Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Fiction.
Crazy Like Me
“He refuses to speak to anyone else,” Dr. Thomas stood in front of Harleen, arms folded in disapproval as he spoke. “I already told you, I can’t treat him, there’s history there that would make me biased. He knows too much already, it’s not safe,” Harleen stood firm, her right hand was planted on her desk holding her up. Dr. Thomas couldn’t tell it was the only thing keeping her from shaking at the idea of the request.
By Nicole Stennett5 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
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
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
Waver
Swirly gray clouds moved inch by inch across the colorless sky, you could only really tell they moved at all if you were perfectly still, straining your eyes towards the heavens. It was a simple thing, but it was worth remembering that nature continues to move as if nothing had happened. There was flagrant defiance in the slow moving clouds, whispers of arrogance in the full grey sky that teased at rain. There would be no rain, but the sky wanted you to remember, in its own cruel way it wanted you to hope.
By Kavi Elwyn5 years ago in Fiction
