Short Story
THE JOURNAL
Many years had gone by since the world went completely sideways and did two or three summersaults in the process. All the signs of impending doom had been blatantly right in everyone’s faces, no exceptions, but like everything else, unless the big-ugly comes knocking at your door, no one does anything about the problem. And that’s what eventually happened, the big-ugly came knocking at everyone’s door at exactly the same moment, and when they opened their doors, all hell broke loose. Civilization should have paid more attention to irreversible climate changes due to mass deforestation, uncontrolled industrial growth and nonrestrictive mining and fracking procedures. Since the air was polluted, the soil and water poisoned and the massive accumulated ice at the North and South Poles was rapidly melting at an unprecedented pace, the oceans swallowing up entire cities; water, food and land becoming scarcer and a premium commodity, nuclear warfare erupted on a global scale.
By Len Sherman5 years ago in Fiction
Integrity challenged
Being enticed with a new challenge in Vocal, has induced moments of anguish not easily ignored. Finding a relevant subject that can interest me enough to do hours of research seems daunting. Setting my inner antenna for just such a revelation, interestingly translates to every emotion and every body movement a narration in my head, a phenomenon I’ve apparently adopted when looking to spark the imagination.
By Jan Portugal5 years ago in Fiction
A Courageous Young Woman
It was the first time I had to deal with something like that. I wasn't particularly nervous. Thoughts were swirling in my mind; about the great battle humans have to fight to tame their primitive animal instincts. I also made mental notes from the lessons we had taken on how to handle that kind of situation. "You'll be fine", Nassos told me. "Just think of how you'd want to be treated after something like this if you were in her shoes", he added. Empathy, I thought.
By Anthi Psomiadou5 years ago in Fiction
Lonely Ghoul
"Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.” (William Shakespeare, Macbeth Act 1, Scene 4) It's a cool Halloween night, not cold but not warm, just a comfortable breezy night. I decide to escape my lonely prison and get her to escape hers. She’s had a particularly hard day and I want to make an attempt at levity. As I turn the corner to her street my heart stops at the sight of a stunning ghoul. Clothes as black as night around us from head to toe. Her leather jacket matching her combat boots, half of her beautiful face made to be a different kind of beautiful in contrast with her costume, and the other half just her. Her enticing eyes lock onto mine and she forces a smile. She wraps her arms around my neck and I pull her into a tight hug, one that shocks us both.
By Nick Queen5 years ago in Fiction
Apocalyptic Love
Jess was running as fast as her legs would take her. The buildings at her sides were blurring one into the other, and the unkempt pavement under the thin soles of her shoes was cutting a path to her skin. Ignoring the pain and the feeling of blood soaking her boots, she kept running.
By Thomas Powney5 years ago in Fiction
Ermaline's Feast
As her wings shifted ever so slightly, the great beast turned, heading for the sun. Ermaline looked down on the people miles below and wondered that something so small and insignificant could be so tasty. Damn shame they fight back, she thought, wincing at the fresh scar on her side that had blistered from the heat of their torches. It was a bad burn, and not for the first time did she wonder why she was not fire proof outside as well as in. But it would heal, and she would be back, these humans were too good to resist.
By Heather Ewings5 years ago in Fiction
Hell's Gate
Hell’s Gate: A Short Story Brian J. Pehrson Night infiltration course, better known as Hell's Gate, my first real test as a Soldier. One hundred and fifty meters of barbed wire, dugout fighting position, hidden artillery simulators, and continuous M60 machine gun bullets flying just feet over our heads. To make it all better we just completed a forced 8-mile ruck march carrying 50lbs of gear and it is 2300 at night. Drill Sergeant Thorpe says that tonight at least one of his 75 privates will die a glorious death on the simulated battlefield by gunfire or explosions if they are lucky. I think he is just full of it though. At least I hope he is full of it. I am not too sure sometimes with him. He always has flashbacks to someplace called Kyrgyzstan fighting an unknown enemy there.
By Brian Pehrson5 years ago in Fiction
THE SUBURBAN SECRET
Carl was always a little unsure about moving into such a suburban area. All these cookie-cutter houses right next to each other were strange to him. Every yard was neatly manicured with an excessive number of flowers in their yards. All the cars were perfectly clean and the neighbors seemed just a bit too happy and friendly. It was as if none of them had lived in the real world where people can be mean, cruel and Home Owners Associations did not exist to govern the appearance of one’s house and yard.
By Brian Pehrson5 years ago in Fiction
To Feel Him Loving Me
They modified the brains of the murderers first. That was the basis of the whole idea. If they could rewire people’s brains to feel the emotions of those around them as strongly as they felt their own, if they could feel the terror of their victims, could feel their pain as they hurt them, maybe they would stop.
By Megan Irwin Harlan5 years ago in Fiction
The Shutdown
The voices were loud – harsh whispers of frantic panic drilling ragged holes into Avery’s thoughts – but her footsteps were louder. The heavy click of her ugly, leather school-shoes on the glossy tiled floor echoed all around her, bouncing off the walls of her skull like a game of Pong.
By Alyssa Potter5 years ago in Fiction
Walking in LA...
Georgana adjusted her pack as she walked in the direction she hoped would lead to the only water source within a 50 mile radius… at least, according to her half moth eaten map. It was missing some chunks, but still served her purposes most of the time. Georganas’ shoulders were strong but not yet accustomed to the pressure and roughness of the straps. She wistfully remembered a time when her shoulders were free to feel the sun and the wind instead of the sweat and accumulated dirt between her skin and the pack, which held all that she owned. Shaking off the memories of a sweeter time with the reminder that she needed all her senses alert in this new world, she made a fist with her hand and peered through the tiny hole made between the curl of her fingers and her palm. Her self-made tiny telescope gave her a clearer view of the horizon. She scanned left to right, a habit she had acquired to watch for dangers. If she spotted people or animals far enough off, she had a chance of dropping to the ground to hide before they saw her. In the scrub brush and scattered rocks, she could still make herself scarce… even in the flat, desert terrain of what used to be Los Angeles.
By Anah Reichenbach5 years ago in Fiction
