No Life in a Wasteland

Dystopia story for Saturday’s Write Tribe.

Five years since the outbreak, the government collapse, and five years since almost everyone I knew disappeared. Hell, I may even have killed them myself.

Rick stepped cautiously, trying to see. The wind whipped in his face, its claws piercing the surface. Rick’s feet trounced the earth beneath them, and he took in all the pollution. Lays chip bags lay crumbled, the sky was darker then coal, and before him an enormous figure prostrated on the ground.

Vines clung to her body; her hair tangled scraggly weeds.

She was Mother Nature and she was having the last laugh at civilization.

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The Birds

Hi all, this is for Master Class, and it is an interesting tale.

The prompt was: Never name the well from which you will not drink.

I hope you like this.

Before all… were the birds. The birds all lived in a small congregation in a small world. Nothing was relatively vast or gigantic, and all was plain yet all was beautiful. There was almost no diversity, every bird was created flawless, as a cream colored, gorgeous prodigy in a body of elegantly-shaped feathers and light bone. There was just one rule for these gentle creatures.

NEVER NAME THE WELL FROM WHICH YOU WILL NOT DRINK.

Besides being forbidden from speaking the well’s name, they were forbidden to go anywhere among the well’s 1 mile radius. If they ever did these things, they would go to jail. Birds gossiped that if you drank from the well, your feathers would be plucked off. One by one, from the kings beak. Continue reading

The Prophecy of Araknael

Hi all this is a fantasy piece for One Minute Writer, I got a little carried away, so expect more like this.

The Tomes of The Ancient World

The Prophecy of Araknael

Eryon’s thoughts swirled around in his head. It was over. All that he had strove for his entire life (4,000 long and painful years) was gone.

 Darkness had infiltrated Light until it was covered by it, contaminated by it, until the Darkness had completely overcome Light, until the forces of the world were no longer matched, until all good things in the universe were dead.

 Eryon knew he was the last one left. He knew that Yalaho’ff would stop at nothing to get his way. Not even to murder his elder brother in cold blood. Continue reading

Game

Image

This is a short mystery for Write Tribe. The prompt was:

Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye.

 

Enjoy your million dollars. -Tye

                                                                                                              Game

a short story by Tye Owens

~Bzzt~ camera 7 now enabled.

The camera panned around the room of the ordinary household. Plain, with beige colored couches, and walls in the light shade of chai brown. An ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood. Or so they thought.

He shifted his brooding gaze to the next camera’s monitor, observing Subject #3. The subject seemed normal for the most part, reclining on a sofa, whose claws hugged the ground, watching a cheesy comedy that someone probably spent about an hour producing. He wondered if #3’s normality would change… after the test. Continue reading

Homeland

This is an entry for Write on Edge week 3, 2014.Image

This image had to inspire me and I chose to write this.

Enjoy!

Homeland

The sky in New York City was a dark murky blue that seemed to overcome the horizon and flood the earth below.

Carla Finch moped along, the scratchy sidewalk pummeling into her feet. She could have worn her shoes, but Carla liked the feeling of the rain pouring onto her feet, like the sadness invading her body.

It was 1981, Carla was sixteen years old, and she had just been thrown out of the house by her mother for being a lesbian. Continue reading

The Cabinet

Hi everyone! This is for Trifecta Writing Challenge, I have to use the word quaint (in this case meaning odd), and the story must be between 33- 333 words.

The cabinet sat in a dingy room whose nooks and crannies were contaminated by dust.

The dual handles on either side of the cabinet’s doors curved downwards in a moon shape, two intense eyes, traumatized by what they have witnessed.

His wood sat neglected and unfinished, rougher than a bed of gravel and sand. Really, this quaint artifact is allowed to be traumatized, for he has witnessed the passing of many generations. Once, the cabinet was happy. It had awoken from slumber, unaware of anything. He was somewhere, a place that all cabinets should be, a place of rowdy critters, caring people, and the good kind of dust, the kind that clings to you like a gentle hug.

There was an aura in the air, almost like a secret that was about to be whispered to him. Continue reading