Category: short story

New Horizon: a short story by Mike Cole

He woke to the sound of sirens. Red flashing lights. How long had he been out? He checked his forehead, and felt the crusted blood in his finger tips. The airlock had sealed and he was alone.

The New Horizon was humanity’s last hope. The greatest minds Earth had to offer came together in one last ditch effort to save the planet. And they failed. Generations of neglect left the world barren and the burden was too much for one generation to bear. The station was a prototype terraformer and the team had been there about a month. The station had launched right before the collapse of the Western Union and while the East,  Midwest, and Southern Unions still held, he knew not for how long.

He checked the blinking screen. Sector A1 had been ejected due to a breach in quarantine. Sector B2 was damaged but still intact. Sectors D4 and E5 appeared to be operational. He tried to remember where he was. What was his name? He tried to concentrate; his vision began to blur and he stumbled a little. How hard had he hit his head? Where were the others? And with those thoughts swirling his head, his vision began to darken and he hit the ground once again with a thump.

When he was a child, he was born into a world where he was  unwanted and what resources were left, he would never own. The population had reached 20 billion and had plateaued. Hundreds of thousands were dying every day due to starvation and poor living conditions; even the rich were beginning to suffer. First, there was the orbital drilling. What was once excitement turned to disdain. Meteoroids were mined initially and the materials harvested were used to create vertical farms and diverse bio-domes with the richest nutrients. Then came the moon mining. Once scientists realized they could refine the moon soil to accelerate plant growth, they without hesitation began to do so.

“Henry?”

*static*

“Henry, do you copy?”

*bzzz* *bzzz*

“The others, they didn’t make it. Fred and Charlie were in sector A1 when the quarantine protocol was enacted. They didn’t even have time to react.”

“Laurie was killed when life support blew up. I knew it was a bad idea to build the station so Damn close to the moon!”

*warning, life support is offline. Oxygen reserves at 68%. Warning, please proceed to the shuttle bay.*

Henry drifted in and out of consciousness.

As sea levels continued to rise, so did conflict. War broke out over the dying crops in what came to be known as the ten year war. Europe was all but gone and the United States had been repaved with the collapse of the Federal Government. New Horizon, what a joke. After the dust settled, those who survived only then thought it necessary to work together. A mission to save the world yet there was no world left to save…

*warning, oxygen reserves at 27%*

Shit, how long have I been out? It was getting warm and Henry could feel the sweat trickle down his face. He checked the temperature gauge. 30 Degrees Celsius. In the distance, an explosion. Going to the window, he sees what looks to be the shuttle bay, or at least, what was. Shit. The hull begins to creak and Henry looks up just as a metal comes to greet him squarely on the top of his head.

*warning, 10 kilometers to impact*

Yes, that’s right, I have finally gotten around to writing another short story. The exciting part is, unlike the others, this story is to be continued. I will not go into spoilers and will have more in the coming months. Next week will be about gaming and all viewers are welcome. And the week after will be an article about photography with photos I took during the 4th of July. Hope you enjoyed the content and feel free to comment below!

Funds to send Mike to Mars

I love producing content. As I grow as an individual, so does my content. What was once acceptable now isn’t. As such, more time is spent working on each post. I do all edits, research, and content creation. Whether it’s taking photos for a post one day to writing poetry the next, my blog is keeping me busy. Donations are appreciated and are used to invest in creative pursuits whether that be writing classes, art lessons, and anything in-between.

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The Hermit: A short story by Mike Cole

He could still remember the day the bombs fell. The heat washing over him and the radiation mutating his body till who he was before held little importance. He could not remember why they went to war and cared little to remember the world as it was before. It was a mess before the war and for better or worse, at least everyone was an equal footing in this brave new world. How many years had it been? 50 years? 100 years? Perhaps 200? In truth, it didn’t really matter. Time stops for no one. What was once a precious commodity in the 21st century held no sway after society collapsed.

Mother Nature had reclaimed what was once hers, although what was left was not as we once remembered. The radiation twisted animals into brutish creatures and those who survived the initial blasts were in for a surprise some 50 years later as the radiation turned cute little woodland creatures into giants with a taste for blood. The Oceans were no better. The Hermit had heard stories of sailors going out and having half their crew torn apart by 100 foot sharks and whole ships dragged to the Ocean depths by giant eels who could bring about thunder storms just from breaching the surface; and these are only the creatures that have been sighted, God only knows what lurks in the darkest reaches of the ocean…

And the weather? Where once people worried about the planet burning us alive (the bombs did that well enough), now a frozen wasteland, the atmosphere a radioactive blanket where light dare not tread. Truth be told, it’s amazing anything survived at all, let alone adapt to this new world; yet adapt it did. The Hermit’s skin was thick from the radiation (it having accelerated his growth) and over the course of about a century and a half, the 5 foot ten lad now stood at 10 feet tall. It is said he could lift 10 men with ease although no one can truly say for certain. For some reason, his body didn’t decay from the radiation; it thrived. Others were not so lucky. Those looking directly at the blast when the bombs fell were blinded instantly and while some survived, most perished.   Those living on the coasts (both West and East) were all but disintegrated, and those who did survive were turned into monsters. Their skin started peeling off, rotting as their body’s couldn’t adapt quickly enough to the rampant mutations. Over time their brains began to rot and their fingers grew into claws as their bones pierced through their skin. Half zombie, half alive, their blood-curdling screams as they found their prey sent chills down even the toughest of men; it didn’t help that the radiation made them much, much faster than any ordinary man.

In order to survive, humanity began to build underground. Those who heard the sirens and made it to the safety of long forgotten bomb shelters were all but spared from the horrors above. Nowhere else to go but down, they dug deep into the Earth and never stopped. They built intricate tunnels which turned into underground Mega Cities powered by the still beating heart of the Earth’s core. Those who were on the surface tried to rebuild cities once lost, however, between the cold and the mutated fiends, quickly learned that the surface world was no longer made for man and thus began their descent. And there remained The Hermit; a man with nothing left to fear and nothing left to lose, a wanderer out of place and out of time. Some called him a Guardian while others couldn’t distinguish him from those forsaken souls who now roamed the Earth; in the end, who can really say what was true?

Hi all, hope you enjoyed this piece of content! I’ve been super busy the last month having started work and all, so I’m glad I was finally able to put the finishing touches on this story. I’m still playing around with writing styles and working on creating vivid Imagery so hopefully you saw some improvement over the last piece of fiction I wrote. I’m also excited to announce that the blog is expanding! Expect a redesign coming soon and more photo focused entries (I can finally afford a camera, yay!) All in all, lots of good things to come. Cheers to the future and thanks for reading!

 

Fiction or not: The Forsaken

So it’s time again for a new series. This time, I’m trying my hand at writing fiction. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do but have kept putting aside until now. My idea with this series is to either write isolated, short stories or, depending on feedback and my preference, continuing stories if people want to know more about the worlds I create. Without further ado, enjoy.

It took him a lifetime but he finally realized the mistakes he had made, the moments lost. When his future was in front of him, he turned his back. He thought, “surely the future can wait if not for a bit longer.” Days turned to years and the once young man was now old.

When he finally did make his choice, years ago, it was with little thought. He was living for himself and the pay was good. He was a fisherman of the Western Province, where the fish were some 30 feet long <and these were just the babies.>

It was dangerous work to say the least and the world was not a kind one. The Ocean was a tempest from when Orak, the Giant Squid, was slain. When Orak died, it is said the heavens cried and the Earth grew cold. You see, Orak was a guardian of The Old.

The Western Sea was only referenced as The Untamed, its name of old lost during the Great Fire that engulfed the world in flames. What had once been, no one could remember except for The Wanderers, who some say have lived for hundreds of years.

This did not concern him, however. For he was a Forsaken and life was hard enough on its own.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment below if you have any ideas for future “fiction or not” entries. Let me know what you think and feel free to share this post!

Dailypost Challenge word: Tame

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