DoomsdayDoomsday9 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
His name is Max. He was an ordinary boy, sitting in front of his computer and writing. No one knew that day that an alien life form was constantly watching him, like a human watches bacteria in a microscope. But slowly, they drew their forces.
It all started when Max heard a loud thunder. Louder than it normally should be. He stood up and looked through the window. "Oh my godů" went through his mind. A meteorite was falling. Max quickly ran out forgetting to put a jacket on. It wasn't that warm outside. Max headed towards the meteorite. He saw it falling into the woods. He felt as if the path was darker and longer than ever. Max stopped. Three trees were around him and together they made a triangle. Suddenly, he felt a strange headache and fell unconscious.
He woke up not knowing where he was nor what time it was. He was in the same forest though. After a while, he heard a noise that started quietly, but got louder. It was a sound of a war. He knew a war had started.
Witness the EndI sat with her at the edge ofWitness the End6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a world working without us,
that we were never a part of,
and watched it commit suicide
light flashed from various sources,
and the roaring of the fire drowned
out any screams sparks dispersed in
the darkening sky, and for miles and miles
the land was engulfed by the demons
its people had unleashed themselves
the destruction thrived with seemingly
infinite energy (though we knew it
would not last), and did not discriminate
among its victims; pure chance judged
what was to be crushed, exploded,
or shot by a budding psychopath
and then the fate of said psychopath
and when there was nothing left to burn
and the fire finally flickered down, tired
and burned out for the night, when
the world went to sleep with the
ending of an era and broke the
trance it had put us in,
she turned to me goddess,
deity, with her detached look
and eyes that shone with sympathy
but were underlined with wisdom
and a profound understanding
of our place in this bu
The Belly of a WhaleThe belly of a whale is cleaner than you'd think. It's the seashore on a wet day: a red beach with red clouds and red sand. And the voice of the whale is the voice of God.The Belly of a Whale3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
God sings, "You were delicious."
"Spit me out." I'm on my knees, though my god cannot see inside itself to find my supplication satisfying. "I'm a wicked man. You don't want to devour wickedness, oh Lord. You'll be disgusted when you know you've devoured such a polluted thing."
"I will not," sings God.
"I've murdered a man."
"So have I."
"I've murdered a woman, too."
"So have I."
"She was pregnant."
God laughs. "The ship I sank held hundreds."
This calls for humility. I prostrate myself in the direction of God's mouth. "Oh Lord," I cry. "I can't compete with you. Truly you are a great tyrant, fearful and merciless. Had I only been given your bulk, oh Lord, I might have devoured whole ships as you have done."
God lurches. God rolls. God grumbles and coughs and hurls. I fly from his mouth in one heaving mess of kelp an
For My DaughterDear daughter-I-do-not-have-yet,For My Daughter3 years ago in Letters More Like This
You will be my perfect. You will be my proudest moments in one small person. You will be made in love, or maybe anger, or maybe even desperation. But that won't matter. What matters is what you will be made into.
You will have Daddy's hair and his nose, and my eyes and my smile, the smile that happens not because someone with a camera told you to, but because you're genuinely happy. But you will have your very own heart and will be full of all the things that give you your you-ness. Whether you sing in the bath or make Valentines for everyone in your class or give your last homemade chocolate chip cookie to the boy sitting alone at recess.
I will write you poems and stories about how you are my miracle. I will read them to you sometimes, just to remind you. As you grow, not a day will go by that I'm not thankful for everything you are. You will be dazzling and beautiful and brilliant and compassionate and playful and curious and all of the things
FFM: The Wandering FireThe wandering fire danced through the streets, flickering, silver quick, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Some said it was the souls of the dead passing from one world to the next. In a city as large as this the deaths were high enough to account for the frequent appearances of the otherworldly flames that cavorted down the narrow streets in the night.FFM: The Wandering Fire3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Rask waited in the shadow of a window ledge, his narrow frame curved into the twisted branch of a Hedya tree; its flowers already open to the moonlight and releasing the heady scent for which they were famed. This was a wealthy compound, all delicate lattice work and intricate stone archways, an exploration of colour and geometric patterns, all muted by the shadows of the night.
In his belt he had the knife, specifically given to him by his employer for this task. It was an unusual request, very personal. Rask tried not to involve himself in the intricacies of such things. He was merely useful to these people, and in his line of
RegulationsThe new neighbors caused a bit of a stir when they moved in. Ms. Sharp, the HOA lady, was in a right snit over the whole affair. I heard her seething to Mr. Thomas during the summer barbecue.Regulations3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Constance, there's nothing in the regulations about zombies. Legally, we can't fine them over what they are."
The LibraryThey had crossed paths that afternoon, she as she entered the library and he as he was on the way out. The sight of him brought one of the many problems straight to the forefront of her mind.The Library3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He had already noticed her, but waved a hand in acknowledgement as they drew near each other and paused next to one of the low shelves showcasing the new releases.
"How's it going?" He looked like he was in a good mood. Not that Autumn had ever seen him in a bad one, but he seemed to be happy about something. She drew a breath.
"Ah, rather hectic actually. In fact, I was hoping I could ask you something?"
"On the paper," she fought the urge to fidget with her hair. "I'm kinda running behind and wondered if I could turn it in a day late? Or if I could just e-mail it to you instead? I don't need much time, just a little," she absent-mindedly detangled her fingers from her hair.
"That perfectly fine. I'll have to knock off a few points, but that hardly matters to my bette
HeroesShe's not beautiful and he's not sure why he risks life and limb for her.Heroes3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
In a free world - one without a barbed wire barrier where it doesn't matter what side of a wall you live on - he probably wouldn't have given her the time of day. She has thick eyebrows and a heavy accent and speaks better English than German, though she can hardly be considered fluent in either. Always seen in yesteryear's coat and a shabby pair of boots, though that probably isn't her fault, she visits the fence and stares at the world beyond with eyes that seem too old for her face. He learns through a mutual friend that her name is Liesel and that she has tried eighteen times to cross. The only thing holding her back is her little brother Otto and the fact that the Allies killed her father, uncle and older cousin.
They should never have met. He was visiting the East on business and she was working overtime and somewhere along the line she spilt coffee down him before bursting into tears. She mopped at
Love And WarShe had been standing on the corner.Love And War4 years ago in Settings More Like This
I watched her from afar, quietly gazing in awe.
Until one day, I finally made a move,
And with that, she let me take her home.
I watched the shadow of her form sway,
As she moved in the light with me,
Dancing under my touch, directing her silently.
A smile creasing my lips.
I quickly charge her in the moment.
With all of the excitement around us,
Our tempo picked up as the event drew shouts,
Her body under my touch, in my fingers, felt amazing.
But, the time came quicker than anticipated.
The demand was there in my eyes, looking for reliability.
I used my finger, squeezing periodically, eying the result,
Listening as each climax took her, every time.
Later, walking along in the moonlight,
Patrolling the sector we were assigned,
Waiting for the Hindu-Kush ninjas in black pajamas,
To ambush our position in the moonlight.
A Marine, my buddy, turns and asks me how it was.
I shrug, thinking of that time; taking rounds and shooting back.
"She is good,
The Letter WriterHe was a letter writer.The Letter Writer3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Written letters had long become a thing of the pastafter all, why would one write when one could receive instant gratification through an electronic device? All of these things made life so much easier.
In fact, Alan lived in a time where most people didn't know how to write. Everyone was proficient in reading, of courseafter all, one had to read the daily screen to know the news and things that were going on. And all children learned how to type before they were five years old. But writing was not something that was used anymore, and it had become almost socially unacceptable to write anything. It wasn't against the law, but it certainly was frowned upon.
But Alan wrote anyway. The gift of handwriting and penmanship had been taught to him from his father, and his father and his father before him. At the time of his great grandfather, being unable to write had been considered illiterate. Pens and pencils, which had literally become obsolete, were ver
FFM 2011, 29.7 - The Tower"Dora speaking."FFM 2011, 29.7 - The Tower4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Mrs. Appleby? This is Aimee Bonner. I don't know if you happen to remember me..."
"Ms. Bonner? Of course I remember you! You were my star pupil in the 7th form. I'm so glad to hear your voice."
"That's right! That's right, Mrs. Appleby. I'm glad you remembered me. Um. I know this isn't strictly according to procedures, but I was wondering if you could help me with...a thing."
"You're being awfully secretive, Aimee. I can't promise anything before you tell me what it is."
"Well, ah, you see, it's a matter of...uh...invading realities? Maybe I better explain...."
"Ms. Bonner, if you have a haunting or a poltergeist or anything of the kind, you really ought to be calling the authorities, not me."
"If you'll just let me explain Mrs. Appleby, please."
"Oh, very well."
"It's like this. I have a freezer in the cellar, where I keep frozen berries and mushrooms and things. It's quite roomy, although I usually manage to keep it filled to the brim. Anyway, I was going down there
ReciprocationThere was always one person that organized a Secret Santa every year, usually a girl, and usually an overachieving type that wanted an excuse to plan a full-on Christmas party. He didn’t mind them planning it on their own time, but had to limit parties to nibbling cookies while he continued teaching. There was just too much to do in a year to stop, even for the holidays. Especially for the holidays if he were honest. Christmas tidings came at the worst time for a professor; during finals.Reciprocation2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He never participated in the gift exchanges, though he sometimes advised his students in theirs when approached. It wasn’t that he was disinterested; it was the possibility of being accused of playing favorites. You did have your favorite students of course – the ones that did the work, who participated, that really wanted to be there – but you still treated them all fairly.
But someone must have put his name in anyway, because class was over and there was a package on his desk
Defunct FuturesSo, what's it like in the year 2012 in the...Defunct Futures3 years ago in Settings More Like This
2012 in 50's-world, everyone in the US wears hats. Men wear suits, women wear dresses or cute pantsuits. T-shirts and jeans or sweats are something nobody older than a teenager would be caught wearing. There are a lot of uniforms. Everything is very clean and often metallic or gleaming.
The Cold War is of course going on, and China, the Soviet Union, indeed everything from East Germany to Vietnam is the Red World, a unified entity which includes some parts of Africa, including the Red Congo. (Cuba, on the other side, is Capitalist and more-or-less democratic, if corrupt). Everyone in the Red World dresses the same, drives the same standard car, and reports for interrogation four times a year. (Except for the Inner Committee. But to get to that position on must have taken the interrogation drugs dozens of times). Although a "standardized" Socialist culture is promoted, the Chinese are still Chinese, and the increasing tendency of
Loki Sequel 23I came around far too slowly. My will was sluggish and I could not muster it to clear away the last of the haze that threatened to push my mind back into oblivion. This should not be. I could not sense Kingfisher's will the god had honored his word and pulled me out of the simulation, nothing more. There should be nothing impeding me now. I fought with my first instinct to fight towards consciousness, to feel my physical body move and to open my eyes. Something was wrong here. I listened instead, hearing the beat of my heart and feeling the hard metal of the floor beneath my back. There was a soft hum of voices and I heard a handful of words stand out above the rest, sharp and harsh. Kingfisher. He was angry furious and I was suddenly afraid.Loki Sequel 233 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Someone spoke, close by where I lay. I felt hands on either arm and then they pulled and I was brought to my feet. I opened my eyes, catching my balance between them, and was alarmed at the pressure I felt holding my will down
KitesThe skies of Umale were filled with kites - I had arrived to the city during one of its biggest festivals, what the locals referred to as The Gathering of Clouds. In ancient times their city's founder, Cielo, had appealed to the gods for rain to save his people from drought and was granted a vision - if he could gather all the clouds in the sky, the gods would grant him the rain he desired.Kites3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Today the kite-fliers re-enact the feats of legend, swooping and gliding higher and higher, scaring the birds and shrieking with laughter. Children run haphazardly among the market vendors and alleyways trailing long scores of silvery twine like breadcrumb reminders and passerby step aside before they can be mowed over. The more enterprising made their own kites, great cloth diamonds mounted on wooden frames, finely embroidered and painted with scenes from the legend; on one I saw the hero Cielo scaling the mountain of the gods. On another, Cielo and his bride, Tavia, sat together at a magnificent l
Second Impressions"Professor Bradley?"Second Impressions3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He turned from the copier to respond to the voice behind him. One of the girls from his Literature class stood half in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other gripping the satchel slung over her shoulder.
"How can I help you, Miss... Fanshaw was it?"
"Yes. I had a question about our first assignment if you don't mind?"
He caught the question in her tone. A shy one, then. He tended to be rather fond of his quieter students they didn't make waves and turned everything in on time. They made up for the boisterous ones.
"Ask away I always have time for my students." He pulled the stack of sheets from the tray and tucked them into a manila folder as he spoke.
"Ah, well, you said it's due on the 23rd, but we don't have class on that day? Did you mean the 22nd or 24th?"
"Always assume the earlier date Miss Fanshaw. Just for future reference, I'm rather terrible with remembering the date. But I probably meant Friday in this case."
"Just wanted to be sure
My Queen_First Official Draft"Ave Maria, Gratia plena "My Queen_First Official Draft4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's Ave Maria today. My Aunt Pat's voice warbles along with the crackling recording. I sit in the corner, eating ham, savoring the salty flavor in the way only a twelve year-old boy can. I watch her move amongst the plants in her living room, almost dancing from flower to flower, the watering can her partner as she nourishes her only children. And the music. Sometimes it is Mozart, other times Puccini, but today it is Franz Schubert.
I gnaw on my briny pork as she disappears into the kitchen with her empty watering can. She floats back in and walks over to my corner.
"Come here," she says while offering me a hand. "I have something to show you."
I grab her hand, my smooth fingers contrasting her soft wrinkles. She leads me around the aging piano, the one with the F that sounds more like an E, to a lonely bookshelf pushed back into a corner behind her beloved plants. She takes the ham out of my hand and sets it on the piano before carefully taking a s
Relative ValueI wasn't going to write this letter. I saw it as part of an online challenge to write a letter to a teacher and you were the first person I thought of, but I was going to pass on it. I was reading the book you let me check out, "Creative Nonfiction," and I was on the bit about lyric and reflective essays at the time and I used the packet you gave us at the start of the year as a bookmark and remembered that I was going to be writing a lot of reflective things this year. Maybe the universe really wanted me to try my hand at this prompt.Relative Value3 years ago in Letters More Like This
I still wasn't going to write this letter, but then I remembered that I never did write the first essay of the spring semester last school year. So this seems like a fair trade. A letter for an essay. It's far too late for credit at this point anyway.
It's not that I didn't want to write it, or that I forgot, or that I had too many other things to worry about I don't have any excuse at all really except, maybe, laziness. But somehow tha
Niu eoa EinEinNiu eoa Ein3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The world is still.
The deer perk their ears up at the crunch of snow under my fur-lined boots, curious. One paws at the ground nervously before taking flight across the open expanse, the herd following in his wake. They spring lightly over twisted roots and disappear in the fog. Another day, another place, perhaps I would follow, take thrill from the zeal of the hunt.
But today has a different purpose.
The World Tree towers no less than before; if anything, it is wider than I recall. The bough reaches into the very clouds, past hills, past mountains; perhaps even past stars. It matters not. I slide the pack from my shoulder, landing it with a heavy thump on the frozen ground, thundering across the silence. I leave it behind, save for Gungnir and a length of rope, padding my way to the Tree.
The bark is slightly warm something hums in the air and the silence returns when I remove my hand.
The Tree demands blood.
The blood has rushed and pooled into my fin
FFM: Fragile ThingsYou were Seventeen years old when you first had your photograph taken, and it is in this photo above all others that you feel the passing of time most keenly. You were not a handsome boy, not yet, still somehow growing into your ears though all your peers had done that years before. You remember your shoes being too tight, and your expression is uncomfortable, but the day before Claire Simmons had kissed you on the steps behind the church and it seems in hindsight that a little of that triumphant glow still clings to you.FFM: Fragile Things4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
But then, it is really just a photograph of a nervous boy in too tight shoes, who has avoided having his photograph taken for a considerable amount of time. Age and memory play tricks, and make wishes out of things, or so you have found lately.
Your second photograph is with your best friend. You think there were a few other pictures before that, but you have seen none of them. You are both in uniform, laughing in the face of future glory, convinced of your own brav
FFM2012 - Day 19The sun shone through the tinted window, its light quality changed from a harsh brightness to something softer, gentle, as I read the footnote next to the word "homely" - "in the old sense: simple and friendly." And something shifted. Something clicked. Where I had been waiting for class to end so I could get back to games, I have a sudden longing for an empty green field surrounded by pine trees. Something simple and friendly.FFM2012 - Day 193 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The light cast on the thin pages brings forth their transparency. I can see the faint imprints of black text, reversed and unreversed in either direction. They feel warm, full of life and wisdom.
ScaffoldingHe knew she liked the English lounge; it was quiet and she was rarely bothered by any other visitors. Students usually went to the library when they needed a quiet place to work and the professors tended to keep to their offices. The hunch proved him right he found her staring a hole in the wall from her position on the old couch seating area. She had folded her knees up to her chest and crossed her arms over them with her chin resting on top. Her eyes flicked over to the doorway when he entered, but promptly moved back to staring at nothing as a barely audible sigh escaped her lips. He gently nudged the door mostly closed and walked over.Scaffolding3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn't actually respond. He sat next to her, folding one leg over his knee.
"Do you need something, Professor Bradley?"
"Just checking on you, love. You've been wound tight enough to snap all week." He spared a glance at the top of her head. "You're not going bite if I try to chat for a while,