Short Story
The Only One Left Standing
The dead chickens in the coop should have been a sign. Gene could find no hole or crevice for a fox to have burrowed its way in, and no blood spotted the floor or the nests. It was as if someone had waved a hand over the animals and put them all to sleep.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Fiction
The Day The Music Died
It was just a regular day, things were going like every day before...normal. I was at home just bopping around my house to the radio, doing laundry, dishes, planning dinner for me and my hubby and having a normal, wonderful day...then it all came to a screeching halt, this was the day the music died...literally!
By C. M. Sears5 years ago in Fiction
Looking for John
I know a guy. He knows how to write. He can read the hearts of the people he meets. He can also play the guitar. How well he knows how to do all these things, honestly, I don’t know. You can call him John, although his name is much longer and more composite. John should be in his fifties by now. He doesn’t need much money to live on. His wife is the only love of his life. He has a small house. Three sons. He had a lovely dog, died of old age last year.
By Jonah Lightwhale5 years ago in Fiction
Deadbeat
I laid on my tattered sheets, staring at the ceiling. My dinner of warm beer and cornflakes is starting to catch up with me; I can feel my eyes getting heavy. My eyes begin to flutter as I hear a knock at the door. I pause, preparing for what could meet me on the other side. I’ve been lucky in that there hasn’t been much looting in my neighborhood, but I never say never. I stood to answer the door, when the knock on the other side sounded again, more hurriedly. I cracked the door open and saw my ex, Sandra, standing next to my daughter Lacelle. My heart began pounding as I quickly slid the chain latch off of the lock and opened the door wider. “S-Sandy, Lacey!” I uttered. Sandra spoke up before I could say anything else. “Don’t get excited, jackass. We’re just here grabbing Lacey’s shit before we leave. Go, grab your things, honey.” I looked at her inquisitively. “Leave? Where are you going?” Sandra scoffed. “Have you seen what’s going on? The world is going to shit. I’m taking Lacey and we’re catching the next LunaRide. She isn’t going to be here while the Earth crumbles and the idiots left fight over the dirt, and I damn sure ain’t gonna be here.” She looked over at the kitchen table, littered with the remains of a six pack from last week. “Figures. You’ve been too busy staring at the bottom of a beer can.” She turned her head to the back of the house, yelling, “Lace! Come on, scooch your caboose!” I looked back up at her, trying to hide my hurt. “I know what’s going on, Sandy. I just didn’t expect you to just… leave, I guess.” Sandra looked towards me sternly. “First of all, don’t call me Sandy. I don’t like you, and I never will again. Only my friends get to call me Sandy. And second off, what makes you think I would keep my daughter in this kind of environment? I can’t believe you would even consider her staying on this garbage heap. It’s a good thing I’m getting her away from you too, she’d probably die if I left her here with you.” I was taken aback, and rose from my seat on the bed. “How dare you- SHIT-!” I exclaimed, falling on my ass from getting up so quickly. Lacelle walked into the living room, seeing me on the floor and her mother standing over me. “Dad, are you okay? You said a bad word and you’re on the floor!” Sandra grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door. “Come on, Lacey, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. We’re leaving.” I scrambled to my knees, crying “Wait! Lacey, hold on!” as I reached for my nightstand. My little girl turned and looked at me expectantly. I opened the top drawer and pulled out a small heart-shaped locket. “This is for you, baby.” I handed her the small necklace, her eyes widening. “I was going to wait till your birthday, but I want you to have it now. It’s a locket. See?” I took the small pendant in my hands, struggling to catch the tiny clasp handle with my fingernail. I opened it, and showed her the pictures it held - one of me and one of her. Her eyes glittered, and she turned to me grinning ear to ear. “Thank you dad!!” she exclaimed. As we shared a smile and a hug, Sandra pulled the chain from Lacey’s hand and carefully examined the pictures inside. “How dare you, you fucking sleaze!” she shouted at me, throwing the necklace in my face. Sandra yanked Lacey back and began storming out the door. Amidst Lacey and I’s cries to wait, the pair walked out and the door slammed behind them. At the door slamming I woke up, sitting in the same position. It must’ve been a nightmare. I slowly rose to my feet, and went for my phone to see if I could get a call through to Sandra and Lacey, maybe see if I could come see them just in case they really were leaving. As I stood up, I noticed two things. One, my phone and my TV were gone, and the door was cracked. Fuck. The second thing I noticed was the sound of the locket hitting the floor.
By D'Metryus Tendaji Diontre Lacopo5 years ago in Fiction
A Feeling in the Wind
What a feeling it is to sit here on some of God’s greenest grass and breathe in the fresh air that so many of us take for granted. I have a new habit that I try my best to practice every single day. I count all the small things that I once never cared to appreciate. For example, I am currently sitting on freshly mowed grass and watching the sun go down. The ice cream truck passed by a few moments ago, and that catchy ice cream truck jingle is now playing on repeat in my head. To my right, I see children playing in a park. They smile and shout for joy as they swing on the monkey bars, run back and forth with sugar fueled energy, and play on the jungle gym. I find their happiness delightfully contagious. To my left, I see an elderly couple taking advantage of the shade provided by a tall oak tree. They are sitting on what looks to me like a psychedelic, multi colored quilt. They are enjoying each others warm embrace while also enjoying the cool breeze of a summer night. The wind is starting to pick up, and I have every intention of going with it. I’ll let it blow through me and take away my troubles and worries. I’ll stand up and let it knock me back down, knowing what a great feeling it is to get back up on my feet. I’ll even let it sweep away the pages that I am writing on right now. I’ll watch them fly far away and hope my words land in somebody else’s lap who may need to hear them more than I need to keep them. You see, I truly love knowing that I can take basic observations or simple thoughts that cross my mind and turn them into elegant collections of words that could perhaps make people take a second look at their surroundings and appreciate the small and commonly ignored parts of day-to-day life. I can take something dull and meaningless like a pair of blue jeans, and turn them into low-cut, fashionably tight European blue denims. Or take an old bracelet, and instead make it a shiny and handsomely jeweled antique trinket. Taking something and accompanying it with a few unique and descriptive words gives it character. It also provides it with a second chance to catch an audience's attention. In today's world, we are all in such a rush to get to our next destination that we stubbornly walk past so many people, places, and things that are very much worthy of a few minutes of our time. Simply saying hello and giving a kind wave to that man on a park bench, or holding the door for a fellow human who has their hands full could very well be the act of kindness that makes their day. With that being said, I would like to wrap this up by explaining that I have been blessed with the God-given talent of articulateness. A talent such as this gives me the ability to try to convince my audience to simply slow down, smell the flowers, and take another look at the things in their lives that they could possibly be under appreciative of without even realizing it. I am able to take what is average and turn it into something beautiful. Because of this, I will continue to write and create, as I now know that it is my soul’s purpose to create beautiful things and to share them with others. Hoping that it inspires someone else to do the same.
By Nicholas Mercogliano5 years ago in Fiction
No Place Like Dome
The smooth ride on the tram took me up above the city streets, sharing cars, buildings, and the dome beyond the city limits. The lighting presented to be a bright, sunny day as it projected it across the city. A lie however as I looked at the highlight on my phone. An advertisement to see the massive sandstorm that raged outside. A scoff came out as I deleted the notification.
By Mychaila A. Rose5 years ago in Fiction
Saving Jacob
Lilith stared out the kitchen window absently running her fingers along the chain of her necklace. She was watching two young neighbor boys chase each other in the adjacent yard firing toy cap guns at one another. It had been three weeks since Andrew’s funeral. Her beloved boy. Her first born. Even the best morticians in the metropolitan area couldn’t reconstruct his face so they could have an open casket. Her poor, sweet Andrew.
By Haleigh Overseth5 years ago in Fiction
The Pale White House With a Red Brimmed Door.
When I was younger, I lived on my reservation. It was just on an offshoot of it less than a quarter of a mile away from some white town called Cutbank. As a child, I couldn’t really distinguish the difference between the two but I’m sure any adult from Cutbank could, and did. It was nice though, a lot of what I can remember at least. Going back to visit now is always strange seeing just how much things have changed for better and worse. I used to live in this house in the center of the offshoot called Seville. It wasn’t a very big place at all, Probably no more than 40 houses making up this area. It is some strange cul-de-sac-like place with an island in the middle with houses shooting out. I lived there, on the island, in the center of it all. It was like I was the sun of this little solar system. Just across the street, and I mean directly across, is what always had my mind in a bind.
By Violet March5 years ago in Fiction
The Actress
Introduction: This bedtime story, The Actress, was originally written for my two daughters, both pre-schoolers at the time. A year or so later, I put it, along with three poems, into two file binders, one for each of my daughters to have. A few months ago, a half century later, my daughter found her copy and read it aloud to her husband and reminded me of what it had meant to her. I share with you my daughter’s copy of ---
By Cleve Taylor 5 years ago in Fiction
Shattered Days
Lily was playing with her reflection. There was no mirror she could see - there was nothing but flowers and trees in the garden - but the image wore the same dress as her, had the same dark brown eyes, the same black curly hair - even had the exact same shade of brown skin as Lily’s. She made funny faces at her reflection and watched it laugh as it made them back.
By Tytiana Browne5 years ago in Fiction
Change of Heart
Once there was a zombie. It used to be a man but it wasn’t anymore. Now its mouth couldn’t form words and its skin was rotting and so was its brain. It knew it had once been human but it couldn’t remember exactly what that meant, would only get flashes of pictures in its head like lightning — there one second but gone the next. It remembered a heart-shaped locket, a swing creaking on a sunny day. It remembered green lawns and tinkling laughter and something it thought was called a snowy ball fight.
By Aisling Door5 years ago in Fiction
