Short Story
TO MAKE AN EPIC CHOICE
Hi, my name is Lockett, and I am so HAPPY you are reading my story. Now before you throw this down or burn it because you don’t know what HAPPY really is, thought all happiness disappeared or that it is only something in fairytales, keep reading. If you absolutely HATE my story when finished, you will be able to turn it in for a free dose of your daily fix by calling the number on the last page, no strings attached, because I love and care about you. You may as well go ahead, read, call and then spread the word about the freebies, free is always good.
By Dena Moore5 years ago in Fiction
The Child
Tessa jolted awake and looked around her. There was a camo net inches above her head, she was outdoors and the ground beneath her was damp and cool, making her minimal clothing dirtier and damper than they already were. She rolled onto her stomach to get a better view of exactly where she was. The air was acrid with the aftermath of the bomb, piles of rubble smoldered. Now she remembered. She had crept in close last night when she saw the bomb go off. She needed food and a recently bombed out village was the best source. She wasn’t the only one who would be thinking this. Many people her age were doing this as well. They were basically running for their lives as fugitives because they had broken away from the insurrectionists.
By Julie Buchy5 years ago in Fiction
The Other Side of a Promise
It happened on my way home from work. The day was like any other—I’d risen with the sun, prepared for the day, and left my publicly assigned dwelling right at seven to stride to the northwestern spire and arrive for my eight o’clock shift. I spent the day denying citizens’ requests for dwellings located closer to the central spire, stopping only for a half-hour lunch break and two 5-minute bathroom breaks.
By Stephanie Michelle Fitzhugh5 years ago in Fiction
Desolate
Dear Diary, Silence. The silence is golden. For days, the screams had echoed, tore at our eardrums. Blood had caked the ground, patches dotting flowers and tufts of grass. Red sprayed across trunks of trees and car horns blared, abandoned in their owners haste to get away. Traffic had ensued and blocked the cars. The only way out was to either wait or run.
By Kristy Perkins5 years ago in Fiction
The Girl with the Last Strain
The valley around the girl is a stage with no actors. She stands alone, dressed in a ratty, moth-eaten sundress and a hood the color of flint over it. Her hair is long and matted with grease, but still, she ties it up in a bun to stop it from webbing across her face.
By Briar Esterline 5 years ago in Fiction
Heart-shaped Hopelessness
Heart-shaped Hopelessness Nothing but ash. Can’t breathe. Can’t see. What was once a beautiful, thriving city, is now a barren wasteland. It’s been two years, 121 days, and this morning. How we’ve survived, I’ll never know. Lying on this cold concrete deep inside the inner-city water drainage system is the only place to call home. Hearing the soft breathing and whimsical, dream-filled whispers of Aaron and Joan lulls me into deep thought about what the day holds. So much to do and not much time to get everything accomplished. I am by no means “mom material”, but since the warheads hit, my youth had been stripped away; now my primary focus were my younger brother and sister’s future. The sun is just now breaking dawn and I must make a food and supply run while the ash-filled smog is at its thinnest.
By Katie Foster5 years ago in Fiction
One Spring Day in May
The blade of the shovel cut through the dirt, releasing the scent of loamy earth into the air. She always loved the springtime, when the trees grew lush with verdant leaves, and the flowers bloomed in shades of red and pink. The air was sweeter, warmer, and provided relief from the cold harshness of winter. But this spring was different. The weight of what she had to do hung in the air like cigarette smoke and made her chest hurt just as badly.
By Michael Wirth5 years ago in Fiction
Endings
Hope often reveals itself in small statements, spoken hesitantly in dark hours, through constricted throats. Deep in The Alps a loop was formed. As man imitated God, the smallest components of life struck together and everything changed. The world became barren, dusty, dry. Not quickly. All of the warning signs willfully ignored. Perhaps that unkind, it’s possible that it was unwilful in some cases.
By Hannah Gibney5 years ago in Fiction
The Craving
This could not wait till morning. The craving came on so sudden and intense that resisting never even crossed her mind. For some reason Claudia needed fudge. Maybe it was hormones. Maybe it was the fact that she finally had an appetite. But she needed fudge. Not the kind she usually made this time of year, melting chocolate chips in the microwave. Claudia needed the heavy, silky fudge her grandma used to make—the kind you made in a saucepan with a candy thermometer.
By Muhammad iqbal5 years ago in Fiction
