Love
Not So Far as the Stars
In the morning their conversation turns to dreams. She says she dreams of his home, though she's never been. And of the green and red trees and the people who climb the trees to keep the cutters from coming. In truth, the cutters don’t check so much if there’s a climber in the trees these days, but it’s hours too early to turn the talk somber so he sends a sleepy smile:). Says maybe soon the air will thicken up enough to get the lockdown lifted and she can see the trees awake. It’s a crude veil for a clumsy invitation, but in the bleary semiconscious of solitude, subtlety evades. He hopes he's played the game by the rules. He hopes she sees the invitation, but only if she’s looking for it. He hopes she’s looking for it.
By Quinn Miller5 years ago in Fiction
Lost Paradise
Introductions - Cyber therapy session number 45.683.286.190. Model: E-Art. Neural decryption key... not applicable... Case status: high performance in environmental monitoring and interspecies communication, showing symptoms of obsessive-compulsive tendencies out of the scope of its programming. Diagnosis so far: rewiring necessary, find a new goal, build new habits in accordance with the Universal Standards of Teleonomic Cybernetics. Good morning E-Art xxxxxx and welcome. I’m Chabot LXN-dR and today I will be administering your session. -
By Edoardo Segato-Figueroa5 years ago in Fiction
Pulse
I waited as long as I could. I gathered what was left—the last rice balls, some tangy candy, those fishy chips you tried to get me to eat—along with clean underwear, a couple tees, a pair of socks. I took the hammer and a screwdriver from the closet, though I didn’t know what I’d do with them.
By Jam Michael McDonald5 years ago in Fiction
Amie's Diary
April 10, 2238 This is going to be my first entry. I just turned 18 today and received this notebook as a birthday gift. Not that I’m ungrateful, but the older you get around here, the lamer the gifts get. What am I supposed to do with this thing? Write about my super exciting life here in the bunker? Well I’ve got news for mom and dad. I already spoke to the head supervisor, and he said since I’m 18 now I’m old enough to leave if I really want to. And I’m leaving tomorrow.
By T. J. Ward5 years ago in Fiction
whatever souls are made of..
Settling comfortably on a large rock and gazing out at the empty, barren land before her, Jade hums a tune that has always brought her comfort. When Jade was younger -- before her mom had died -- and felt a loneliness that seemed too big for her small body, her mom would pet her hair and sing a soft song that came from the Before.
By Sarah Bloom5 years ago in Fiction
