Dystopia Fiction – This is Another Story

Friday Fictioneers: Oh, You better be down there

Published on January 6, 2023January 5, 2023 by Yinglan17 Comments

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Friday Fictioneers: Doomed to the Max

Published on August 11, 2022 by Yinglan15 Comments

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Friday Fictioneers: The World Beneath

Published on April 15, 2021April 15, 2021 by Yinglan23 Comments

I watch as the water drains from the pipe above into the well below. It must be still raining up above, I think. Most of the city must be underwater by now.

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Friday Fictioneers: Doomed World

Published on February 28, 2019February 28, 2019 by Yinglan8 Comments

I live in a doomed world, I think grimly as I huddle in the dark corner of the Red Mountain Market and Deli, my go-to grocery store some 20 years ago. Teeth clattering, hands shaking, I reach into my jacket pocket for my trusty bottle of Ibuprofen. Great, final two. Continue reading “Friday Fictioneers: Doomed World” →

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Meaning of a Charm

Published on December 17, 2018December 16, 2018 by Yinglan11 Comments

December 25, 2146, Seaside Village, Historic North Carolina

In gray stockings and a wool dress draped around her ankles, eleven-year-old Lula opened the door and stepped out of the two-bedroom rambler she and her parents have called home all their lives. Sucking in a deep breath, Lula glanced around the white-washed, orange-roof village. It had been days since everyone had been permitted to step outside but days is always better than the months and sometimes years to be stuck indoors due to frequent acid rainstorms.

“Hello, Lula.” Mrs. Baker from next door greeted.

Lula shielded her eyes from the sun and smiled, “Hello, Mrs. Baker. Are you off to the market?” She asked, noticing the basket hanging from Mrs. Baker’s elbow.

“Ah yes, I’m afraid this quarantine has depleted our food storage. Well, I’ll see you later, dear.” Mrs. Baker turned but paused, “Oh, I almost forgot.” She patted the pocket of her gray dress similar to Lula’s and produced a small metallic charm with the phrase, “Merry Christmas!” Lula stared at it, frowned, unable to recognize its meaning.

December 25, 2156

Standing on the beach by her home, now twenty-one, Lula stares at the charm in her hand, still perplexed, “What does this mean?”

(201 words)

A Response for Sunday Photo Fiction.