Fantasy
The Son of the General
I pull up my hood as the rain starts again. Nobody bothers to retreat under awnings on the busy boardwalk; the brief respite was welcome, but normalcy returns with the downpour. Vendors continue to shout into the crowd as people rush past, offering fresh fruit and bread at prices that are far too high for any Underling’s family to afford. Many will go hungry tonight, just like most nights.
By Avery Woods5 years ago in Fiction
History
History. It’s funny, I am not quite fond of history, it's important in its own way I am sure, but the truth is that no matter what way I look at it, I can't bring myself to become immersed in it, in any way. It's as old as time itself, here from the beginning, and it'll be here long after I've gone. I've never given much thought to history, we are taught it in school, but besides the basics such as dates and the information I used to cram into my head for exams, nothing quite seems to stay. We are taught history to avoid making the same mistakes and to pay homage to those that came before us. Yet, rather than learn, I believe humans repeat. We're repetitive creatures, imitating the simplest of things from when we first talk, too much more complex things like war. This world is cruel, there's no doubt about that, or rather more accurately people are cruel. I know I'm ranting, and you might be bored. Heck, I'm sure you probably aren't aware of what my point is. Well, do I even have a point...I can't say I do. I began to write first to record what is happening, but now mainly because it feels right. I suppose I should write as if I'm writing a story, but it feels more comfortable to write as if I'm talking to someone, which in a way I will be when someone reads it, in this sense you. My name is, well that doesn't quite matter, we'll say I'm X, not to be mysterious, although that certainly has some charm, but just because I feel it isn't necessary. I don't know you, and you don't know me, but everyone has a story to tell and needs someone to listen, so with this maybe you can get to know me, and I can tell my story.
By Katherine Beltran5 years ago in Fiction
Heart of Parchment and Ink
Blight and infertility had nearly consumed the world, leaving behind a bleak landscape. Only the mysticisms of the Magistoria could slow the encroaching rot. A rot that could not reach them in their elevated, dome-protected cities. Down below, most people were focused on surviving and allowed the mystics to handle the blight. That information was as immutable as gravity and just as unquestionable.
By S.W. Tredwell5 years ago in Fiction
The Apocalypse Isn't Too Bad
The thing I miss the most about the world before things went to shit is New York style pepperoni pizza with a dewy can of Coca-Cola. I think about all the times I grabbed a napkin to soak the pooled oil from a slice. I wouldn’t bother with that now. Give me all the pepperoni flavored oil you got. I would drink it from a cup just to get close to the flavor.
By K. Wallace5 years ago in Fiction
A Moment To Think
Her fingers reached haltingly. She had to be sure. Was it still there? It had to be there. It had to be. This was the last piece of who she was. Where she came from. The one remnant of another life in a universe that no longer existed. Well, it existed. But it no longer looked like, felt like, or even smelled like what once was.
By Paulette Dickerson 5 years ago in Fiction
T.E.B.O.N. 2087
Chapter 1 "Two copper wires, all six jars, and the last of my twine, not a scrap more old man!" "Ha! That's a curse o' a deal you're proposing. I didn't get these scars from tuslin' with runts like you. It was the desert clopse that took me eye during the war! There I was, in the middle of..."
By Kevin Grant5 years ago in Fiction
Mirage
“What do you think is over there?” a boy, no older than seven, asked from Dante’s side as he clutched at his sweaty hand. “Do you think it’s beautiful?” He fumbled over the last word, getting caught on the heavy B where his chapped lips didn’t stick together properly and instead, dry and raw, slid over each other to blur into the rest of the word. He made a face as if he were thinking about correcting himself, but it faded away quickly. He was a child after all and the air around them was too hot, too heavy, to worry about anything much more than getting one foot above the next as the pair climbed the mountain. But still, he muttered, “I think it will be.”
By Anna McCuaig5 years ago in Fiction
Kate And Bonny Kate
This bedtime story is called “Kate Crackernuts”. It is a story about a girl named Kate. Kate’s father was the king of their land and he had gotten remarried after her mother died. The woman the king married already had a daughter of her own as well. The new queen's daughters’ name was also Kate. To tell them apart they called the king's daughter Bonny Kate.
By Desiree Minerva 5 years ago in Fiction
Memory Bank
It had been 22 years since the war ended. He walked down the street where the government had erected a 100-meter-tall anti-invasion wall, forever closing off every beach and coastline in the country. He placed his hand on the wall, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. The air around him was putrid and thick with pollution. But for that mere moment, he remembered and felt as if he had inhaled a breath of salty ocean air.
By Gina Rancano5 years ago in Fiction
