing from my mind's eye. I can feel what it is but can't make myself remember. It's like being tongue-tied, knowing what I want to say but being unable to find the right word. I hate this feeling. Am I losing my mind or maybe repressing her memory? My foot slips off the slippery rebar step. Struggling against fatigue and the weight of my wet clothes, I pull myself up the rungs, out of the water and onto the cold ground. No time to rest, I have to move before they find me.
By Stewart Brewer5 years ago in Fiction
Searching with Science
“The paperwork and payment have gone through, thank you. Please step this way. I need to reiterate, Mrs Hutchins, that what you are about to see is not necessarily a true reflection of your husbands past life events or experiences but more so a display of how they were received, through his eye and in his mind. Please do remember that”
By William Andrews5 years ago in Fiction
