Short Story

Kal’s Locket
The child sits with folded hands in his lap while intelligent blue eyes stare aimlessly at the blank wall opposite him. He’s not moved in the past twelve hours. An extraordinary amount of time for a thirteen year old to stay still. A single tear rolls down his porcelain like cheek as I open the steel door to his room.
By Marcus Alan Perkins5 years ago in Fiction
Textual Relations
“Hello, Michael.” That’s how it started, a text greeting from an unknown number on a late damp autumn night. He had been about to shut down his laptop. Helen had gone upstairs to bed, as usual, around an hour ago. She would read for a while then fall asleep with her book. He’d join her later, untangle her fingers from the pages and place the book face down on her bedside cabinet. He’d slide into bed beside her and the next thing would be the 6 am alarm when it all started over again.
By Alex Markham5 years ago in Fiction
Stalking Crows
No coverage, not even one bar, and her phone battery was almost dead. It was still daytime, but the overcast sky had a perfectly even dullness. There was no way to tell what time of day it was, much less which direction was north or south or anything else for that matter. Annoyed, Maya sighed. A two-lane blacktop road snaked up into the distance and disappeared into a forest. In the opposite direction, it twisted down toward some lumpy hills until it receded from view. She found herself in these types of situations more often lately. Maybe she needed to cut back on her late-night fun.
By Zada Kent5 years ago in Fiction
The Oasis
The desert is hot. I see mirages of water as I desperately search for food. After the World War of 2030, there was not much left on earth but dust. My ancestors have told stories - stories of a peaceful, bountiful world that was. I decide to stop my search to sit on the sand. I am exhausted from looking all day through the dust. I close my eyes and try to feel the earth. I can hear the wind and the chatter of the others in the background.
By Kathryn Willis5 years ago in Fiction
A Slow Decent Into Madness
It's 2AM and all I have to do is wait. Death comes for all of us. The problem is death doesn't announce itself or waits to be invited, it just comes whenever it chooses and then it’s over. Death doesn’t care if your ready, or if you want it to come. Most people are surprised when death comes, like they hoped death would visit them at another time or another hour. The irony that the only certainty of life is death is the only thing that makes me laugh now.
By Elizabeth Grant5 years ago in Fiction
On the Edge of Tomorrow
We never knew where we’d end up or what we’d find when we went out exploring, especially in the earliest days after the city was destroyed.
By Paula Shablo5 years ago in Fiction
AFFAIR OF THE HEART - A short Story
Ж ‘There’s a pleasure in pain’Ж This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to names, characters, actual persons, living or dead, places, locales or incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are purely used fictitiously. To the extent that the covers and pictures go, models and free pictures websites were used.
By Lady Lavinia Dasani5 years ago in Fiction
Guilty By Association
India’s heart-shaped locket bounced up and down against her chest as she ran. It was the last gift she received from her parents before their passing, and she held onto it for dear life. She looked around at what was once her childhood neighborhood. It was as if no time had passed. Colorful birds of paradise adorned the nicely manicured front lawn. The grass was a vibrant green with solar lights leading the way up to the front door. She stopped to catch her breath but dared not stay long. For whatever reason she was running, she instinctively knew she’d have to start again. The warm, welcoming red door lured her in closer; so close she almost opened it but stopped as she touched the handle. Again, instinctively she knew that if she opened the door, her childhood would be blasted open. She withdrew her hand and ran away from the house.
By Himmet Kazak5 years ago in Fiction
The Hearts Call
Five years ago the world woke up one day and was in tatters as the long-coming apocalypse finally occurred. We all went to sleep one night in June of 2021, all of us expecting the next day would be there for us. At 2:37 am, central standard time, the Yellowstone Super Volcano that we heard stories for years about, erupted. The fear scientists had for years turned out to be justified, over half of the country was destroyed in a matter of minutes. Hundreds of thousands of people were obliterated during the first minute of the blast, a blast that could be seen by astronauts on the Internation Space Station.
By Jason Ray Morton 5 years ago in Fiction
The Heirloom
Blah, blah, blah. I am in physical pain from trying not to roll my eyes in boredom. Just order your drink and go already. Can you not tell by the complete lack of interest on my face? I have bigger and more pressing matters at hand than discussing your dreadfully boring… whatever it was that you were talking about. Your moustache is too long, and your ridiculous top hat might make others assume you are wealthy, but to me its just part of a façade. Maybe I should give him a drink on the house so he will go back to his table. I need to move this bracelet into the top of my corset so I can sneak it out of here before anyone notices that its gone. It almost feels like its burning my skin being visible to everyone!
By Sarah MacKenzie5 years ago in Fiction
Shark Tank
I grew up near lakes in Canada but dreamed of oceans. This was likely due to winter trips to Florida in my childhood. I have an inborn preference for still water - likely due to swimming on silky black lakes and some very Zen canoe trips. Decades later, I live on the Southern U.S. coast by the Pacific Ocean.
By Jackie K5 years ago in Fiction
Alice Meets Alyss
Tired of being alone, tired of being the only one to ever do anything wrong, tired of being just "that girl", she stormed out the back door and into the yard. The crash of the door against the jam resounded through the quiet afternoon air. She stood in the center of the yard, the uncut grass tickling her shins through her black and white striped stockings, breathing rapidly in anger and frustration. She wanted to scream.
By Rachal Flewellen5 years ago in Fiction