Satire
The Cat it was who cried. The Panda Bear that died
*Interview begins* So where do I begin: The investigation? The briefing? The raid? We were onto the Panda, it seemed. That was the skinny being handed down from the Intelligence Processors. The Panda, whose cyber-coding had set back production at the Factory on three occasions and who was known to dance up and down the Strata without any pity for the Board's quotas, or the Shareholders' Assembly, or the Citizen populace or even the workers. That bloodless bastard who had run rings around us for the last two quarters. We had him.
By Conor Darrall3 years ago in Fiction
Crazy Dan
He shuffled along the sidewalk, thin and stooped, head down and hands clasped behind his back. Every couple of steps, he stopped, staring at the ground. He inevitably kicked at something in the gravel. Sometimes, he picked up whatever it was and placed it in his pocket before examining it. Sometimes, not. Either way, he continued along unhurried and unaware of anything except what he might find next.
By Paul Murphy3 years ago in Fiction
Beacon
11:11 a.m. Corridor A girl with bluish hair, her name is Auburn, whirls around and locks the parlor door with a key that she found on the mantle beside her grandfather’s clock, a grandfather clock, that arrived no less than twenty-four hours ago shipboard from the continent. Her grandfather accompanied his clock. Both are quite grand, her grandfather and his grandfather clock. Both are ornate and full of crannies, one chiseled by tool, the other by time, talking and ticking with metronomic precision during a tea-time rant over the state of Grandfather’s affairs on the continent and why his stocks have fallen, and his blood pressure risen, and why he has come alone and not in the company of Grandmother, who would have insisted Grandfather still loved his clock more than his wife.
By Hugo Lasalle3 years ago in Fiction
Forfeiture
Nobody had been expecting a rate hike, but when the anxious crowd standing around the screen at the Battery grew, Saara knew something was terribly wrong. Faces went pale, there were tears and one co-worker bolted for the toilet. Saara felt something inside her plummet as she joined the viewers and watched as the news broke.
By Houssam Alissa3 years ago in Fiction
Giant Killer Spiders
I seem to remember my parent’s house having a roof over it. And also a lot less giant killer spiders hanging out around it. Maybe that was just me though. I wasn’t always the most observant kid in the world. Especially before the world went topsy turvy and started spitting out stuff like giant killer spiders. I won’t bore you with the details. Mostly because I can’t really remember most of them myself. Nuclear holocaust this, crippling cyberattack that. You know the drill. Long story short, all electronics have been rendered useless, hyper intelligent mutant insects now roam the globe, and I had spent the last six months traveling across the country to get where I was standing: Muncie, Indiana. My old stomping grounds. Weirdly enough, the whole town looked just like I had left it. Give or take about twenty to twenty five bug monsters.
By Ben Van der Meer3 years ago in Fiction
LAUGH
DEAD ON SIX O’CLOCK. Sentries stand in two straight, parallel lines, sporting the logo of the Taurus government – the Blue Bull – over the place where their hearts should be. Rain chants and thunder claps. The weather’s pulsating, war-inspiring song provides the Sentries with the single-minded determination needed to complete their work. They snap to attention, saluting sharply to the Tauritsar. Black leather gloves reach for cold metal rifles.
By Marco Cardoni3 years ago in Fiction
A Guide to Parenting During the Apocalypse . Top Story - June 2021.
1. Do not complain, you did not ask for this. The world is now full of children who live with their grandparents, aunts, uncles, distant cousins, friends of the family, or total strangers. You are not special because you are raising a friend's child. You have not been singled out. This is the way things are.
By Mikaela Bell3 years ago in Fiction
Ultrastar
The year was 2137 and everyone was finally famous. Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though. People still had weight issues, and holidays were still exploited by advertisers too far in advance. It was during Christmastime that the E-G men took Samuel and Sharon Neerborg’s nineteen-year-old son, Rale, away.
By John Howard Matthews3 years ago in Fiction
Influencers
I woke up realizing two things – I was no longer cold, and the others had gone. I wasn’t sure where I was at first – hazy recollections of running through the dark mall, ivy covered pillars and broken escalators. Looking around I realized I was in was some kind of a storeroom. No windows, shelves stacked floor to ceiling with boxes containing who knows what. A department store, perhaps, judging on the thick duvet and pillows I was wrapped in. I hadn’t been this comfortable in months.
By Angel Whelan3 years ago in Fiction