Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Fiction.

Open Heart and Empty Heads
You know what I hate about living in a post-apocalyptic world? Most people would say it’s the zombies, but personally, I don’t see what the big deal is. First, zombies are really slow and they’re always moaning, so it’s not like they can sneak up on you. Second, one bullet in the head and they’re down. As long as you don’t panic and do something stupid like tripping when you’re running away, zombies aren’t so bad. They’re definitely not as bad as those motorcycle gangs in bondage outfits that are always looking for “juice” for their vehicles. If the dopes didn’t spend so much time driving around, they wouldn’t need so much “juice”. But again, they mostly have little crossbows, so as long as you’re armed, not much of a problem. Actually, last time I saw some of them I said they could find “juice” in an area that I knew had zombies. I figure, two birds with one stone.
By Antonella Di Minni5 years ago in Fiction
The Golden Community
The platforms of my tattered boots scraped against the gravel as I dragged my heavy feet. I knew I was close but the closer I got, the more the exhaustion hit. I wanted to give up - lay in the road and wait for the savages to get me. I kept pushing myself to keep going and it was one of the hardest things I had ever done.
By Ivy Raye5 years ago in Fiction
My Dystopian Promise
The world was silent. The sky was dark. The life was gone. We walked with hurried steps through the empty street. The chill of the air made my anxious beads of sweat freeze down my back as they moved quickly. We couldn’t afford to be late.
By Lydia Booker5 years ago in Fiction
Heartless
Thoman pushed his way into the marketplace. Some of the market was covered with corroded roofs that only managed to let rusty water leak in while crumbling cement walls turned what should have been a fairly straightforward collection of vendors into a tangle of dead ends and labyrinthine corridors. There were stands covered in soiled but brightly colored cloths in every possible space. Well used plastic bins were arranged on every flat surface and filled with shiny and fairly valuable wares. Thoman chose this market because the guards were almost nonexistent and nearly anything could be had. Thiesel followed behind, pleading with Thoman to slow down; she was exhausted with his obsession to hunt every last one of this week’s “must resell” items.
By G S Goldberg5 years ago in Fiction
From Darkness Comes
Sweat slicked hair kept stinging her eyes. Hands far too deep in the dust and grime of this experiment, the only option was to endure because attempting to push it back would likely leave her blind. She puffed air from her supple cheeks in an effort to keep focused. Every little detail of this contraption’s wiring had to be perfect. If she failed, the only thing worse than the rip in the universe that could happen was the sheer disappointment of failure.
By Jin Exelixi5 years ago in Fiction
Slow Burn
Cordelia Allen was having the worst day of her life. Worse than when she fell flat on her back out of the tree in her grandma’s backyard, worse than when Johnny Fitzer kissed another girl at the winter formal, and so much worse than when she said goodbye to her dog Penny for the last time.
By Marisa Doell5 years ago in Fiction
DECISIONS, OPPORTUNITY OR FATE
It is hard to admit to Jordan that you would rather check out the ghost then go for supper, even so you explain to her how much fun it would be to meet a ghost! One that is about the same age you guys are. No matter how much to try to convince Jordan to go with you she is just not interested in such a crazy thing.
By Susan McGill5 years ago in Fiction
Samaria
I woke up under a dying tree with caustic ash dried to my lips and teeth. The ash was no worse than the dried rubble that I walked through or the leathery feel of my skin. I was dragging my leg at times and finding difficulty managing an upright posture. My clothes have been charred from the fire. Surprisingly, they had held up. I see fires in the distance behind me raging above the sparsely treelined horizon and hear explosions reverberating. There will be no survivors, nor should there be. I have been frozen for years in the deep freeze lockers in the pharma biogenetics deep lab basement. An apparent malfunction of the ancillary power grid changed that, because they had no intention of releasing anything that was fabricated at this particular plant of horrors and human experimentation gone extremely wrong. Experiments no one in their right mind would have done. They locked it down and closed it like a time capsule after selling the most horrendous of these mutated freaks to the most sadistic people inhabiting earth. Had it been for the fact this lab was unmanned I wouldn’t have gotten away. I am sure my exit breach set off the series of explosions. They didn’t expect anything to escape. The trip wires tell me that their intentions were to kill anything coming or going.
By DEEJAY 5 years ago in Fiction
Star Sleeper
-1- “No, please. I have not been backed up into the cloud. Spare me.” The bot’s voice quivered despite the monotone drawl of its basic programming. Sparks falling from Shakkurru’s ignited pulse blade pinged off the bot’s metallic exterior like synthchimes.
By Dean Floyd5 years ago in Fiction
The Kir Files
Chapter 1: ***Third Person*** The first day of school is always filled with chaos, from the freshman panicking over how to find their classes and making friends, to the lively upperclassmen comparing their schedules and talking about their summers. Magdalia Academy is no different than other schools on the first day....well except for this year that is.
By Kayanna Hansen5 years ago in Fiction
The Archivist
The water is glassy, the smell of salt and the cackle of laughing gulls drift on the sea breeze. Where do I go when I’m not here? Why go anywhere?
By Glenn Brown5 years ago in Fiction
The Unnamed Child
The planet was dying, and Ward Ad1 welcomed it. She longed for it, especially in the evening when consciousness returned to end her drug-induced slumber. She fumbled for the eyedropper next to her bedroll, opened the face shield on her helmet, and winced as the moisture coated the lens of her eyes. Pink tears slid down her cheeks as she sat up and took her first painful breath of the day. The oxygen from her tank pierced her lungs. She sipped stale air, eventually gathering enough strength to sit up, the sharpness of her breathing slowly subsiding. She nudged the lump in the bedroll next to hers and elicited a soft but unmistakably angry grunt. Ward Ma3 cracked her dry, dust-encrusted eyelids open just enough to glare at her bunkmate.
By Erin Benson5 years ago in Fiction