F is for Fiction

Feb 26, 201710 min read

Deviation Actions

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Published: Feb 26, 2017

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SO MUCH good fiction being written and posted here on DA. Want to see some?

Driftwood - Day 7Algernon's cheek lies against the beach. There’s grit in his eyes, sand in his mouth. His throat could only be drier if it were sand. As he crawls away from the surf licking at his feet- he managed to lose a shoe and half his breeches- he comes slowly into full consciousness.
“El diablo,” he whispers, remembers the lashing tentacles ripping his ship in two. Through blurry eyes, he sees one half of his ship, a very fine aft, balanced precariously atop a sheer cliff before him.
Clutching his side with a shaking hand, he remembers his most trusted friend ripping his cutlass through Algernon’s flesh.
The storm howls about them, the ship bucking on the waves, steel spilling Algernon’s blood across the deck of his own ship. A tentacle grasps Miguel, who still screams nonsense like a madman.
“I see you for what you are, devil!” he seems not to know what coils around is waist, or that he is being hoisted in the air like a toy. The tentacle lashes ba

The Business of Dreams“So what’s the pitch?” asked Harper as he strode into the room. “This better not be a waste of my time like last time.”
Swallowing his annoyance, Victor took a seat at the meeting table. They’d been waiting almost an hour for the asshole to make an appearance but sure, they were wasting his time. “I'll leave that for you to decide sir,” he said in his most neutral tone. “But we think it has potential.” He glanced at Sophie, the other dream tech in the meeting room who took that as her cue to begin.
“This one’s a sci-fi,” Sophie said, “Nothing too freaky. Take a look Mr. Harper.” She swiveled in her chair to face the large touch screen in front of her, adjusted her glasses and keyed up one of the images that had been recorded less than twelve hours ago.
The screen showed a set stage for a kid’s television show. This particular set was of a garage with kitschy objects mount

Punctured“Car,” said the bicycle, “we need to talk.”
“Oh, Assembly-Robot. Oh, exhaust. It’s one of those talks, isn’t it?” said the car. “About our relationship.”
“Yes. The thing is…” The bicycle hesitated. “I think we both just need a bit more space.”
“Oh.” The car looked around the garage. “It does need a bit of a clear-out. They could get rid of that old TV for a start…”
“No. No,” said the bicycle. “I’m talking about emotional space.” It sighed. “We both knew this was coming. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a lot of fun. I really enjoy it when I’m strapped to your rack—”
“Will you keep your voice down,” said the car.
“—but anyone can see how well you’ve been getting along with the new moped. And sometimes… Sometimes I just feel like a third wheel.”
The car

The PharmacyThe store was empty that morning in a way that didn't seem right. Jim looked up from the pharmacy counter and did a quick head count. There should have been at least a dozen people around the store by now, but he could only see the tops of three heads, and they all seemed to be together. He lifted the phone and called the front, but no one picked up. He gave it at least six rings, then hung up and paged them instead.
"Front end, please call the pharmacy department."
He hung the phone up again and waited. Those three customers in aisle two weren't moving around much. "C'mon," he muttered, staring at the phone. It didn't ring.
Jim pulled out his cell phone to see if he missed a text from them. Doctor Miller should have been in by now too, and where the hell are Melissa and Frank?
"Jesus," he said, deciding it wasn't worth worrying about. He sat down and went back to his paperwork, telling himself not to worry. At some point though, he realized the store's music had gotten louder,

Last Night, I Dreamed That We DiedThis was it. They were searching the house – his father, his younger brother and sister, thank God they were far away. It was just he and his mother… and the others. The ones who wouldn’t let go of the past, the ones who insisted the future was darker with him in it. He knew they would fall in the end. Change would overwhelm them like a glacier: far, far too slow, but unstoppable. He only wished that stopped the fact that they were going to kill him.
“Are you scared?” He asked his mother, as the footsteps grew louder and a rifle started chattering, far too close. She didn’t have time to answer – he saw the muzzle flashes first, hundreds a second, from around the corner. The bullets were moving too fast to track with eyes alone, but their effect on her was immediate; she fell to one side and didn’t move, and the wall was red. Absentmindedly, he realized with regret that after so much work to bring them all under one roof again, his family

The Moral Ethics of Subtle IronyAuburn strands spool across her shoulder blades; spindles of fire-silk setting her ablaze.
-
Her real name was Scarlet but I'd only ever heard people refer to her as Red. The first time I saw her cherrywood curls I felt my face wrinkle up in wry scrutiny. Does she purposely color her hair that ostentatious shade or is it natural? If so, her parents possess a keen sense of irony.
***
Months later we were guzzling Stolichnaya in a musty garage. Rotted beer cans shuddered as I slammed the bottle onto a workbench riddled with cigarette burns. Her freckled phalanges groped negligently towards the vodka. She then pulled it to her lips, and proceeded to spill copious amounts in an attempt to ingest the liquid. I eyed her scrupulously, pondering the moral ethics of providing a minor with alcohol, but then her cheeks creased into a coy smile and I realized I don't give a shit.
"You're always so stoic." She says with droplets drizzling down her chin.

Aurora BorealisI always wanted to watch the Lights. Greens and golds, blues and purples storming, shimmering – dancing across the night like nymphs chasing butterflies. A decadent canvas of light and wonder peering down at me as I gaze into infinity, the eternal beauty of a universe billions of years old and greater than my poor mind could ever contemplate. As they sashay their way across the midnight sky, colours bouncing off the snow like tiny mirrors throwing rainbows across the room; all I can think about is how simple everything is. If you stand still for a moment, you can observe as the entire world moves around you: a chorus of raucous chaos and cacophony that breathes life into every dark space. You can see that as life is made more and more intricate, it is not in fact complex. We just make it that way. We hide ourselves in our fortresses of solitude, behind masks and medications and vices, and we pretend to be whatever we think we are meant to be. And the people who decide what others

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A Light in the DarkAnd there it was. Right above the horizon.
As the sun dipped low and day fell into its nighttime stupor, he felt uplifted. At peace. Like he could die at that moment and everything would be okay.
He reached out and caressed the moon. His fingers traced the outline of its full shape. The stars raced across the night sky leaving him stunned by their effervescent light. Here one minute, gone the next as they chased each other across the galaxy.
His hand fell to the cold wet grass. This was it.
He felt the pain course outward from his chest. Pumping further out towards his limbs with each heartbeat. With jagged breath he brought his hand to his heart. His warmth was bleeding through his jacket. Soaking into the grass. The very essence of him escaping and becoming one with the earth once again.
It wasn’t as terrifying as he thought it would be. Just lonely. But then what did he expect? He was making this journey alone. No amount of company could change that.
He took in another pained

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Thank you so much for the feature! I'm truly honored to be included in this wonderful collection of literature.