Short Story

Coming Home
It has been almost 50 years since the world crumbled apart into the ruins of society, we find ourselves struggling to survive in today. Ever since the bombs decimated over half of the population of this dying planet, I have come to realize that we are undeniably a virus. The thought of being in control of our own destinies blinded us from the truth and that truth is, we were destined to fail. Instead of coming together and working out our differences, we pointed fingers while making excuses rather than accepting the consequences of our decisions. The crumbling and desolate landscape we scurry around in trying to make it another day is the result of our own demise and hubris.
By Joseph Ruhl5 years ago in Fiction
The Harvesters
It didn’t matter how the world ended. Ultimately, the world just got tired, like the rest of us. The only thing that mattered is the bronze locket wrapped around my wrist.
By C. Brown5 years ago in Fiction
Fly Away Soul
Tap. Tap. Tap. The soft rhythmic sound echoed in the vast work room, off tempo of the classical music scratchily playing from a record player hidden deep in some forgotten corner. Rows upon rows of spools of red thread stood on massive bolts, taking up more than half of the room. A line from each spool led to the open side of the room making a pretty display of criss crossing patterns in the air. Each line ended at a central point where an old, worn spinning wheel sat before the only window in the room.
By S.R.Robertson_Author5 years ago in Fiction
On a Foundation of Memories
You saw her today, while you were dreaming. A child not more than ten twirling and skipping through a wheat field, the sun shimmering across her skin. There’s no fear in her eyes, no screaming or shrieking in pain. No, in this dream she’s happy, laughing even. A sound you haven’t heard in a long time.
By Hannah Sharpe5 years ago in Fiction
A Family Who Survived The Low Odds
The sun slowly climbed up into the sky beams of light hitting the ground for the first time without death in the air. The frost that laid on the ground slowly started to melt from the heat the sun brought. A sapling broke through the surface. The leaves on it were a deep green but when the sunlight hit it an aqua blue gave it a unique look. The frost around the sapling seemed to grow towards it when the frost touched was absorbed into the sapling making it grow. Soon by the time the sun was over the mountains the sapling was a fifteen foot full fledged tree. In the trunk six feet above the ground was a heart shaped locket opened.
By Railyn5 years ago in Fiction
Circumcision Machine
During the sixth decade of the twenty-first century, circumcision became obligatory to assure men of freedom of choice and pleasurable sexual intercourse. For joyous copulation, a man had to be circumcised before the voting age of twenty. Following that crucial chronology, it was well known worldwide that a man would be infected with Benisitis, the penis-voting controller, a genetically engineered virus of myriad mutations that was created by Benis Priestly, the President of the United Continents of Earth. Having decided to remain the President for the rest of his life, this virus assured him of at least half the votes. Following a man’s twentieth birthday, Benisitis would invade the prepuce of his penis and prevent any possibility of orgasm. To be able to ejaculate, the afflicted man had to vote for Priestly in order to access a four-year, gene-coded antidote. Priestly’s slogan was appropriately:
By Patrick M. Ohana5 years ago in Fiction
The Silent Pianist
Today is Wednesday. In the dark and dreary town of Beldurra, there is a constant, thick fog. The town does not look particularly rundown or abandoned but it would still seem eerie and off-putting to any outsiders. As such, very little ever happened. Except on Wednesdays.
By Mae Namwob5 years ago in Fiction
Blue Dreams
I’ve had blue dreams for thirty-five nights now. Each dream is the same. I run in a field of long grass left to grow, my bare feet pressing into the soft, brown soil beneath. I am five years old, and I run towards the figures of a child’s imagination – pirates and princesses and ponies that prance. Then, as the last bit of sun disappears behind the trees, my world turns blue. The skies drip with a darkened blue that bleeds into the grass, the dirt below my feet, and my mother’s garden in the distance. Blue shadows loom over my house, and my breathing quickens with fright as I look down at my small hands, finding my skin stained with shades of blue as well. Tears swell in my eyes, and I blink because I know this is just a dream, and blue is just a color. But when they open, every part of the world I was just standing in has turned blue, so that that the trees blend in with the sky and the grass and me. All I see is blue, all I think of is blue, and I can’t remember what it’s like to be human because all I am is blue.
By Hannah Klingberg5 years ago in Fiction
When the Sky Burns
His eyes burned. The sun would never shine on him again. The sky would never show its gentle blue hues. Calm, grey clouds would never float across the horizon. Only blazing fires remained to rain down from space.
By Mae Namwob5 years ago in Fiction
Beware the Clockwork Witch
I hold my sister’s heart in my hands. Each time it ticks, blood drips out of the scorched and twisted gears and the severed tubes that used to be her arteries. Her body is rigid, engulfed by the flames spewing from the long-barreled guns of the Watchers. As they open their silver cloaks, the spiders stream out, each one the size of my fist, sleek and steel. I will not be able to fix her this time. They will tear her apart, incinerate the pieces, and throw what they can’t burn into the Swamp. This can’t be happening. We kept her secret for years. And now the words I’ve come to despise are shouted in triumph by my sister’s murderers.
By Jacob Sargent5 years ago in Fiction
Hung up Love
So, here is the thing: I am an orphan in possession of a heart-shaped locket which will end up being the death of me. But I am getting ahead of myself. My name is Danyella Cogendure and I had survived a zombie apocalypse. Yes, I get it, zombies are overdone, but hear me out. This zombie apocalypse occurred once a majority of the world's population had obtained a Coronavirus vaccine a few years ago. It was sudden, and it was terrifying, even for a twenty-two-year-old who would rather spend her nights watching gruesome horror films than go outside. I only figured out what the problem was because I heard grunting in my house, only to discover my own parents feasting on my little brother's brain, and I just knew I was next. I ran back into my room, and shut the door, packed my duffel bags with whatever I could quickly get my hands on; clothes, the various weapons I kept in my room, and of course the heart-shaped locket I always wore that had the pictures of my family inside of it. After that, I grabbed my car keys and escaped from my window to get to my car, panting. I have been constantly fighting and hiding zombies ever since that day, and it has been a lonely existence. There are a few days when I want to just give in and allow them to get to me, but then my fight-or-flight instinct kicks in and I automatically want to fight for such a waste of life. I wanted to be a nurse, and was going to school for it, only for this to be my life. Killing zombies and saving myself. I suffered with my mental health even before everything crumbled around me, and I could not even get ahold of my boyfriend or best friend, and even swung by their places but they are just gone. I am entirely alone, with only the locket to remind me of some of the ones I loved.
By Angel Keller5 years ago in Fiction
Watershed
It's been four days since I woke up here. The last thing I remember is being chased, my mother's hand in mines, running down the deserted streets of another empty city. I stared out the window of the room I was in, I didn't want to think about it. My hand touching the heart-shaped locket on my neck, I didn't want to think about what happened next. Tucking the long chain between my breast for safekeeping.
By TeJay5 years ago in Fiction