Adventure
Praesidium
The shadows were encroaching into what little light there was in the room. The dark was dominating. Items were strewn around the room, blocking the light and creating more darkness. Furniture. Dangling curtains and curtain rails. It was all evidence that life had once existed here. Newspapers. Letters. Photographs. Fancy wall paper was peeling from the walls and there were shadows over the damp patches. Everything was rotten and greyed with age.
By Jade Stephens5 years ago in Fiction
Praesidium II
Previously - Meanwhile, James was searching through his third house. He was proud of his hoard of supplies. He had found some new clothes for them ready for the approaching warmer weather. The first house had a whole supply of canned food. Some of the cupboards and the fridge were starting to grow their own eco systems from the moldy food but most of the cans were okay. A scream pierced the silence.
By Jade Stephens5 years ago in Fiction
The Heart of Sarian
A barren wasteland, the definition of imperfection, lies right in the heart of our perfect, sugar coated city. My dad always used to tell me stories growing up, about a time, long before our generation, of a kingdom that once stood there. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had this dream, it’s the same, reoccurring, every night. In this dream, I’m at the bottom of a stair well, it’s spirally, made of brick, it’s cold and damp, in the back ground I can hear a faint voice, beautiful, almost like a sirens song, calling my name, the overwhelming urge to follow it sweeps over me and I start to climb, one step at a time, growing ever closer to the top, as I get closer, the voice gets louder, I can hardly contain my excitement, I start taking two steps, then three, before I know it I’m running, as I reach the top I come to a solid oak door, with a big brass knob, just as I’m about to open it ... Tiggy, TIGS!! ANTIGONE!! ... I’m shaken awake, as I rub my eyes I’m greeted by my little sister Elsie, she smiles softly and says “Happy Birthday Tigs.” handing me a small gift, wrapped with a bow, I look at her “Thanks Els.” as I start to unwrap the box “Oh, and don’t call me Antigone again.” she laughs and makes her way back out of my room. My eyes swell as I look at the gift, it was my mother’s old heart shaped locket, the chain had snapped not long after my grandma had passed away, I remember how upset my mum was, she had always meant to have it repaired but after she got sick it became her last priority. She had always said when I turned 17 it would become mine, it was sort of a family tradition, passed from generation to generation to the first born girl, I think even before the apocalypse. I undo the clasp and fasten it around my neck. “Finally 17 Mum.” I sigh as I stare at her photo on my night stand, “Wish you were here.” I jump out of bed, tying my unruly curls in a high pony, and throwing a pair of ripped jeans on, I pull a hoodie over my head, slip into my converse and make my way down stairs.
By Charlotte Price5 years ago in Fiction
Imagine Michael Scofield, Professor and Assane Diop’s Working Together
You may not have heard of these three characters. But they are the most intelligent characters that the world of television series has ever released. All three are characters from different series at different times and different scenes, yet their performances are breathtaking.
By Casimiro Filipe 5 years ago in Fiction
Fimbulvinter
The wind whistled through the forest of pines, small bits of snow falling from their drooping branches. A male elk moved carefully through the brush, followed by two females and a calf. They watched him, mimicking his steps to move safely through the woods. He lowered his face to the ground, brushing the snow aside to reveal a cluster of mushrooms. His calf approached, nibbling on the vegetation as the adults kept watch. A slight rustling of the brush in the distance put them on high alert, but they had no time to react before the snap of a bowstring resounded through the air. The buck fell, an arrow sticking out from his chest. The rest of the herd bolted into the woods, letting out sharp cries as they were forced to leave their only protector behind.
By Caleb Arentz5 years ago in Fiction
SHADOW AND BITCH
Do you see it? What? Jonah asked. Do you see the heart? No, I see the destruction caused by sellouts like you that couldn't accept anarchy. Sure, whatever, artist. I replied. I always said artist instead of asshole, sometimes horse, because horses are assholes.
By Darrin Smith5 years ago in Fiction
What We Fear In The Light
Entry – March 12th In the aftermath, we howl at the fetid landscape and wonder what we have done. Poison drips in the air around us. The toxic clouds drove us underground long ago. And there we wait in the potent dark. In our silence. We had the scraps to rebuild. Pieces. Eclectic fragments of a life extinguished. We pieced them back together like a defective jigsaw puzzle, incomplete of all its parts. We cobbled together a form of what we could call a new beginning.
By Vivian Noir5 years ago in Fiction
Locket or Bust
Poker chips clacked together. The deck passed to the player on the left. Doc grimaced as the big blind landed on him, but he hadn’t joined a high stakes game to turn chicken. The dealer handed out the cards, cigarette smoke swirling to the ceiling from a cigar dangling in his lips.
By B. M. Valdez5 years ago in Fiction
Another Sweltering Day
Another sweltering day. It isn’t like Val expected any different, it has been the same miserably hot and dry weather for the last three years, but it did not stop her from longing for a simple breeze of cool air or any break from the heat. Val pulled up her hood to protect her fair skin, she had learned from her past mistakes, she never wanted to experience another blistering sunburn again. Then she pulled on her mask and pushed open the heavy metal door. Unfortunately, it was time for her to leave the place she had considered home for the last twelve months. It was time to carry out her grandmother's plan to rebuild a safe haven for the survivors.
By Rose Chester 5 years ago in Fiction
A touch through time and space
He scanned the brownish gray, dusty, flat expanse around him as he walked. Looking for anything notable, any landmarks. Shifting spirits of wind given form by dust and grit seemed to reflect a listlessness. Buildings, flattened, molding from water damage and exposure against a dim sky with the night’s stars still visible from the lack of competing light. The former abodes and businesses were like big crushed cardboard boxes. There was so much nothing stretching into the distant reaches, but this was once a fairly decent sized village. He mentally switched to foraging mode. He wasn’t sure if it was something he was imagining but it felt like he could mentally, no, just feel where there was something worth finding. Maybe it was his imagination trying to keep him sane, but he had no system to his foraging methods and a fairly high success rate. It was as if by being alone, some unseen tendrils of psychic need for more sensory stimulation reached out, established a new way to cope with a bleak and wasted world. Or maybe it was just delusions of grandeur.
By Daniel Wisniewski5 years ago in Fiction
