Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Worst. Tuesday. Forever.
How did I end up here? Me of all people!? Back to a wall in a dead end alleyway staring down a horde of zombies as they shuffle towards me to eat me. As many zombie games I've beaten and movies I've seen, how did I find myself between a rock and a hungry place!?
By Nathaniel Zeigler3 years ago in Fiction
Hot Light
Ashes fell from the blackened sky. Sulfur scarred the lining of his nostrils as he struggled to breathe the inhospitable air. Falling to his knees his gaze fell upon a locket, he reached out. Fingers writhing in pain. As he neared the locket, he noticed its heart shape glowing a faint red, almost beating. Reaching closer toward the locket he watched as his flesh peeled from his bones evaporating into ashes as his muscles touched the locket he was enveloped in a bright, hot whiteness.
By Casey White3 years ago in Fiction
A Wild Sort of Curiosity
The wind glided around the great bird as it’s majestic wings cut through the air. The monstrous dinosaur flew, almost invisible to the naked eye, it’s feathery coat white as snow, blended almost perfectly with the white powder covering the surface of the earth. Over shadowy trees that creaked and wept in the wind, the owl flew towards the city, a very peculiar place in deed for such a bird.
By Mckayla Corder3 years ago in Fiction
When Three Worlds Collided
Journal Entry Number One: We've been in this bunker for two days now. I'm not sure what's going on above us yet. The people say it's radiation ash poisoning from all of the nuclear bombs that were unintentionally detonated in the middle of the night. The sirens filled our ears and we ran underground. There’s light down here. And food. We have an old citizens band radio to speak to other survivors. We have been able to contact a few others like ourselves. Father will go up top in a few days to check it out.
By Chrissy Barnhill3 years ago in Fiction
Scavengers
I wake before the sun. It's the best time to scavenge. The beasts sleep at this time. They come out at night but they hide in the hills before the dawn. I sneak a quick glance out the window. It's dark and still. I throw my hair up and nudge Antoine sleeping beside me. "Leah." With one word, he sits up and rubs his eyes. He told me once that he liked to sleep late in his past life, before the change. Now we wake at the slightest noise, we are always on alert. We have to be.
By Alexandra Mullen Palacio3 years ago in Fiction
Cracks
I have a sick dog smell and my head feels barely attached to my neck stump, so when the tram lurches it swings from side to side. It feels like there’s cellophane over my eyes. Everything is filmy. Milky. But I can still see things. Just yesterday I saw Them beating a small woman with yellow hair, right out the front of Myer on Bourke Street. I saw them in their black vans taking children.
By Erica Williams3 years ago in Fiction
Great-Great Grandfather’s Locket
GREAT-GREAT GRANDFATHER’S LOCKET By Kathryn Page Shimkets What happens when life as we know it, the human connection is virtually non-existent - when our love of family is forced underground. It is the year 2200, few still had distant memories of actual human interactions. Most didn’t even know their surname, or the power that could come with the love of family. Several generations back, after the government forbid parents to allow their children to be homeschooled; and encouraged youngsters to report their parents for any activities that weren’t on the acceptable seven list; my great-great-grandfather designed a simple way to keep our family heritage alive and treasured. A plain heart shaped locket, no real value, except to the one who would hold it and treasure it and know the secrets it held.
By Kathryn Shimkets3 years ago in Fiction
James Swithinski: Enabler of Death
With a deep breath, James Swithinski left the wall he had been leaning on. It was dark outside, and James reached up to take his cigarette from his mouth. That was one of the few lights that shone in the alleyway the young man stood in.
By Tristan Palmer3 years ago in Fiction
In the Heart of It
This locket represents my oppression. All of the citizens of New Hope had to wear one, each with their own identifying number marking us as underclass peasants. We didn't have the money or the status not to be burdened with the organ made out of copper and painted red. Some say that pre-war was amazing. You could drink and dance and be with friends all day if you wanted to. Food and water were abundant, people weren't trying to rape and kill for pennies. Entertainment was an actual thing. I was too young to remember that world being only 4 at the time. I say that whatever had been before the Heart War of 2045 didn't matter because none of us were getting out of this existence alive. There was no nuclear war, there was no fighting on homeland or on peoples own soil. No, it was the body that raged a war and we as a humanity needed to figure why everyones hearts were stopping with no warning and no justification. Scientists tried to figure out what was happening, top leaders all over the planet desperately trying to find the "cure" before their time was up as well. Sooner or later we were all going to die but it was all from the same thing, the heart failure. Obesity, health issues, complications from childbirth, car crashes, or accidents it didn't matter. Our bodies were in amazing condition with the chance to heal at rapid speed. We were all strong, we were all more than able bodied at top physical condition and that applied to the young and old alike. There was one caveat though, no one lived past 70. People were losing their minds trying to figure out the cause and the solution but to no avail. Half the population died out within the first 3 months. After that, another quarter and when this mystery plague finally took it's last heaving breath, there were only 900,000 souls left. That was 60 years ago and no one is really trying anymore, it's just reality. A day to day fact that we live with and accept. We can still have children but it's difficult to conceive. Even drugs don't work to help with it. Most of us choose not to have children anyway. Why would we bring another being into this crap, miserable pain of an existence? The food and water is heavily rationed for no reason other than greed and power by those higher ups called the Archangels. Bottom feeders who use us as pack mules and slaves disguised by a fake smile and fake kindness. Archangels had one purpose and that was to control us. There was still enough left of the world in which we could all live by ourselves and not be bothered by a neighbor. We could live off our own land and raise our own food but humanity was corralled into a new territory, heavily watched and guarded. The idea came from one man, a lone survivor of his family who became hateful and cruel. Robert Pennington thought if humanity stayed together that we would have a higher chance of survival. Instead of letting us branch out and flourishing, our lives becoming full of meaning and success, community needed to come first. Pennington sold this farce to the rich and powerful and made allies. He was an average man with average dreams and resented the elite, wishing to be them. On paper it seemed genuine and good when in actuality it was a ruse drenched in hell. Only those deemed worthy by himself personally adopted the title and started running the show. Most of us willingly went because we had nothing and nobody. The false hope of community and humanity working hand in hand was too tempting. It was only after years of working the soil and being the Archangels maids, butlers cooks, servants, and slaves did we come to realize what New Hope really was, a jail sentence. They placed heart shaped lockets on us with numbers to keep track. What once was a symbol of love and peace is now another tool of destruction. Those that tried to fight were killed by the Archangels army known as the Followers. We are all equally strong but they have weapons and state of the art technology to bring us down. Our one saving grace through the days is the heavily alcohol laden swill we get. Just like the egyptians, we are lulled into the same drunken calmness each night and woken up by it. It consumes our lives and is a currency for the lower classes. I only have 6 years left before I'm taken down for good. I could go before that but my prayers were never answered of an early death. One day I hope someone sees through the haze to fight and win for a better life. Until then, I'm gonna keep drinking and keep my head down. I have no fight left in my soul, sometimes it's better to accept that which we cannot change and live another day. Really, that's all we have.
By Christine Patterson3 years ago in Fiction