Sci Fi
AntiGravity
I stared out over the vast expanse of space at the star moving ever closer. I closed my eyes, feeling the exhaustion from the day beginning to set in. I found the remote with my hand, flicking the switch to clear the tint from the window. Bright light flooded into the room, seeping through my eyelids. I smiled, ready to drift off into sleep.
By VS Arts and Customs4 years ago in Fiction
Wanderer of the Apocalypse — Episode I
The sun is high in the sky, not a single cloud is in sight, and yet the air is still chilly. Between the stone buildings and the rain that fell last night, the humidity surrounds me. Half the trees I walk by on the street carry a mix of orange, yellow, and red in their leaves. The other half of the trees are dead. Save from the evergreens, there is no green left in the trees. The bushes have also lost most of their leaves, the only remaining ones are of a sad yellow. The flowers have long died and are merely a memory.
By BPDCupcake4 years ago in Fiction
Hope, Eternal
Amberle stood on the balcony that over looked the square. The smell of winter on the evening air. The square was full of life and fun. But she felt only the chains of her birth. Her summer sky blue dress dropped over her olive skin, her Earth brown hair intricately woven, and her emerald green eyes stared past the city to the brewing storm that sometimes came down from the Winter Realm. That was when she felt the slimy energy slither over her skin.
By Jessica Adams4 years ago in Fiction
When The World's Gone Mad
I I don’t quite remember what it is to write. Is it double-checking thoughts and not being sure that now this thing is the exact thing I want to write? The responsibility makes me anxious, and being anxious is a slippery slope no one can afford to step on these days. Writing these two sentences is the most mentally exhausting thing I’ve done in ages but it’s still not too different from thinking inside your head. Different is the physical aspect of writing. It’s so sophisticated. All those hooks and squiggles eventually combine into letters, words and then sentences. It’s a craft. We used to learn it in childhood. We needed to be consistent because like with any form of craft it requires steady practice. Maybe abandoning writing is what made us all go mad eventually.
By Anton Kutselyk4 years ago in Fiction
On Active Duty, Submerged Pandemonium
August 21, 2182 Did you know? In the U.S. Navy, there is a tradition that refuses to allow wandering souls their rest. Even now there are implications that are unnerving and fuel unnecessary apprehension. If a submersible went missing while working, it would forever be classified ‘On Active Duty.’ Leaving a lingering unease in the air, the implications they could one day return from duty were strong. What would happen should those crafts ever return?
By Crystal Ayers4 years ago in Fiction
Drowning on Dry Land
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Myth and legend were powerful forces. Powerful enough to stir belief, and turn fear into reality. It had taken time, too much time, but finally, they had returned...
By Natasja Rose4 years ago in Fiction
I Know The Date I Die
I know the date I am going to die. I didn't dream it or any other hippy shit. I know without a doubt the exact day, month and year I am going to die. How do I know this? I found it on my dad's computer. I was searching for a copy of his latest manuscript, he has been working on it for months, and no one has seen it. I wanted a hint about what it was; that is when I found the exact date I would die.
By Sam H Arnold4 years ago in Fiction
Mother's Shells
A/N: This work deals heavily with themes of psychosis and sleep paralysis. When BET-2102 first saw the phantom she was waist deep in Val Lake. Her hands were full of mussel shells. The water was so still the afternoon sun was perfectly mirrored. She was squinting but able to see the hazy outline of a woman on the opposite shore. She shifted the other half of her horde into her left hand and raised the right to shade her eyes.
By E.L. Buchanan4 years ago in Fiction
It's not what you think
WARNING: it has been brought to my attention that some people have been hurt by this story, as it can be considered to be “queer-baiting,” although that was neither my late husband’s intent nor mine in republishing it. But as impact > intent, I am including this as a trigger warning.
By Jenn Kirkland4 years ago in Fiction
