Short Story
12B
12B Frankly, I don’t know why I came back. I don’t know why I risked my neck crossing the openness of the westside, moving about the colossal shadows of a vacant civilization; a civilization long abandoned and thrust into the pure and absolute chaos of The Collapse.
By Andrew Falk5 years ago in Fiction
The Locket
The Locket By Samantha Harken Everyone knows the real world ended in the year 2000. The crash of the electronic world came in the form of an EMP burst which is hotly debated even now: was it the Y2K bug or an attack from an otherworldly species trying to curb the chaos humanity was embroiled in? Small towns that were agricultural in nature lasted the longest after the fall of technology, and why not? They had the means to keep themselves going, the skills to protect their land and family, and the heart to keep going as the darkness closed in on them.
By Samantha Harken5 years ago in Fiction
The drowning of books
On the Tuesday when the world finally caught up with him, as the first rays of the sun cracked open the pale green eggshell of the eastern sky, Gerineldo flexed his shiny, old man’s fingers, stretched his sinewy old brown legs, prayed that his wife was not already awake beyond the clean lace curtains, and farted loudly and gratefully into the chilly stillness of the dawn.
By Bob Sutton5 years ago in Fiction
When the lights go out
Dear Diary, 08/24/2103 Sometimes, but not very often, I miss how things used to be. Before everything went to hell and got messed up. I miss being able to drive everywhere I wanted to and fly everywhere a car couldn’t reach. I miss listening to electric lofi music with my Airpods. I remember how stoked I was when earbud headphones went wireless. That was one of my biggest issues back then. Getting my headphone cords snagged throughout the day. I miss my phone too. Being able to learn anything at the speed of light. Calling or texting anyone anywhere across the world. Nowadays, I can’t even begin to imagine where some of my friends and families are. I know where they were when everything went down, but now I have no clue. I miss my parents a lot and I have tried to write letters to them, but I never seem to get any back. Maybe the Postal Service hasn’t figured out how to fully revert yet. Not very many things have been able to revert back to the old ways quite yet. Actually, I think reverting is a relatively new thing that is still kind of catching on. Like slang and Silly Bands. Or One Direction. God, I even miss One Direction. I just want music back... Anyways, not many people have been able to figure out a way to use old, pre-modern techniques to replace the huge loss of modern-day technology.
By Angelina All Over5 years ago in Fiction
Stick with Me
Finally, after ten long hours of boredom, Mitch’s shift came to an end. As Mitchell locked the bookshop for the evening and said goodbye to the part time worker who had closed with him, he realized how truly exhausted he was. His body ached, his mind felt frayed like worn rope, and the magic that thrummed under his skin prickled incessantly for release.
By Margot Lambal5 years ago in Fiction
My treasure
She puts the novel down on the table and looks at the clock. Soon, he'll stand at the door, smelling of Dior, smile, say hi, kiss her lightly on the chin and go into her apartment. Then, he'll sit down, ask if they should order something or find somewhere to eat. He'll expect that she'll know what she wants and that she'll ring for something or be ready to leave the apartment soon after. He's not the type who likes to wait. She takes a scruffy note up from the trash can and twists it between her fingers. She's in doubt about whether she should show it to him or not. More of them have arrived in the last few days, but she hasn't saved them. She can remember what was written on most of them. There was no reason to make him worried. She isn't even worried herself. Maybe she should try to show him the last one. She hurries to the bathroom.
By Mette Honoré5 years ago in Fiction
Heartless
Thoman pushed his way into the marketplace. Some of the market was covered with corroded roofs that only managed to let rusty water leak in while crumbling cement walls turned what should have been a fairly straightforward collection of vendors into a tangle of dead ends and labyrinthine corridors. There were stands covered in soiled but brightly colored cloths in every possible space. Well used plastic bins were arranged on every flat surface and filled with shiny and fairly valuable wares. Thoman chose this market because the guards were almost nonexistent and nearly anything could be had. Thiesel followed behind, pleading with Thoman to slow down; she was exhausted with his obsession to hunt every last one of this week’s “must resell” items.
By G S Goldberg5 years ago in Fiction
Slow Burn
Cordelia Allen was having the worst day of her life. Worse than when she fell flat on her back out of the tree in her grandma’s backyard, worse than when Johnny Fitzer kissed another girl at the winter formal, and so much worse than when she said goodbye to her dog Penny for the last time.
By Marisa Doell5 years ago in Fiction
Star Sleeper
-1- “No, please. I have not been backed up into the cloud. Spare me.” The bot’s voice quivered despite the monotone drawl of its basic programming. Sparks falling from Shakkurru’s ignited pulse blade pinged off the bot’s metallic exterior like synthchimes.
By Dean Floyd5 years ago in Fiction
The Tree Sitting Contest
“Vern would tell you I enter a lot of contests,” Betsy said, as she stabbed a needle through her needlepoint hoop. Even though it had nothing to do with the question I asked, she kept on talking. I let her. I just let her talk, even though it told me nothing about why she came and what kind of help she needed.
By Keith R Wilson5 years ago in Fiction
