End of Days

Flash fiction about what happens between the gods of old when the world appears to be ending...again.

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End of Days

They had one of these Apocalypse scares once every few decades.  It was usually a false alarm—no mortal was that intuitive—but when the rumor mill started churning out Doomsday scenarios, the deities across all realms had to meet to discuss the possibility of The End.  They’d started renting out a boardroom at the United Nations Headquarters in Geneva a few years back and, despite the work to be done, it was usually a rather pleasant reunion.  No one was ever really worried about the Apocalypse.  And those that were found themselves breathing easier in the Alps.

Zeus was chosen to moderate the latest meeting.  “We all know why we’re here,” he said, unbuttoning his suit jacket and taking his seat at the head of the table.  “The world is in peril.  Again.”

Conviction

“I’m just wondering why no one likes me.”  The man in orange shifted in his seat, settling back into his preferred pose—straight back, feet flat on the floor, hands clasped before him.  Like an idol awaiting worship, like an award on a mantle.  He coughed daintily into his clasped fist, then placed his hand back on the table with its partner.  “Excuse me.  I’m a good guy.  I read.  I like cats.  I want to see the world.  I was always good with girls – no stuttering phase, no fumbling for words.  Everyone always loved me.”


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...like what you've read?  Then head on over to the catharsis and finish it!  While you're there, read over all the other great work we have to offer.  I'm so thankful to be a part of such an awesome publication and a wonderful staff, and we could use all the support we can get!  


So, please!  Read a few stories, poems, or essays, and pass them along!  Pieces change every month, and every month has a new theme, so be sure to check back in April for a brand new batch of entertainment.

Snowstorm

Built off a writing exercise in my fiction class, possibly to be submitted in this revised form as my first piece of the semester for workshop!  I feel a little Stephen King-ish with this one, ha.  Enjoy the snow!

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Snowstorm

It had been snowing for weeks.  Night and day were distinguished only by the shifting shades of gray in the sky, the timed on and off of the orange streetlights overhead.  Schools were closed indefinitely and children celebrated in the streets for the first three days of the onslaught.  On the fourth day, the skies grew darker and the storm dumped an extra two feet of snow on top of the solid four-foot base.  That was when the parents started keeping the kids inside.

Devil's Trap

A little bit of self-mockery in this one - a love letter, if you will, to the teeming masses of Supernatural fans, who take things too far and leave no stone unturned.

Censure

The group "Censure" is not-so-loosely based on the hacktivist group Anonymous.  This is how I imagined my meeting with one of the members would go.  I wasn't sure about the story at first, but it's no as bad as I thought, upon second reading.  Enjoy :]

A Drabble

It's 4:30AM on New Year's Day and I'm still a little tipsy off of vodka shots and good conversation.  But the cold woke me up and your words keep me warm and I don't know what to say anymore.  That awkward moment when it's a new year and I'm the same old me.  I'm still drunk.  I'm in love with you.  It's the holidays and the memories and I probably shouldn't tell you that right now.  There are others, have been and will be, and I'll try.  But you're you and I can't ignore that any longer.  Break my heart; it means you care.

CP

In the alcove of the smoke-infested Medusa, over the din of mid-90s rock and pole-dancing Swedes, I had to let the prince down easy.  His hand on my chest, both of mine on his shoulders, I pulled away and let him kiss my cheek, my neck, my hair.  "I can't do this," I yelled in his ear, competing with Hoobastank for the prince's attention.  "I know this usually works out for you - I mean, I figure - but I don't do this."  He didn't stop, weakening my resolve.  I hardly heard myself mumble a pitiful, "I'm sorry," around his lips on my own.