Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
The deadly locket
So here’s a story about a heart shaped locket. When I saw this locket, I just had to have it. It was gold in color, pretty plain, with a very tiny, almost invisible diamond on the right side of you are looking at it. The inside was that of a normal locket but this in particular locket held a secret. So, I should go back and say this locket was a gift I bought myself but it was not from a fancy jewelry shop. It was from a pawn shop. Someone in a hurry sold it because they needed money quickly. I don’t think they got a lot for the locket but it seems like a piece of jewelry that can easily be discarded. When I saw it, it literally spoke to me and I just had to have it. When I opened the locket, inside I found a life of hurt, good times, and lonely nights. There was a picture in the space and it occurred to me that this was no ordinary locket and the person that pawned it needed to get rid of it and it waited, almost on baited breath, for its next victim. When I placed the locket on my neck I felt a pull from inside my chest, of course I ignored it because that was a crazy feeling and not from a locket I told myself. The locket seemed to pull me into its disparity and dysfunction. I felt a burning in my chest but I kept telling myself it was nothing and it couldn’t be the locket.I thought it was strange that I didn’t have these feelings when the locket was off only after the locket owned me, I was not able to get the locket off. So, here’s the story of my locket, the locket I grew to hate and the locket that ultimately took my life……
By Maria Tarquinio-Kuhn 5 years ago in Fiction
Burnt
I trudged on wearily, lonely. The dirt road stretched for what seemed like forever and the large hill in the distance seemed to loom like Mt. Doom if it was placed in the desert south west. My shoes, which had at one point been the staple of every outfit I wore, now seemed to pour in bad memories with every step.
By Kathryn Van Dran5 years ago in Fiction
Eden’s Path
Snapping her eyes open, Margaux hastily claws at her rucksack, feeling for the imprint of a heart sewn into the lining. With a sigh of relief, she unties her waist from the tree before standing up on the sturdy branch. As she stretches and wiggles out the kinks from her awkward sleeping posture, Margaux inspects her surroundings with wary apprehension. She could have sworn another presence was nearby while she was sleeping. After another probing search, she glances at her wrist compass before shoving some stringy pocket jerky into her mouth. Taking her rope, she wraps it around her bed-branch before cautiously rappelling down the trunk. Once on the ground, Margaux has a swig from her canteen and sets off with renewed determination. Based on last night’s progress summary, she may be able to make it to her new bunker before nightfall.
By Kelsi Yotka5 years ago in Fiction
Phoenix Rising
Our world is no longer ours. They came from the sky. Major cities destroyed in a matter of hours, humans subdued and enslaved before we even knew what hit us. The Imperium. A race of warriors; brutal, unforgiving, and merciless. The overseer being the worst of all, Commander Valron.
By Miranda Arelt 5 years ago in Fiction
The Right Thing
Previously on Knife Skills The party was over; it went on longer than anticipated, until about 2:30 AM. The night, having gone better than expected, ended with several strong drinks with Rhiannon, an old friend whose reputation has caught my attention. She got a ride home from one of my chauffeurs, I insisted. No need for my new partner to catch an Uber when I have many employees under my belt. After her departure, I received a call from a potential client, a wealthy man from the Middle East who wants to sterilize his teen daughter to keep her from procreating. A very powerful statement for his two younger daughters to honor their father. Sounds like my specialty.
By Rain Dayze5 years ago in Fiction
The Red Butterfly
“Salvation in submission.” These are the words that have formed the foundation of society, or at least what is left of it. At some point, they may have meant something more philosophical, something to guide the minds and souls of the masses. But beneath the stains of time, any altruism has been swept away and buried. We are no longer souls to be saved, but rather numbers in an unholy equation.
By Kyle Gaffney5 years ago in Fiction
How I conquered my fear but not really
In general I am a calm girl, I don't freak out often. "No no no no no I will not, I WILL NOT. I will sit out here in my towel until someone destroys that million-legged freak!" I really hate centipedes, and am somewhat sleep-deprived. I had played video games until 2 in the morning, then went to bed. As I slowly sank into my bed, waiting for sleep to come, I realized that I had not stopped sinking into my bed. I listened to the hiss of air for awhile before deciding that the patch I had put on my bed had not held.
By Rose Armitage5 years ago 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
