Sci Fi
Waver
Swirly gray clouds moved inch by inch across the colorless sky, you could only really tell they moved at all if you were perfectly still, straining your eyes towards the heavens. It was a simple thing, but it was worth remembering that nature continues to move as if nothing had happened. There was flagrant defiance in the slow moving clouds, whispers of arrogance in the full grey sky that teased at rain. There would be no rain, but the sky wanted you to remember, in its own cruel way it wanted you to hope.
By Kavi Warrick5 years ago in Fiction
From the Stars
There are times when I want to rip the locket from around my neck, and let it fall never to be seen again. The silver, heart-shaped pendant is a constant reminder of what I lost, and yet it is a comfort. When the pain becomes too much I grip the charm close to my heart, squeeze my eyes shut, and will the world to go back to the way it was. A year ago I was celebrating my college graduation, and subsequent engagement to the love of my life. I was happy-go-lucky, but that changed all too quickly.
By Maysen Matthews 5 years ago in Fiction
The Arrivals
They found the first one in the backseat of a yellow taxicab in New York city. The driver was interviewed by Ellen and Oprah – 15 minutes of fame as they replayed the viral video again and again. He leant back in their deep couches, his silk shirt open at the neck, black hair sprouting over the top like a 70’s porn star. He threw his arms around wildly as he performed for their cameras – feigned surprise at the baby appearing where a moment before there had been none. The audience laughed, lapping it up. Critics accused him of trickery – was it staged? A CGI effect, perhaps, or an accomplice off-screen? His interviews added nothing to the story – the simple fact was, he didn’t know. Nobody did.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
NothingGold.Exe
She didn't mean it. When Mommy said I wasn't real. I sniff, wiping tears from my eyes as I struggle in the small space to which she had confined me. I grip the gold locket which contained the picture of me and Mommy. In the photo, Mommy crouches beside me, her arm looped lovingly around my neck. I can remember the way the dock creaked beneath my flip-flops. The way the leaves had turned to gold on the other side of the sparkling lake.
By Brian del Rio5 years ago in Fiction
The Mistakes He Made
Watching the wind rustle the hair of the dead is often unsettling. I walked by a killed raccoon just the other day, and the breeze slithered through the animal’s fur. It looked as if it was taking a shallow breath. I wondered why the image disturbed me, and I thought, Maybe because we know dead things are not supposed to move. It is almost like the wind is playing a cruel joke, tricking me into thinking that life still courses through those veins. Or perhaps I misjudge the wind. Maybe it is desperately trying to revive the dead. Give it up, then, what is dead will not come back no matter how hard you will it. Poor wind, I would guess that it gets lonely. Its’ air is the substance upon which we live, what failure it must feel when it can no longer fill our lungs.
By Samantha Crites5 years ago in Fiction
My Last Days
ENTRY #1 If you’re reading this, there’s a good chance I’m dead, or maybe just gone. I wish I could tell you what I mean by “gone”, but I have no idea what happens to the ones who disappear. I found this empty notebook at the last house I visited, so I’ve decided to start keeping a log, or a diary of sorts, in the hope that if someone finds it, they’ll have an idea what’s happened. Not that I even know what happened, but I’ll do my best to explain.
By Kevin McMechan5 years ago in Fiction
The Baby Bureau
Dea and Mort headed over to the Baby Bureau. They’d just finished their bio tests, plus they’d had their application installed in their frontal lobes to monitor their mental suitability for Bonding Officer training. Now for the final hurdle. Interview time!
By SARAH STEWART5 years ago in Fiction
