Posts tagged dystopian short story
Sticks And Stones

What if Flint worked out how to use the stick before he worked out how to use the stone? The sudden thought sent a deluge of anxiety and fear into the pit of his stomach and he dropped, back flat against the nearest wall. Scrunching up his eyes, Check thought he saw the dark figure to emerge from the blackness, stick raised, a blood-curdling howl of fury sounding his last moments.

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A Fitting Punishment

“Wait,” I try to get up, to stand but my limbs are jelly, boneless, my legs full of rocks, my hips weighed down on either side. I grunt, try to lift myself, try to drag my boy but I can’t move, can’t even lift my hands to pull away the blanket. My chest is tight, so tight, like its scrabbling at my heart, trying to squeeze it tight.

I gasp with pain. Sweat running down one temple, “tell me, what happened?”

But he’s already gone.

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Freaks

I didn’t care, I just wanted to slit throats. Three wanted to bash skulls, he loved the sound they made when they finally cracked, like the sound an old branch makes when it parts from the tree, cleanly breaking from its age-old joint. It was because he wanted to bash skulls that he argued with Beck. Beck always had grand plans, grander plans than just killing Freaks and his plans got in the way of Beck’s head bashing.

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