fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
The Pink Painted Plastic Widow
Our story begins with a very prominent Breast Surgeon Dr. R.U. Omigod who has decided to make this operation his last one, he will now retire. He wanted to ensure that he went out in a blaze of glory, so he took a drug that he has been working on that is supposed to perform miracles given everything was positioned just right, but this drug has not been approved by the FDA yet.
By Faith Bouchard5 years ago in Futurism
Magical Enkindling
Vivian paused at the alleyway entrance, readjusting her cloak around her slender frame and pulling the hood further over her raven colored hair, feeling insecure about her ability to cover her identity even in the darkness provided on the night of the new moon. She stared across the road at the tavern entrance, knowing that Thomas was there, throwing his newfound wealth around after accepting the role of the King’s head mage for the third night in a row. Anger shot through her again as she thought back to how he had claimed credit for everything after stealing her creations.
By Michael Andreassen5 years ago in Futurism
The Mac Larsen Incident
Kal was stocking shelves. This was his least favorite part of the job. He enjoyed the customer service element, helping people solve their problems. At an arts and crafts store there was always a parade of characters with questions. The most annoying customers were those who really just wanted him to do their project for them. He would sometimes indulge the pushy old ladies or lazy teenagers, and go beyond his job description by helping them cut foam boards or even drawing out schematics for their projects. This was not why he had gone to art school, but he had a hard time utilizing the word no, and it was better than unpacking boxes.
By Khalid Hussein5 years ago in Futurism
The Spring And The Knot
The bucket was heavy even before it carried water. The rope that held it in Sarah’s hand was frayed from age and scratched the skin on her fingers pink. She could switch hands to share the burden, but then the gruff wooden lip of the bucket would leave identical bruises on both of her calves. These bruises were constantly renewed by her daily trips to the creek, so Sarah would always feel tender when pulling her stockings on in the mornings.
By Sophia Jurgens5 years ago in Futurism
Across the Shattered Sea
Three generations. The birthdates, names, and deaths of three generations were logged into the black leather-bound notebook resting on the nightstand of Founder Kimble’s private chambers. Kimble, before embarking on this mission, could not have imagined that he would be here…. still on board the Guay. He struggled turning through the pages of the book, reading the few dozen names of the current crew members, looking for an answer. While he strained to see the names in the candlelight, other more poisonous questions, bubbled to the surface of his mind. Why couldn’t he hear the voice? That loud booming voice, clear as day, back when he was a young boy. The voice that had shown him the location of $20,000 hidden deep within the pines. The voice that told him to use the money to build a ship to carry a select few to a better world. The voice that promised Kimble he would find a new kingdom. Where was this voice? Surely, it would have spoken by now. If nothing more than to reassure Kimble that he was on the right path.He thought of himself as Moses. Instead of leading his people through the unforgiving desert, Kimble was leading them through the sea. He had been a good shepherd. Kimble had done everything the voice commanded of him. Certainly, this deafening silence was not punishment for his own doing. Kimble surmised that it undoubtably was a member of his flock to blame for their forsaking. “Greatest esteemed Gyias – voice of all wisdom and time, please grant me your ear” He whispered, his face buried into the book. “I now understand your silence. I beg of you to reveal the name of the one who has disowned their cloak and deafened their ears. Give me their name and I shall bring righteous judgment upon their head”. He sat up with his eyes still closed, his fingers vigorously moved through the pages. When they stopped, Kimble read the name his finger landed on “Abraham Russell”.
By Brittany Bates5 years ago in Futurism
What Dreams Are Made Of
Kaiya rushed down the grimy steps, reaching her destination at the bottom just as the train chimed it’s warning. She made a record sprint towards the doors only to have them slam shut a second too soon. Cussing under her breath she stood on the empty subway platform and ran a hand through her long dark deadlocks in frustration.
By E.C Williams5 years ago in Futurism
The Courier
Finally. Tag rounded the corner to see his the massive steel gates of the Commander’s compound looming a quarter mile ahead. It was well past midnight. He was dirty, exhausted, in pain. But he was finally here. The rain that had threatened for the past hour fell in cold, heavy drops as he fished out his badge with his right hand and held it up for the guards at the first of three check points leading to the compound. He pressed his left arm against his side to slow the bleeding from the wound he’d gotten earlier that night. It would need attention, but he would deal with that later. The mission came first.
By Kristi Marie5 years ago in Futurism
Keeth and the Last Hoorah
Abbey sat up, absentmindedly rubbing her right eye, casting her left about the room before bringing both eyes back to focus on her peculiar visitor. “Who are you?”, she asked blearily, dislodging a crusty bit of sleep with her fingertip.
By JESSICA CAST5 years ago in Futurism
