Adventure

A Tale Tail Heart tale no.4
Raff was always as the French would call it, a “manquer.” It translates to a person who just misses in everything he does. He almost wins the gold, he almost makes a million dollars, he almost saves the day…almost almost. If truth be told, Raff isn’t entirely plagued by bad luck so much as self-sabotage. It has been a problem his whole life. When given the choice between the high road and the easy shot, he invariably errs on the side of unwisdom.
By CK Henson Hayes5 years ago in Fiction
Dynamic Theory
The traveler gazed upon the windy plains of High Man's Point. The playful hills seemed to form waves of Earth. The traveler removed his black ball cap and lowered it at his thigh. Over the face of the cap, read bright bold letters, 173rd Infantry Brigade. He combed back his silver hair, and his shades hid his eyes.
By Joe Joe5 years ago in Fiction
Casey’s Run
Sneakers pounding on pavement and their own harsh breathing was all Casey could hear as they darted between back alleys. They knew that they had been seen, and it only took a few minutes for The Rozzers to respond to a theft, especially if it was an outsider like Casey. The Elites didn’t care about what was being taken from them, just that what they had stolen from the people was being taken back. Casey didn’t regret it though, because being shot and killed was better than starving to death anyway, in their opinion. They had seen what wasting away does to people, what it did to their mom. The weight of the canned food in their backpack meant little if they could stave off the hunger for just a few more days.
By Adrian Perkins5 years ago in Fiction
Chaos Unknown
Destruction, chaos, madness, did I already mention the chaos? One could use those words to describe what happened to our world, you want to know what it is to me? A shit show of corpses, Twinkie boxes and broken-down cars that never made it out. If you were “lucky” enough to survive you’d know that walking down the street in an astronaut suit (Personal choice by the way, my six-year-old self always wanted to go into space but I didn’t think they would let a anxious six year old in.) stepping over bones of loved ones and wiping off my helmet every ten seconds because of the ash that was floating through the air was the American dream.
By Abby 5 years ago in Fiction
Unbound Dimensions
Josephine had never seen, tasted or smelled anything within her twenty rotations around their dying Star. How does a Synth explain sight to someone who doesn’t even comprehend color, thought Aiden.
By Ruxandra Ivascu5 years ago in Fiction
Dateline: BUREAU VERITAS Industrial Revolution Party (IRP) News Bulletin
It was to damn early in the morning to be this optimistic, after all, the world was falling apart. Or blowing up. Either way, the news reports were wrong – the earth was not okay. Just Party propaganda. Their version of events - I had to get the hell out of here.
By CURT TRUMAN5 years ago in Fiction
By Dawn
This trip is longer than the last one was. Or maybe I forgot how it was before. That was years ago. I thought we’d stay with the Kraft Tribe forever. I should have known someone would take us eventually, the way Fernan and the others took us from the Deltas. As with that journey, I cannot see to tell: shielded in this cart with its high plank walls. To protect us, they say. But to keep us in, too.
By Kate Phillips5 years ago in Fiction
We Are Awake
One of the giant, black towers comes up above the treeline, dark as a finger of coal and riding up to the clouds in the corner of the man’s eye—a phantom—but he focuses on the deer at the end of his ironsights. Right now there is a headwind, so the animal can’t smell him, and it can’t see him either because it is busy eating mushrooms.
By Logan Smith5 years ago in Fiction
Chapter 5: Arts, Crafts, and Illiteracy in the Modern Age
The red spray paint bled down the side of the barn. Nov 3. Heading S to Eden. Mommy loves y The can fizzled in my hand. I shook it hard; the ball inside rattled, tick-shp tick-shp, like a psychotic hitting his head against prison bars. I finished the "ou" as the last bit of paint dribbled out onto my finger. I threw the can down into the mud, furious. I was down to my last one.
By Gabe Cassala5 years ago in Fiction
The Walk
It was a hot summer day; Joe had just worked an 11-hour day and was on his way home. A week away from the one-year anniversary of his wife’s death, he was going to stop and get his 16-year-old daughter something. He had picked a couple photos and was thinking a locket.
By Matthew Lieburn5 years ago in Fiction
In the Ruins of the World
I extended my hand for hers, but it was too late. Just like the rest of the world, she was gone. I had only known her for a few days, but we were all that remained. All that remained in a world full of hatred.
By Katherine Dorsheimer5 years ago in Fiction
The Safe House
Emily stared at the waves lapping the shore. The rising tide inched closer, and she had to avoid contact with the toxic water. Soon the passageway would close, cutting her off the mainland. With no food and only a two litre bottle of clean water left, she had to leave the island where she had hid since the discovery of their safe house.
By R.S. Sillanpaa5 years ago in Fiction