I’m moving house tonight and won’t have internet access for a while, so I’m posting this week’s Fiction Friday a day early.
You might think that day would be forgotten, lost in the cacophony of days since.
He is alive, though death would be better, I think.
My new Kindle arrived the other day.
Australia emerged from the pandemic relatively unscathed, with less than five hundred deaths.
It was like books with special features and we were stoked.
Lust turned to confusion, then terror, as loud tremors announced the first impact.
He did not wish for more time, though the opportunity to cause more mayhem would be welcome.
Heimdall watched, eyes hard, as Loki lay, wounded and broken, on the frozen ground.
Intrigued, she carefully cracked open the cover, mindful of the brittle pages, so absorbed with her find that she never noticed the gently blown dust forming patterns in the air, or the increasing chill causing her skin to goose bump.
A small, unacknowledged, part of your heart despises the serenity, welcomes its transience, eagerly awaits the coming chaos. Before the war, in the world-that-was, you despised the cold spread of adrenaline. Now you crave the exhilaration and terror of combat, the struggle to eke out one more moment of existence.
You perch on the side of an overturned Coles truck, carefully scanning the crumbling homes and weed-choked footpaths for any sign of movement. The air is oppressively still, the silence palpable. Almost painful. Your ears strain for any hint of life. You desire movement and you dread it.
How much can change in sixty seconds? An idea. A thought. A text received. A text answered. A life can end. A life can begin. A proposal – the beginning of a lifetime together. Perhaps the apocalypse could happen in sixty seconds.
I took a course at uni entitled Writing Apocalypse: Histories and Speculation. Our first assignment was to write a 500 word piece with the theme of ‘apocalypse’ inspired by, or in response to, our course readings and tutorial discussions. We were allowed to interpret the word ‘apocalypse’ rather broadly. This is my piece as it was submitted. Next week, I will re-post this piece incorporating the changes that were suggested by my marker. I recieved 76% for this assessment, but I personally feel like I should have scored much lower because I failed to convey to my marker that the piece was meant to be a person mourning a loved one killed after texting and driving, rather than a conventional apocalypse.
Magpies strut, did you know? They carry themselves with the arrogance of the snottiest aristocrat, prancing about as though the very ground beneath their feet was laid down with the sole purpose of them one day gracing it with their presence.
The tent stood tall in the clearing, a grunting roo its only company. A rusty pot lay abandoned in the mud, ants feasting beneath the mould and grime. Frost coated grass stretched to a horizon made sharp by the early… Read More ›
He was short. That’s what caught my attention. I’m a fairly average height, but he barely reached my shoulders. Otherwise, the guy was unremarkable. Dark hair, blue eyes, handsome but not gorgeous — if not for his height, few would… Read More ›
Hushed whispers and tugging hands startled me awake. My fuzzy mind, still groggy from sleep, struggled to make sense of my surroundings as I was roughly dragged down smooth stone stairs towards a cold steel cell. I felt something wet… Read More ›
‘Fake’. That’s what we all thought when we saw the video of the homeless guy tearing out the cop’s throat with his bare teeth. Two point three million views and not one person thought it was real. Sure, the word… Read More ›