Young Adult
CTRL-ALT
The first time Davina Vidal faded was a cool September night. There were fireflies blinking across the lawn. Crickets serenaded the neighborhood backyards. She remembered how she always used to think the equinox was so cool. Just the word itself made it somehow sound otherworldly. Ironic. Her friend Skye was following this new punk band called CTRL-ALT and she convinced Davina to come over after softball practice for their album release. Punk was definitely not Davina's scene. She was an old soul who grew up on her dad's Motown LPs.
By Mike Morgan5 years ago in Fiction
Northeast to Eden
It hadn’t rained in seventeen years and the earth grew hotter every day. There was no respite from the dust and the wind except for inside abandoned homes and office buildings—a dilapidated theme park of a past reality. In place of ocean tides on sandy beaches, waves of death and destruction crashed upon the remaining living souls daily. Some wondered if there was any point in continuing to survive, for living was a luxury of the past. Others, however, sought salvation.
By Stephanie Hamilton5 years ago in Fiction
Stolen Heart
"The Future is Male Again..." The hijacked Aerojet's cameras picked up the tag on the side of the building. The pilot responsible for hotwiring the wayward aircraft chuckled at the irony of the reverse message. Katina Bryson had lived to see the day when women were treated as superior to men (and only slightly beneath machines); but at what cost to civil relations...?
By Kent Brindley5 years ago in Fiction
The Color of Her Heart
Roop’s eyelids fluttered gently as she woke up to the rays of the morning sun. The sunlight made its way through the rips and tears of the old shawl she pinned over the glass square in the wall. The glass square is locked in place and does not allow any outdoor noise or fresh air to come into the small square room. It is meant to let in light only to wake up the room occupant. It is not supposed to be covered. It should not be covered.
By Nur-E Ferdous5 years ago in Fiction
Doomsday Diary
Have you ever woken up feeling disoriented, looked around and not recognized your own bedroom? Maybe after a big night out. Maybe after doing something you regret but know you’ll laugh about later. Maybe next to someone you’ll never see again… This time I’m not in my bedroom. A ringing in my ears persists loudly and shakes me into sobriety. Where the fuck am I? I try to stand up only to stumble onto the floor. The mattress I was sleeping on looks grey and worn, with dark stains on the far end. The only light in the room hangs from from a wire by the door, glowing a warm yellow. I use the wall as support to drag myself up from the floor and immediately feel a heaviness in my head as I try to piece together the events from the night before. I look down at my hands to see one of the tips of my fingers covered in a plaster. I vaguely remember knocking into someone last night and breaking my nail. I start to notice my finger pulsating and unravel the plaster to reveal the entire nail from my middle finger is gone, a bloody nail bed in its place. I gasp for air but instead feel my throat closing up. Tears fill my eyes as memories rush back and I crumble back down to the floor.
By Rebecca Leal 5 years ago in Fiction
