Excerpt
LOTEK
I did present technology to both sides; my own people in the Underdwellers and to the Skylanders. I even did so in equal parts, giving an advantage for a time, just before taking it away. I did what I did; and my heart was in the right place for it. The technology for the Underdwellers was to aid in our survival. The technology for the Skylanders, even in war technology, was meant as a peace offering. I wanted an end to this conflict and a chance to come out of our tunnels and attempt to clean up the land and air of our Sixth Earth to make it walkable once more. I did not understand the full consequences of what I had done until the night that I witnessed the Skylander assault on three of our own people on a mere mission of unity with the Aquatitans. I witnessed that conflict and meant to stop the fight. It did not work out as I watched as our leader and our greatest warrior were injured; perhaps mortally if not for the cybernetic shield tech that I had instilled into them. Thankfully, I did watch as the youngest among us, the bravest yearling of us all, could escape the fire fight; a fire fight that felled me in her place. Three of us lie wounded because of a misunderstanding between two groups. Only I deserved such a temporary fate until we could all be taken back below as the Skylanders fled in victory. I did what I did; and I deserve this cell now; at least, until my trial…
By Kent Brindley3 years ago in Fiction
Echoes
The clatter of debris being tossed aside filled the air as she searched the ruins of an old house, scavenging for anything that might be valuable enough to trade. She was growing more frustrated by the minute. This was the fourth house El had searched today and she'd had very little luck. A few old dishes and bits of silverware were about the extent of it. Things she would likely use herself. Everything else seemed to have been picked clean by others before she got here.
By Erin Souvign3 years ago in Fiction
Hindsight
History is humor thrown down on the timeline of human existence. Sitting in the ruins as I gaze upon the final breaths of those around me, I find myself wishing that we'd kept the history books in a safer place. The truth of the matter is that we never know the right decision until the worst possible outcome has already occurred. The cinged pages of our history lay in the ashes at my feet while the pages still turned in my mind. A yearning desire to rewrite the pages fills my soul, to create the phoenix from the ashes from my own history. For this, I must start at the very beginning. The first days of my people’s own civil war laid its waste during the same time your own lands were in the midst of their own battles.
By brooke vecchi3 years ago in Fiction
Rose By The Road
Forty-Eight lanes of traffic all flowing together, like blood through veins. And the heart? The centre of it all, the thing that kept it beating? Most people would tell you that it was MidTown. Literally, the town in the middle of all of the divisions, where the brains of the planet resided, thinking of ways to keep the blood flowing.
By Ash Dickson3 years ago in Fiction
do humans dream in cryosleep?
They say when you enter cryosleep that you dream the entire time. I wouldn’t call it dreaming. It’s more like moments. Maybe it’s because we’re asleep so long. Our brains understand how much time is passing but since we’re not conscious, our normal dreams register like blips on an eternal radar.
By Jillian Rivera3 years ago in Fiction
Mountain Pass Pines Asylum
When I come to, all I can feel is pain radiating from the base of my skull. I reach my hand back and inspect it. Touching a knot of hair and dried blood, my eyes flutter as a new wave of anguish spreads through my head and down my spine.
By S. M. Risdon3 years ago in Fiction
Left Behind
As the fifth drone flew over our house in the past five minutes and left my line of sight, I knew we were in the clear. I gave off a loud whistle to signal Ollie that we were safe and then I carefully slid myself along the attic’s floor to avoid the low-hanging ceiling. I also knew I shouldn’t make any sudden movements that might cause me to come crashing through the roof. The house we were squatting in tonight was made in the late twentieth century due to the pictures hanging on the walls throughout the house as well as the layer of mold and dust that covered the floors and furniture. Ollie despised the people who lived during this time in history because he blames them for how the world ended up. War, famine, and climate change definitely turned our world upside down and he believes the people to blame are the same people who owned houses like the one we are in tonight. I don’t follow that same mindset. Sure these people should have made better judgment calls when they started seeing the early signs of climate change. They should have bought cars that weren’t so demanding in fuel. They should have saved the precious freshwater they had such easy access to instead of drowning their lawns in it. They should have eaten less meat and sprayed fewer chemicals into the world. But, honestly, I don’t blame them as much as Ollie does. They were just clueless. My mother always told me “ignorance is bliss” when she would explain how the earth became how it is today. It took me a while to understand exactly what she meant by that, but I have learned the meaning from firsthand experience now that Ollie and I have lived on our own the past few years.
By Katie McKittrick3 years ago in Fiction
The Weavings of Ordus
Ordus sat down heavily, wearily, on the small hillock sprouting tufts of katto grass, jasmine, and thorny looking brushweed. He dropped his helmet on the ground between his legs and laid his head on his crossed arms resting on his knees. With his eyes closed he focused on the immediate silence, no birds melodiously twitting, no insects incessantly chirking, only the faintest din of low moans in the distance reached his ears, subtly piercing the ringing that throbbed there. He could hear his sweat plopping in fat drops from his brow to land on the wide brim of his kattoir helmet. He could hear the slow, sharp inhale of his ragged breaths. He believed, with his eyes closed tightly, if he held his breath, he would be able to hear the sizzle of spilt blood boiling in the sun.
By Clint Jones3 years ago in Fiction