Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Game Over
It is quiet. Unusually quiet tonight. No dogs barking. No guns clapping in which would signify someone's death in the news in the morning. No fire trucks, and no police cars whirring in the night. It is peaceful outside, "Which makes it peaceful inside", thought Marcus as he played his video game Infection. It is a game that allows you to infect the world with different diseases. You could set up the symptoms, how fast it spreads, and more. Marcus loved this game. He played it off and on when he was upset with the world about something. Tonight, Marcus was disturbed by something. Marcus wanted to go on a field trip to the colleges. It was arranged by his Math teacher Mr. Davis who believed Marcus was a genius at this subject. He told Marcus it would not cost them a thing. Mr. Davis was willing to pay all of his expenses. That is how much he believed in Marcus and his mathematical skills. All the other students knew Marcus was more advanced than them. They accepted how advanced he was and encouraged him to go on the trip. The entire school supported him.
By C~Marie Rhodes5 years ago in Fiction
NothingGold.Exe
She didn't mean it. When Mommy said I wasn't real. I sniff, wiping tears from my eyes as I struggle in the small space to which she had confined me. I grip the gold locket which contained the picture of me and Mommy. In the photo, Mommy crouches beside me, her arm looped lovingly around my neck. I can remember the way the dock creaked beneath my flip-flops. The way the leaves had turned to gold on the other side of the sparkling lake.
By Brian del Rio5 years ago in Fiction
PAEAN
The last of the funerals was now a year gone and diminishing into the cataracts of memory. Jason and his son were the last and there would be no others. A jagged pyre of dry shattered wood waits by their white swing set which had grown sullen with rust for there were no more children to come after him. I had broken down the fence, the dead spruce, pale chaparral and even the peeling dog house they left long after the animal had refused to return. But there was still not enough wood for this.
By Kevin Rolly5 years ago in Fiction
The Raid
An arid wind blew through the dust covered town in northwestern Arizona. It was one of those small towns that the world had forgotten after the outbreak, and this made it the perfect place for people to settle. Lives of luxury were gone, and those who enjoyed them were gone, too. What was left were those with the will to survive, and those who could avoid falling prey to the prior.
By J.M. Moran5 years ago in Fiction
In the end it was the zombie earwigs
It would have been better if it had been butterflies. Marjorie loved butterflies. They were soft and lovely and flitted from flower to flower. Would being smothered by soft butterflies have been better though? Earwigs, on the other hand, were ugly and creepy. And had those nasty pincers. They did not flit. They scooted and scurried. And they killed a lot of folks. They killed her Marcos.
By Linda C Smith5 years ago in Fiction
Housefire
Her hair was the color of the house fire, and I think that’s why I chose to stand beside her. There is something about symmetry that attracts the human brain, and subconsciously it must have drawn me. There’s also something about tragedy and devastation that draws a crowd. She didn’t stand out otherwise. Her peacoat was charcoal, and her scarf was a riot of color against the dark grey. It looked so soft. She was warm and comfortable, and you can’t help but seek that out in a situation where someone’s life is literally up in smoke.
By Danielle Mullineaux5 years ago in Fiction
Ode to Mr. Calvin and Miss Mary
Ode to Mr. Calvin and Miss Mary I worked for Mr. Calvin Cobb and Miss Mary for nearly twenty years. May they rest in peace. Was with them through the sun and snow and even when the wind was pissing like a drunk. No matter what people said. Even when, sometimes they called Mr. Calvin things.
By James McMechan5 years ago in Fiction
Rush
Chapter One Just Another Sunny Day "Riiiiing!" I jump out of my desk as the school day ends, nearly forgetting my bag. I make it to the hall just as it begins to fill with students eager to leave for the weekend. Maneuvering my way quickly through the throng of hoodies and letterman jackets towards the double doors: I, Myah Rush, am on a mission.
By Dominique Stedge5 years ago in Fiction
The Mistakes He Made
Watching the wind rustle the hair of the dead is often unsettling. I walked by a killed raccoon just the other day, and the breeze slithered through the animal’s fur. It looked as if it was taking a shallow breath. I wondered why the image disturbed me, and I thought, Maybe because we know dead things are not supposed to move. It is almost like the wind is playing a cruel joke, tricking me into thinking that life still courses through those veins. Or perhaps I misjudge the wind. Maybe it is desperately trying to revive the dead. Give it up, then, what is dead will not come back no matter how hard you will it. Poor wind, I would guess that it gets lonely. Its’ air is the substance upon which we live, what failure it must feel when it can no longer fill our lungs.
By Samantha Crites5 years ago in Fiction
Lost Heart
Items containing an emotional connection are considered taboo in this day and age. Many do not see the point in holding onto things for sentimental value. Considering that when one must move from place to place, it is easy for that item to be lost and create immense heartache. Sometimes, though, people get away with keeping their belongings. My caretaker told me that some items contain memories for those who hold onto them. People wish to hold onto those times, she would say. When she reminded me of this, she would tap her finger against the locket around my neck. As if trying to tell me that this heart-shaped piece of jewelry contained something that I could not see nor feel. I could not understand what she meant.
By Corinne Borchers5 years ago in Fiction
