Sci Fi
The Map of the Lost
There was a lone figure standing on the roof top of a decrepit building. It was the only one in sight. The entire world looked grey, filled with dust and ash. The rubble from the other skyscrapers stretched as far as the eye could see, at least, hers. Desiree, at least that's what she thought her name was, looked out at all the destruction and felt very alone.
By Karina Ruiz5 years ago in Fiction
World War J
My name is James Luke Watson. Born in Oxford on 3rd March 2029. Son of the late Jimmy and Joanne Watson. I have one brother, Joseph. I am unaware of his exact location and status, but I am certain he is safe. If I could make it this far without them setting upon me then, without doubt, he would have made it as well. Probably faster too.
By Philip Krafft5 years ago in Fiction
The Spy
Slowly, she began to regain consciousness. She opened her eyes slightly and was blinded by the brilliant lights in the room. She squinted and tried to move her arm to block out some of the light, but her arm wouldn’t respond. In fact, she couldn’t feel anything below her collarbones. It wasn’t that she was restrained, but rather that she simply didn’t have a body. How could that be? She was awake, and her eyes obviously worked, but why didn’t the rest of her.
By Christopher Schalk5 years ago in Fiction
2121
CHAPTER 1: THE THUNDER IN THE STREETS Around the Earth there is a blanket of gems that cover the nights sky, but these starts cannot be seen from the city. They have been replaced with mankind’s LED sparkling skyline. While it remains festive and in some sense beautiful it doesn’t have the same visceral pull that laying down in the grass with a night sky above, out in the country watching shooting stars has. That feeling, a want, a need, a longing, to be out amongst the stars can be extrapolated and expanded when you know you could be out there.
By Joe Swinehart5 years ago in Fiction
Post-Body Experiences
Dear listener of my lonely delirious thoughts, Romanticising the apocalypse was a gigantic mistake. Trust me. If it’s possible to call this miserable existence life, my ‘life’ is in no way worth it. I’d instead have chosen not to exist—not to have made the replica.
By Eva Vilhjalmsdottir5 years ago in Fiction
Crater Charlie's Magpies
Magpies were the lifeblood of Crater Charlie. They flew in from afar or crawled across the tangled carpet of unchecked plant-life, and they descended on the suspiciously perfect circle of Charlie’s crater; the one for which he was named, in case there was any doubt about that. Creative nomenclature had been one of the first casualties of the apocalypse, much to everyone’s surprise. Admittedly it did have to wait in line behind the enormous loss of human life, the devastation of various major settlements, and the utter collapse of global society as it had been known for hundreds of years, but those ones were so expected that they barely warranted a mention. It was the loss of nuanced naming conventions that really hit the survivors hard, because they were going to have to live with the consequences forever and it really wasn’t clear why it’d happened in the first place.
By Iain James Read5 years ago in Fiction
Paz and the Past
The ground in the Past was still dead, but tall, tough grass had returned in patches, making it more difficult to search. Paz never brought anything with her when she crossed the shimmering border, so she had to be content with scratching and kicking the ground to make it speak.
By Bev Potter5 years ago in Fiction
1V0RY T0WERS
David Gomez woke the same way he had for the last two years: perfectly refreshed, at the precise conclusion of his fifth sleep cycle. He slid out from beneath the hood that stretched across the headboard, careful not to disturb his wife as he shifted the covers. He let his feet slap against the wood floor; his own little fireworks show.
By Steven A Jones5 years ago in Fiction
The Squire and the Botanist
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee: When he perceived me shrink and on my knee, His bloody sword he brandish'd over me, And, like a hungry lion, did commence Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; - Lord Talbot, Henry VI Part 1 [4.7]
By Jamie Finfer5 years ago in Fiction
