The highway is not safe. There are things that will consume you in the blink of an eye. Creatures born out of the radioactive scorched earth. They are hungry for human flesh, prowling the area constantly.
He sees them on the road from his vantage point up on the hill.
Amanda Thompson is a South African writer who has written several short stories and novellas in different genres. She loves to read, write, and build miniatures.
Silent, scaly and bold, they march in ranks through the walls of your home and gather at your bedside, lighting the room with their luminous skin. See yourself mirrored in their silver coin eyes. All the lives you could have known are reflected; all your mistakes are exposed.
Mark Farley (mumbletoes.blogspot.com) writes novels, flash fiction and the occasional poem.
The beasts surround me, a wall of teeth. I can run no longer.
Why did I leave Earth?
Inside my helmet, I flick through photos from home. The white sandy beaches obscure the beasts. The smiles of family calm my heart.
Lost in memory, I barely feel the first bite.
Tim lives in Sydney where he is writing two fantasy novels, whenever he can spare the time from writing software and collecting sci-fi.
Metabolisms are slow where I live, and memories are vast… As immeasurable as the distances we travel in our timeless lives.
We have no need to multiply like the younger races, no desire for the fleeting light of seeking out transient knowledge, for everything comes to us eventually.
Born into an age beyond the partition of Ireland when there was little work to be had and nothing but a library for entertainment, Eva has always loved reading and creating own stories up for brothers and sisters and eventually children. Eva lives in Londonderry near a Gothic Cathedral and an old park, great inspirational tools, especially at night.
“It’s your turn,” one dragon said to the other, indicating a town below their crag. “Leave none alive. We don’t need a revenge story.”
One girl survived, trapped beneath smoldering rubble.
Twenty years later, she left the crag with her sword, a new necklace of shiny scales, and a grin.
J.J. Jordan crushed writer’s block with a bloody and scarred forehead.