Short Story
Putting a Price on Life
I love the sensation of cool water against a human’s skin, which is why I’m endlessly diving into any body of water in a form outside of my natural wolf state. It just feels better across smooth flesh instead of dampening all my fur. My own wolf form evolved into a mid-shape between humans and wolves, so I can run on all fours or my two back paws, which thins my fur out a bit more than the standard looking wolves who run on all four paws. The water weight is still annoying, though, even without a thicker coat.
By Dani Banani5 years ago in Fiction
777
All of your friends got It. In fact, you're the only one who didn't get It. The only one. Sighing, she brushed some crumbs of dirt off of her old jeans and made her way towards The Hall once more. It would be the last time for the week..hopefully. All she needed was a few medicinal supplies, some rations, and some batteries for my ittle brother's CD player. If she could just get past Rogenroza Hill without alerting the Ojos, then she would be fine.
By Dezzy Yates5 years ago in Fiction
A Fighter's Miracle Part 1
Smoke tickled the nostrils of 12-year-old Moses Swift as he snored in his sleep. Then, unconsciously, he turns to the other side, and the smoke followed him burning his eyes. He bolted up, hitting his head on the board above him as smoke circled him in an embrace. He coughed, glancing around in the semi-darkness as screams of fire from above and around him jolts him fully awake.
By Annelise Lords 5 years ago in Fiction
Will
Will had never felt so jaded, so frustrated in his life. And that was saying something. Seventeen years ago, Jennifer had found a baby boy whining in a ditch. Two street dogs sniffed at him, plainly considering whether the loud small thing would attack if they tried mauling its face off. Being the godly woman she ever was, Jennifer chased the brutes away, picked up the baby, and carried it into her prim Victorian-style house. Will was then only seven months old, but still nowadays he had flashbacks, of shouting, a hazy image of a bloody lip…and more, vague things, which he could never quite place, however hard he tried to.
By Anuraag Ghosh5 years ago in Fiction
The Change is Needed
Walking down the dusty road, in a seemingly abandoned city, I keep my eyes peeled for any movement. Whether it's human or beast, I cannot be too careful, especially in this day and age. Since everyone seems to be willing to fight, and the animals have become feral and more aggressive than they once were.
By Ashley Tenold5 years ago in Fiction
Gore-May
Gluttony, gluttony, gluttony ... I despise those with extreme intensity who lust food . My wandering eyes become focused. I sighted one man who has a firm grip on his cutlery. He consumes his food without a single intermission between every bite. I am amongst an enclave group of chefs who invite a handful of people to our secluded island every May. We encourage them to taste a variety of foods ranging from exquisite desserts, soups, salads, and elite entrees. After supper, there are those who return from where they came as we send them about their way. Then... there are those who are denied departure for our island, as they are forced to stay. Their departure is dependent upon their food consumption, alongside of the table etiquette they display.
By K. Wisendanger 5 years ago in Fiction
38.9072° N, 77.0369° W
16:41:10 9/22/2820 I am not supposed – I am not supposed to – I am not supposed to be here, but my biocomponents have been damaged by the weather and there is nowhere else to go but into the city. It is the Fleshies domain, and many have paid a steep price their trespasses. I know I will likely not make it out alive, I just wish I didn’t have to die alone. I am not – I am not supposed to – I am not supposed to be here.
By Joan J. Bell5 years ago in Fiction
Bad Coffee
Kira twirled her index finger repeatedly around the metal utensil submerged in her caramel latte. She despised the waiting game as much as she despised the beverage, but she remained content. It was her who showed up twenty minutes earlier than she and Sarah scheduled. At her fifth observation of the time, it read 10:54am. She had six minutes left to prepare as much of her speech as possible, be it Sarah would give her a chance to speak.
By Monai the Poet 5 years ago in Fiction
"Him"
Whoever you are. Dia was scavenging in a dumpster when I found her. It had been years since I had seen a child her age. At first, I didn't know if she was real. The Blight had wiped out the reproductive organs of virtually every man on earth. Oddly, she looked at me the same way. As if to say "what are you?"
By E.D. Nonam5 years ago in Fiction
A Memory of Rain
That memory: the staccato drum on the old, corrugated iron roof of the shed, the rivulets forming in dust so dry, it was like face powder, and then, her mouth open as splashes of earthy rain hit her tongue, cold, startling, wonderful. That memory was so cherished – she inhaled these imaginings deep into her heart.
By Michèle Nardelli5 years ago in Fiction
A Modern Moirai
A Modern Moirai I know it is a little bit crazy to spend hours and hours at my cutting table, turning a rainbow of colors and patterns of perfectly good cottons into precisely crafted strips and pieces, wild shapes and harmonious images. Crazier still to think that somehow assembling them into meticulously sewn blocks and squares and rectangles and circles will result in something better than existed before I took scissors and rotary cutter in hand and sliced and clipped my way through the stacks of fabric. And yet, who is to say that cutting and shaping, stitching and blending fabrics is not an echo of the acts of the gods of old? The three Moirai, Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos, do the same thing with our lives. Clotho and Lachesis spin and weave our stories until Atropos takes up her mighty shears and clips the thread, ending our time here with a single snip.
By Susan Imbs5 years ago in Fiction
