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Latest Stories

March 19, 2024
Fantasy Stories Wondering Monk

Just My Imagination

The alarm clock went off and started playing an awful tune. Tom opened his eyes and closed them back, squinting. He reopened one eye and stood up to stop the torture. The phone was on the desk, in the furthest spot from the bed. Although he changed his way of…
March 19, 2024
Science Fiction Stories Ocelotlzin

Earth Is Dead

Recording… It doesn't matter who I was; I probably lived a long time ago, and I am now just a voice someone added to the audio-visual records. What is essential is the recollection of events that lead to the current state. So, a little history needs to be…
March 08, 2024
Flash Fiction Benoit

Some Enchanted Evening

It was a rugby tackle with tears: Chrissy burst in, sobbing and babbling, hugging James. Her face was all wet, eyes wild. What…? My parents split up, Dad has moved in with his boyfriend and I cannot join them. I am shut out. I have lost my dad. Torrent of…
March 08, 2024
Horror Stories Marvel Chukwudi Pephel

In The Hands Of My Legs

The car pulled up in front of the large salon. The neon sign, that sexy broad thing, on the salon'sroof read "Mr. Gil's All-night Salon". The exhaust pipe of the car was pumping solid smoke, theswirls moving from the car and towards the salon.…
March 07, 2024
Mystery Stories Vanessa Leigh Giles

Casualty of Love in the Time of Coronavirus

Chapter 1 Until Death do us Part ‘Ring, ring!’. I answered the telephone and asked, “Hello, good evening. Who’s this? “Hello.” This is Dr. Smith from Red Cross hospital. “Is this Mr. Locke, John?”, he asked, hesitantly scratching his bald head. “Yes, doctor.…
March 07, 2024
Crime Stories Robert Pook

Bar Room Trigger

Another return journey on footpaths so familiar. He strides across each crack in each paving stone. Regular loose drain covers sidestepped. Mapping long ago mapped in Richard’s desolate mind. His pace hastened by the sight of the oncoming storm. Quickening…
March 04, 2024
Horror Stories Ano Chinemerem

Sanctity

Where should I begin? I could begin by telling you about this comely boy, whom every notable person around the streets agrees his smile could charm the bills off one. Between one smile, there was his goodness, his dreams and humanity—a little far ahead?— but…
March 04, 2024
Flash Fiction Emanuel Diaz

Et Mortui Partium

As Rafael stepped out into the rain, it wasn't the ordinary drops that fell from the sky. Instead, it was a storm of souls, each one taking the form of shimmering jewelry as it cascaded toward the ground. Rubies, diamonds, and sapphires twinkled amidst the…
February 29, 2024
Poetry Jing Li Ava

London

‘Am I in London?’ "I am." Where is Elizabeth? Happy living story All of your chapter Bounlance joy Please my heart Power hand Wise mind Our baby Vow vow Love all love Miss I miss Endless wonder Bring us together Love all love Miss I miss For everything My…
February 29, 2024
Flash Fiction Rob Pook

Life Sentence of The Smith

Born nine months after his country won the World Cup.A child prodigy.Cast off at age twenty-four.Husband, father, emigree, away on the other side of the world.The blue-collar life.The dreams of success.The search for fulfillment.The long years of empty…
February 29, 2024
Mystery Stories Joshua Lowther

The Operator

Jason looked over to his right, his eyes barely able to focus themselves on the subject of his attention. His neck ached terribly from the strenuous movement. He was tired. The captain’s gaze came to rest on the rookie sonar operator sitting tense at his…
February 29, 2024
Flash Fiction Salvatore Difalco

The Chute

At dusk, we left our unit with a soft pink bundle. I carried it through the wet streets and into the black woods. I said I’d take it all the way, the bundle, but that we had to drop it in together. My wife’s green eyes flashed. “Don’t make me do that.” I…

Breakfast was impossible. Hard bread was never the most appetising of meals, but that morning I just could not find the courage to force it down. The sun was so hot and the bread so dry, my lips so chapped and my stomach so tight.

This unease had been building in me for weeks. At first I thought it was just seasickness, but we had reached land days ago and yet still it remained. I knew what was causing it, but I had so far refused to admit to such un-Roman weakness . Now, however, it had grown so strong that I could no longer ignore it; it was so much bigger than me.

I sat down on a dune and looked out over the bay. Despite the sickness of my mind, I tried to see things as I ought to.

So many ships. Such might. So many men. No city can withstand such a magnificent army. We are the Roman legion, the fear of all nations. The enemy shall flee in terror at our sheer number. They will see the folly of fighting such a force. And if they don’t, the Gods will. Our cause is just, righteous. I have been a good Roman. The Gods will not allow me to perish. I shall live on beyond this day!

Such great thoughts reassured me.

But only for a moment.

Then horrid, grotesque questions twisted in my stomach like a knife:

But what of the enemy? Do their deaths count for less than mine? Am I sure they deserve to die? Who am I to decide their fate? We have lost battles to them before, who is to say it will not occur again? Do the Gods love me so much to spare me? Or shall I be lost to martyrdom?

I looked around at the men, and some of them were like me, I knew. All colour had drained from their faces, great dark bags hanging below their eyes - they had not slept a wink. Young Plautus, a boy of no more than fifteen, was positively green, gazing blankly at the sand. A Priest of Mars came along and invited him to pray, but the boy turned away. Instead, he marched into his tent and emerged moments later with shield in hand, his sword sheathed in its scabbard and his helmet on his head, glinting in that African sun. He was still frightened, I knew, but it seemed he had accepted whatever the Fates had in store for him.

What I would give for such courage.

Then my attention turned to Flavius, our commander. He was by far the loudest of the men that morning. He had fought in countless battles, his body scarred from head to toe, but this was his first against the Carthaginians, and by Jupiter was he looking forward to it. His grandfather, his father and his two brothers had all fallen by the spears of Carthaginian soldiers - if any Roman had reason to want to drive his steel through Hannibal’s heart, it was him.

But not me, I realised. I did not know these people. I did not know their lands. They had never done me any harm. Their lives posed no threat to my little farm in Mediolanium.

Yet Scipio insisted they were a threat. They threatened all of Rome, the heralds claimed. We needed to take pre-emptive measures to ensure the safety and prosperity of Rome. What cause could be more righteous? Maybe we do need to go to war. Maybe these people do need to die. Maybe we do need to kill... Maybe WE need to die...

Neither option made full sense. And both inspired horror.

As we marched on the city, baking in our armour, I could not stop thinking about how men were soon going to try to kill me. They would send flaming arrows through the air, pour boiling oil from the battlements and, if it came to it, fight me one-on-one with sword and spear, attempting to disembowel me with each desperate thrust.

And the sick thing is I did not blame them for wanting me dead. I understood their motivation, but in those moments, the moments in which I needed that great Roman courage, I could not bring myself to understand our own.

This is not our land.

This grass we tread is not for our livestock.

This cannot be righteous.

I do not want to do this.

And yet still I kept marching on. I could do nothing else. To turn back would mean certain execution as a traitor, to go forward meant kill or be killed. I thought us Romans were above such barbarous dilemmas!

So, terrifically powerless in the middle of my cohort, I marched on, our war-drums booming with each step, the great walls of Carthage looming ever-larger before us. Even the Gods would shrink before such high walls! I looked to the siege towers at the head of the legion; they were swaying precariously as they trundled over the uneven African terrain. Are they feeling the same as I?

A great black bird soared through the blue above us, a serpent in its beak. The augurs knew that this signified either good or bad fortune, but I could not remember which. One thing I was sure of was that the Carthaginians would no doubt have their own interpretation of such an event.

Just as individual enemies became discernible atop the walls, their chanting became audible. Strong voices, like many Romans. The tune was even quite pleasant. Perhaps these aren’t so barbarous after all...

And yet still we marched forward, never breaking stride. Like good Romans. There was no escaping it: I was about to find myself in mortal combat.

But I still had not made my decision. Do I fight back? Or do I allow the enemy to slide his steel through my skin, rupture my organs, spew my blood all over this fertile land, and send my last breath from my lungs?

They loosed their first volley of arrows from the tops of the walls, impregnating the air with that dreadful silence that blares between action and consequence. A sharp intake of breath and we raised our hefty shields. The arrows thudded down on the wood with malicious force.

It had begun, and, yet still, I had not made my decision.

 

End

 

Bio: I'm a student of English at University College Dublin. I have set up a writing project called "StoryOak" which is a new format for writing short stories which involves several different authors who do not directly collaborate (the first iteration of it is due to be completed by the end of 2014). I've written several short film scripts, some of which have gone on to win awards, and I am now turning my attention to writing short stories and perhaps a novel in the near future.

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