Short Story
Beyond the Rubble
The warm hand led her through the endless rubble, as it had done for years now. She didn’t know where they were going but she trusted the man. She trusted him more than anything. He had rescued her and cared for her for seemingly no reason. She knew it was hard enough to survive in this world by yourself let alone with a child like her.
By Mae Namwob5 years ago in Fiction
Message in a Bottle
Hey there. This your first one? There are a few out there, not sure how many. You lose count after a while. Pens aren't that common anymore, ones that work, anyhow. Something to write 'on' is easier to find than something to write 'with', but I guess that was always the case. Even 'before' I had an aversion to pens, or was that the other way around? Was it just me, or does that sound like you, too? Still, with that in mind, I have to tell you that this pen is about done, and I don't have another, so if this message suddenly stops then you know why, and I apologise in advance.
By Paul Wilson5 years ago in Fiction
Hearts Broken Open
Faint golden rays break over the half standing remains of ruins, the ruins of unfinished foundations from a time before the "uplifting". Back when people crowded in and around and through, monuments of stone and glass and metal, endlessly paying reverence and tithe to their gods of falsehood and decadence, their gods that depressed them and oppressed them. Their gods that gave them scarcity and they celebrated for "having" while truly lacking; their gods that gave them addiction and they celebrated for "feeling" while seeking after numbness; their gods that gave them death and they celebrated for "living" if you could in fact call it that. That was how "she" painted them.
By Asheton Torry5 years ago in Fiction
dystopian daydream
Day One: It skitters across my walls in some sort of a jerking and fluid motion. All arms and legs in fully mechanized posturings. It’s ceaseless whirring is hissing through my brain hitting raw nerves. Already unhinged, I fought off the idea that the thing was stalking me, and only me. We were informed yesterday that these things would be the new and constant presence in our homes.
By Melissa Eaves5 years ago in Fiction
Bansko
Purgatory again. The clinical, unimaginative expanse between worlds. Somehow airport terminals all take on the same form all over the world. Some more decadent than others, but still unimaginative. I like to think this is for a reason, that they manifest themselves as a precursor to the experience of a new country, acting as a mental palette cleanser that washes away the unpleasantries that lead up to your departure. Regardless, I found myself here again. Slightly melancholic and uncertain how to feel about my return to Scotland, I absent-mindedly observed the comings and goings of its temporary inhabitants, as they made their way to and from various destinations around the globe. My mind drifted back to the beginning of my trip to Bulgaria. I revisited the slideshow in my mind, replaying a condensed highlight reel of events. Suddenly I found myself back on my departing flight from Edinburgh to Sophia.
By Jamie McLean5 years ago in Fiction
In Twilight After
In Twilight After A short story by James Kiehle He wondered: Am I the only one left? Sitting cross-legged in mud, Russ Perry held his daughter’s heart-shaped locket up against the ominous sun, watching light dance on engraved metal, the luminous ballet hypnotically transporting his jagged mind from this time and place back to before the—what was it? A war? A mistake? A prelude of the coming hard new reality.
By James Kiehle5 years ago in Fiction
The Heart Lottery
I’d been dreading this day my whole life. Well, at least once I was old enough to be told what would happen the 16th year on the date of my birth. I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but it was somewhere between six and seven. My mother made it seem almost like a fairy tale. It wasn’t until I got older that I discovered the grim reality of it all.
By Jude Liebermann5 years ago in Fiction
She So Wishes It Didn't
The world still turns. The seasons still come, and the seasons still go. Autumn changes the color of the leaves, and with winter comes the cold and the snow. In spring, the world cheers at the sight of blossoming flowers and new beginnings. And then in summer, laughter fills and lingers in the air. The world still turns.
By Author Alice VL5 years ago in Fiction
