Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Love in The Time Of Post-Apocalyptic Moulds
“Post Apocalyptic Moulds?, What the fuck is a post apocalyptic mold?” Aaron had to nearly scream to ensure his scavenging partner Dave, who was mostly obscured by the blowing black dust, would be able to hear him “I don’t know man, you tell me. What do I look like a fucking microbiologist?” Dave yelled back then doubled over, racked by a massive coughing fit, mostly the result of inhalation of the poisonous atmosphere, an unfortunate and unavoidable hazard of his chosen profession. Aaron rushed to his friends side, put his arm around him and helped him scoot around a corner to a quieter spot where they could sit, partially shielded from the hounding winds and ever present, deadly particulate filled air. “I have no idea either bro but I found this heart shaped locket partially buried in the muck about 20 clicks east of here. Etched on the surface, it says `From EJ to DJ: Post-Apocalypytic Moulds. All my love. December 2019’” Dave had mostly recovered from his coughing spasm and turned the locket over in his hands inspecting it closely as Aaron continued to describe what he had found. “When I opened it a small piece of neatly folded paper fell out.” He took back the locket than handed the now unfolded paper to Dave. “It’s the damndest thing, the print is so fucking tiny, but clearly hand written, I don’t know how the fuck the dude could write that small, and there are images, digitally rendered, of what the author describes as various incarnations of the post apocalyptic moulds.” Dave quickly scanned the scrap of paper, essentially confirming what Aaron had conveyed, then whistled softly to himself as the age of the object, and the potential implications slowly dawned on him. “2019, damn, that’s almost 50 years ago, and more than 10 years PC (pre-cataclysm).” “Yep. Crazy right? I’ve been slowly deciphering the text and think I mostly have it figured. Thank God we didn’t lose magnifying glass technology in the cataclysm” Aaron said half jokingly. He had more of a sense of humor than his best friend, but that was not saying much, and post cataclysm, humor was a thing in desperately short supply, much like water, food, and just about everything else. Dave glared at Aaron “Not funny bro. If you’re done playing stand up what does it say?”
By Everyday Junglist5 years ago in Fiction
The Apocalypse is a Process
"The apocalypse is a process." Journal of Belinda Montgomery Those words stick with me. The author had been dead for a year when I stumbled onto her mountain cabin, while scavenging homes in the Carolinas. Since I had immunity to the sickness, I could walk through the sick-camps and not even catch a sniffle. I was the one in twenty people who almost dies from it, lives, and becomes immune. I didn't fear MERS 26.
By Kat Dehring5 years ago in Fiction
The Artifact
Journal entry: Day 193 since the disappearance This should’ve been a normal day like any other. I would wake, wash, get dressed, have breakfast, and go to my classes. But it isn’t, no anymore. I don’t even know why I keep writing into this stupid thing, it’s not like anyone can read it considering that they all disappeared from the face of the earth, but I guess writing here is still keeping me somewhat sane, if there was ever such a thing.
By Cristiana Lupan5 years ago in Fiction
The Evolved Survive, Day 223.
Dear Diary, hello again. Today is day 223 since the poison rain. I'm still at the burger joint, still alone. Thinking about hunting down a different restaurant to live in, because this woman can't live solely on burgers. Or maybe I'm just bored and need a change of scenery.
By Leah Harris5 years ago in Fiction
jack of diamonds
i Nigel closed the Bentley’s door. “Are you serious! We have a suspect right in front of us—even if we don’t know what he’s guilty of, we know he’s guilty of something—not murder, but something—and we have to leave because he accuses you of smoking opium? Opium? The worst part is, you’ve been smoking it since I met you,” Sonia said, turning to face him. “And all you can say is that didn’t go the way you’d hoped it would? My one chance to make an impression on those smug bastards, and you—you do this?”
By ben woestenburg5 years ago in Fiction
The Facility
Every day was the same. Wake up, do the work in your sector, go to bed. The rules of survival were simple: Do NOT go outside. The facility was the only safe place. We had to tell them everything that was going on, including our mental state. It was my appointment soon. I wasn’t sure if I should have told them that I kept having the same recurring dream. I kept seeing the woman in my locket but I had no idea who she was. I don’t know why I wore it but there was something in the back of my mind that wouldn’t let me take it off.
By YesItsMocha5 years ago in Fiction
