Excerpt

Too Many Musings of the Apocalypse
It's been a long three weeks! As someone who devoured dystopian novels circa 2010-2012, Vocal's Doomsday Diary challenges—in partnership with Unbound—seemed right up my alley. I managed to scour my ideas and write 20 short stories of varying apocalyptic scenarios. (And, yes, I had to call back a few for edits because I forget to include the heart-shaped locket, the key detail required for all entries.)
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Fiction
Asteria
The sun rises slowly over the gloomy structures of Segment Two. The buildings are so vast and numerous that they span across the land as far as everyone that lives there can see. No-one has been beyond them. For years, everyone has been told that there exists a vast and dangerous swamp full of strange and humongous creatures beyond their outer edges. This knowledge has trickled down from each generation, so it is now a fact that no-one disputes. The buildings that litter this segment are so dark that the natural light that now creeps over them creates shadows of infinite despair. It is a place of such darkness, that the orange morning light only accentuates this, and offers little relief. Not a sound can be heard, but it is not peaceful. This silence hangs in the air with force, with weight. It is thick with dread. Fear and terror blow through the dim and soundless streets. The countless shiny exteriors glint ominously in the growing glow of colour.
By Lula5 years ago in Fiction
Blood in the Water
Her skin was sticky with sweat and blood. The afternoon heat mixed with the smell of the salty sea beyond the treeline didn’t cover the smell of her sweat or the blood on her arms. At least there is rain, she thought as she slipped down the trail. You could see her footprints making long grooves in the mud as she tried to keep her balance. She was tired of covering her tracks. There was no one left to find them anymore anyway. Damn them if they did.
By Alisha Christensen5 years ago in Fiction
The Locket
He picked up the glass and took a sip grimacing slightly at the taste. In his hand sat a heart-shaped locket, the only clue to the past life he could not remember. He pressed the gem in the center and the recording stored inside played in front of him. A beautiful woman with long dark hair smiled up at him, her carefree face, and bright blue eyes alight with it. A blond-haired child, a girl he thought barely more than a year or two, toddled around giggling. The image of the child turned and faced him, her bright blue eyes full of life, "I yuh you, dada" she giggled as she ran unsteadily back to the woman who scooped her up and held her in her lap. "We love you,” the woman said, “come home to us.” Though her smile never dimmed, there was sadness that accompanied her plea. Then the image faded and disappeared waiting until he chose to play it again. A wave of agony ran through him. He had no memory of the woman or child, but deep inside he knew he was the one for whom the message had been left.
By Roland Durendal5 years ago in Fiction
Empty Hands
Jay “How far are we gonna run?” Brad tripped on his own feet. His breath was visible in the cold air. “We run till we physically can’t anymore.” Mel, who’d been taking up the rear, shoved past him. “Got it!”
By Oliver Kipp5 years ago in Fiction
A Solar Oydessy
It’s been a long time since I’ve been really afraid of dying. In my, almost five billion years alive, death is still a certainty. Just not by old age anymore. Science once improved so much that medicine allowed the body to decay slower, and last as long as the heart is still beating.
By S. M. Risdon5 years ago in Fiction
A Fox Went Out And I Still Remember
An old folk song from England speaks of a weary fox, out collecting food for his family. The song, originally a poem, dates back at least 500 years and is quite adorable. I'm not sure how common the song is in America, but I remember it from my childhood. I do know that the poem and song are popular enough that they've been turned into picture books for children. The Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night: an old song, illustrated by Peter Spier and Fox Went out on a Chilly Night, by Wendy Watson. Spier was a Dutch-American illustrator and writer who produced over two dozen children's books. He sadly passed away in 2017. Meanwhile, Watson is a third-generation author and artist, and member of the Authors Guild.
By Daniel Goldman5 years ago in Fiction
A Different World
Part 3 Mia didn’t think when she got the Heart-shaped locket where it would lead her to. “Let’s get to it Mia,” John remarked. “This has just become extremely intriguing”. “I’d like that John, I’m feeling somewhat nervous though”. According to what Granddad wrote we have to stand facing the heat so the only thing I can think of is the fireplace. And the red and white could mean blood cells or the dark red bricks and off white mortar, and the hearth is the bottom part of the fireplace”. What do you think John? Could that be it”?
By Graeme Waddell5 years ago in Fiction
APOCALYPTIC ANARCHIST
The distinct sound of the click-clacking of typewriter keys is what first roused her. A mish-mash in her dream that wrought the attention of how much her body ached; complimented only by the soreness in her face. She strained to open her eyes but only her right eyelid contested the swelling. Her surroundings revealed a room with peach colored walls decorated with decals like rainbows, stars, and little sayings like "Believe" and "Star That Outshines Them All". It was clearly the room of a little girl.
By I Omnist5 years ago in Fiction
Meditations After The End Of The World
Together the crone and I walked in country by sea an afternoon late that summer. Having left through a pass in the southern hills we started out not long after dawn. The sun in our eyes and harsh bearing upon us. Along past the winding hills turned northeast down a disserviced road; an hour later cleared a wooded area, diverged onto a rubble backroad and started coming back closer to the water.
By James B. William R. Lawrence5 years ago in Fiction
Waiting for the Sun to Rise
Two arches. A point. Two arches. A point. Over and over again. He’d done this many times. He knew this shape well. Mindlessly, his finger traced the heart in the filthy dust that seemed to coat everything down here. It was easy to ignore the dull chatter of the others despite how gratingly their voices bounced off the stone walls. He’d been around long enough to get used to it; for it to be just one of the many things pushed to the background.
By Mai Ly Nguyen5 years ago in Fiction
Transference
This is my 110th owner. I am not sure of the year anymore. I lost track after my 80th owner; around the year 2081. The cracks began to form around 2045 and day after day they get bigger in size. The Atlantic Ocean has one big waterfall; but you still cannot see the ocean floor. Some states have become islands and the Earth’s natural beauty has be drastically altered.
By Bea5 years ago in Fiction