Category: Other Fiction

Call for Beta Readers!

I’m looking for 1 or 2 beta readers for Sisters. I can pay you in art!

Here’s the scoop!

What is a Beta Reader?
A beta reader is someone who reads a novel before it is published and provides feedback to the author (Did they enjoy it? Was it a good book? Were there any plot holes or inconsistencies?).

They do not do any editing or any technical work!

They read it as though they were someone who bought the book.

What I am Looking for
One or two mature, trustworthy people to beta read the novel who will provide feedback within a decent turnaround time (1 – 2 months).

If you’d like to get a feel for Sisters, I have the first few chapters on Wattpad.

I’ll be honest: the chapters get darker and darker, and I don’t know if I should continue posting them publicly without someone reading through the entire novel first (for now I’m putting the rest of the chapters on private).

Sisters Stats

  • 131 Word pages 
    • Not every page is a full page of text
  • 64,400 words
  • I’ll email it to you as a PDF (unless you prefer another format)

What’s in it for you!
Your choice of a customized digital drawing, a 9in by 7in colored pencil illustration, or peg doll!

I’ll cover the shipping costs if you pick the illustration or peg doll.

How to Contact Me
Message me on Facebook, Instagram, Wattpad, Twitter, or post a comment below.

Objects in the Mirror

Another post-apocalyptic fic!
Will Shar’s trusty car and rifle get her family to the safety of Aunt Jess’s farm? What will they find when they get there?
Be wary of the drones. 
Be wary of Greed. 
Be wary of daylight. 

OBJECTS IN THE MIRROR ARE NOT WHAT THEY APPEAR
A post-apocalyptic ficlet by MLC

The relentless rumble had finally died down for the evening as the sun disappeared into the West. It was the end of my watch and the start of our nightly journey. I lifted my AK-47 above my head so that I could stretch the sleepy muscles in my arms. Even at this hour, the Georgia humidity made me feel as though I was swimming in my own sweat.

Drawing a deep breath, I slung it over my shoulder and picked up my box of ammo. As I crept back into the alley, I could see the silhouette of our tiny car nestled between two brick monoliths of another era. Rick was right. This place was safe because it died in the 80s.

I walked up to the back and tapped the window with my knuckles. Our daughter, Sammy, was already awake. I could see her shadow moving in the backseat as Rick slept. He shifted when I tapped it again. The sluggish air around him did not last long, for he was sitting up and opening the door within seconds.

One could not afford to be slow in this world.

“Mommy, are we at Auntie Jess Jess’s house yet?” Sammy asked.

“Shh,” I cooed, leaning over. “Another day or so.”

Ever since They came, everyone began fleeing the cities, but even the suburbs were no longer safe. Rick slipped out of the backseat and took his place at the wheel. I sat in the passenger seat and placed the ammo box between my feet. I rolled the window down.

“I’m sick of being quiet,” Sammy groaned. “I want to play outside.”

“Everything will be fine when we go see Aunt Jess,” Rick said. The engine purred, and I tensed. The sound roared throughout the alley like an avalanche. Our car inched forward, its tires rolling over the cement. I rested the barrel of the AK-47 against the door and watched the vacant street creep closer and closer.

They preferred to kill us in daylight, but I was not about to take a chance.

I pictured Aunt Jessica’s farm, the sprawling hills around it–her horses, cows, and her giant, three story house. It was nestled away in the woods, far from civilization. They weren’t interested in the woods.

I pictured the twisted remains of our cell towers and power plants and shuddered. It was clear They wanted to destroy us and smash what little spirit we had left.

As Rick turned onto a back road. I watched a ragtag of pickup trucks and SUVs slink past us, their headlights turned off just as ours were. Rick stopped to let them pass. Their crawl must have been something like ten miles an hour.

“Where are they going?” I wondered, for they were heading towards Atlanta.

“To fight,” my husband whispered. “They’ve got stores of weapons in the back. Look.”  A chill swept over me. Sure enough, their truck beds were packed with Army surplus supplies and a host ammo boxes.  I gripped my weapon as temptation dared me to follow.  I knew better. Those poor souls had no chance against fighter jets and aerial drones.

A white pickup truck held the rear with the American and Gadsden flags streaming from its tailgate. The driver shined a flashlight at us. Two blinks. It was an unspoken hello and good luck out there.

Temptation was fleeting. I don’t think I could ever bring myself to go back to our blackened cities with their crumbling stores, apartment complexes, and death. Change the filter of the images on my dead phone to black and white, and our hometown looked like something straight out of World War Two.

My stomach growled. Great. Just great. Sammy probably heard it and was about to cry. We were almost out of food and water. Sure enough, the poor child began to weep. I shifted the rifle and rolled the window back up. I didn’t chide her. What was I going to do? Get mad at her for being hungry?

***

The car shuddered and rolled to a stop. This was it. We had used up every last drop of gas. There hadn’t been a gas station since we left that abandoned highway town, and now daylight was beginning to breach the night sky. I drew a weary breath. Where would we sleep? We certainly couldn’t do it in the car. If They didn’t end us first, the summer heat surely would. I gazed at the trees in the distance.

“Pull out your map,” I whispered, but I could hear him already shuffling through it.
“Holy shit, Shar! Look!” He shoved it into my lap and thrust his index finger on it. “We are here.” My heart raced. I spotted the red marker I drew around Aunt Jess’s property, not depicted on the map, of course.

“We could walk there and be there by night fall.” A low rumble ripped through the air.

They were awake.

We scurried about the car, collecting just the bare necessities and stuffing poor Sammy into her little red wagon. I was the sharp shooter, so I got the gun, and Rick got to pull her.

“Hurry!” I hissed. “They might have the drones out!” I gazed up. They’d be heading for Atlanta, but who wanted to risk some hotshot asshole spotting us and picking us off for fun from his cushy little control tower?

We hurried off the road as Sammy gripped the sides of the little metal wagon.  The trees would give us cover.

“Uuuooouuuoouuoouuu,” her voice went, and she laughed. Good. Better to laugh than to cry.

***

Every muscle in my body screamed in agony. My jeans had long since chafed my thighs, making every movement painful. Sammy whimpered and whined, shooting me wistful looks as I struggled to keep up. I felt like she grew smaller and smaller with each passing second, but it did not matter. Aunt Jess’s house was dead ahead. I could see it through the trees. One of her horses neighed in the distance. I blinked sweat away from my eyes.

I staggered on, and it felt like forever until we were standing on her porch. Rick rang the bell. Moments later, the door opened with a squeak. Aunt Jess’s sky blue eyes pierced the growing darkness.

“Sharon?” she asked. “What are you doing here?” The door was cracked an inch. I couldn’t make out her expression.

“Yes, it’s me, Auntie Jess,” I moved closer and pressed my palm against the door frame for support. “I’m sorry about the unexpected visit. Our home was destroyed in the initial attack.” I leaned against the house, my strength waning with every word I spoke.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any room.” Rick grabbed my collar and pulled me back just in time—Aunt Jess slammed the door.

“What?” I blanched. “No,” I whispered. “She…she was supposed to offer us a room on the third floor…We’re…we’re family. This can’t be right.” I rang the buzzer.

“Aunt Jess!” I cried. “Aunt Jess! It’s me Shar! I’ve got little Sammy with us!” When the door held still, I banged my fist on it. “Aunt Jess!” I screamed.

A window flew open on the left. I jumped.

“No means no. Stop screaming! You’ll attract Them!”

“Aunt Jess,” I croaked, stepping over to that side of the porch. “People are dying. Mom is…they got her, Dad, and Uncle Ken.”

“I don’t have any room.”

“Just one room on the third floor,” I begged. “People are-”

“No. And if I catch you sleeping in my stables, I will send my dogs after you. I do not give handouts.” I watched her slam the window shut and cringed at the sickening sound the lock made when she secured it.

Blackness swept over me. This couldn’t be right. We were family. She was my mother’s sister. Stars studded my vision, draping her front door in a snowy haze.

“Shar,” Rick shook my shoulders. “C’mon, not now. I need you!” he paused. His voice sounded like it was far away. “That abandoned church!” he cried suddenly. “Remember the one you told me about, the one you and your sisters used to play Anne of Green Gables in?”

Yes, yes. The old church. It would provide shelter. He shook me again and grabbed our last water bottle. He poured a few drops into my mouth. Yes, yes, there was that stream by it.

“I’ll take us there,” I rasped. A low growl pressed through Aunt Jess’s door. The window flew open again.

“Get off my property!”

~FIN

Yester Year: The Eternal Summer

Yester Year
The Eternal Summer
A ficlet by mlc

I drew a deep breath, my steps haggard and limp, as I walked through the jagged ruins of Yester Year. Sweat dripped down my back, making my shirt feel like a second layer of skin. I sat down on one of the charred blocks and looked at the parcel in my trembling hands.

The sun was starting to dip into the West, a sure fire sign that I needed to hurry up. Wheezing, I leaned over and closed my eyes. Just a quick break, I told myself. Then it was another sprint, but I’d be home, and Nana would get her medication.

My eyes fluttered open when a sudden gust of wind brushed my back. It chilled the sweat for a brief moment, and I watched it rip a dead plant from its roost. The light brown thing tumbled around the ruins without a care in the world.

My eyes followed it until it hit the side of a block twice the size as the one I was sitting on. That one had imprints on it. That one was proof that Nana’s crazy stories had actually happened. I didn’t like going near it.

Yester Year. I clutched my side when it started to cramp. The wind tore something white from the old foundation, hurling it my way. I reached my foot out and stepped on it.

“One more minute,” I whispered as I stretched my arm out to grab it. Sometimes you found some good shit from Yester Year, but most of the time it was garbage. I lifted my sandal, and sure enough, it was a tattered cup.

“How did you manage to survive out here all these years?” I plucked it from the ground and inspected the faded wording on it. Nana might like it, I decided, so I stuffed it into my satchel.

I frowned when I looked at her parcel. I don’t know how we’re going to get the next batch. Getting this one was hard enough as it was. We were running out of scrap medal. Minute up. I clutched the precious bundle against my chest and broke into a sprint.

I needed to get the hell home before curfew.

The ground was already rumbling with their monolithic monsters—I could feel it in my feet. It was time to pump my legs as hard as I could. Pain throbbed everywhere my body could feel it. No pain, no gain. 

My neighborhood appeared in the horizon a few moments later. Its shabby roofs quelled the rising fear brewing within. The old trees, vacant husks that clawed up at the brown sky like silent horrors, mocked my half crazed sprint. This stupid drought, I thought. It’s making them lash out. 

On the flip side, they had to give us more rations whenever things got bad. Where and how they got those rice cakes jammed packed with calories, I would never know or understand. Nothing grew in these parts. Nothing.

***

“Please stop wasting your resources on me,” Nana rasped, her voice wavering with each word. She stared at her lap as my dad dropped two pills into her palm.

Closing my eyes, I started counting. Thirst was beginning to scrape its way through my veins to the point of no return. My throat felt parched and scratchy, like a wool blanket.

“You are almost out of copper, Ryan,” she said. “This is the last trade on my behalf. I’m eighty years old. You and Karla have many years left in you.”

“You’re my mother!” Dad placed a hand on my shoulder, jarring me from my trance. I moved out of the way to watch him kneel before her. He took her hand and kissed it.

“You protected us,” he murmured. “I was ten, but I remember. I remember how you sheltered me and Mike, how you hid us when the Black Shirts kept bombing us.”

I walked away. I hated it when they got like this. Those two never learned to just shut the hell up about the past. No one thought about the second civil war anymore. No one cared. As long as the Feds kept bringing us those sweet rice cakes and water, it didn’t matter.

No one cared about some orange weirdo dictator from fifty years ago. Not a damn person. Dad was just a baby back then! I stopped at my room and rubbed my temples. It was the thirst. Oh please let us get an extra bottle of water tonight. Please. 

I walked into my room and picked up my tablet, well it used to be Nana’s, but I liked to pretend I was the fucking shit with it sometimes. I walked over to her old desk and sat down.

“Oh yes, Ma’am. Numbers are in your favor. Your scrap yard has tripled.” The words sounded stale and echoed off the walls. With a sigh, I set the relic down and turned on the old radio we had salvaged five years ago.

Trumpets and drums thundered a strong, masculine tune. I closed my eyes. For what it was worth, the Feds were good story tellers when they weren’t busy kicking down doors.

“Good evening citizens, your regularly scheduled program will air momentarily. We have some breaking news.” I sat up straight. They never interrupted Curfew Nights. Never.

“It is with great pleasure to let you hear it from the Marshal himself!” The Marshal’s military jingle rang throughout the room. I held my breath. The Marshal!? He was going to speak!? My heart raced. We had an old picture of him stashed away in Dad’s closet. Nana refused to go near it or eat in its vicinity. We only pulled it out when the Feds delivered our rations.

“My fellow Citizens of the Federated States,” his voice boomed. It was loud, strong, and manly. I felt my cheeks flush. No one knew how old he was or where he came from. He was just there. There to save us all.

“We’ve done it. We’ve found a way to reverse eternal summer, but it requires teamwork like we haven’t seen since the days of old, and by old, I mean before the selfish gene took our ancestors of Yester Year prisoner,” he paused. I leaned closer to the radio, my ears craving every last bit of him.

“Citizens between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five are officially a part of The Marshal’s taskforce and will be conscripted into service immediately. Your families will receive extra rations and water tonight as a salute to service. Only together, can we end this perpetual nightmare that has burned our world.”

What? Conscripted? I bit my lower lip. No. there was no way I wanted to be a Fed. Never.

“My young friends will be taken to my solar facilities to begin manufacturing equipment needed to end this hell.”

Wait.

Work. Manufacturing and building shit. That didn’t sound like driving tanks and kicking doors down to me.

I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled.

“Your families will continue receiving extra rations, water, and medical care until the deed is done, and when it is done, there will be no need to scrimp and scrounge just to make ends meet. Your children and grandchildren will have Falls, Winters, and Springs! Together, the Federated States will prevail!”

Trumpets blared as a canned applause poured through the little radio. I looked at my watch. What perfect bloody timing.

7:59.

I grabbed my diary and one of Nana’s dolls from Yester Year.

8:00.

Bang, bang, bang! 

“IT’S THE FEDS, OPEN UP! RATIONS, WATER, AND WE’RE HERE FOR KARLA WALTERS. OPEN UP.”

It was time to go.

Fifty Years From Now

A grim future awaits us in this flash story of mine. Beware of the $ians, for they may snatch you up!

Original photo can be found on wikimedia commons! 
2065

Grandpa tells me that I was born ten years too late. I have no memory of what it was like before the world lost its way (though, he says that it had been riding I80 to Stupidville way before 2045). I frown as I gaze at his withered face. It looks serene in the candlelight. I sigh. The power outages have been getting worse. It’s been out for three days straight now.

When I see his chest rise and fall, I close my eyes and sit down. Good. I wrestled his mask on just in time. I glance over at the window. He likes to call the deep, dark brown hue “the marriage between a hipster and a trashy sepia filter.” I have no idea what it means, but I always laugh because he likes my reaction.

Sand begins to pelt against it. I rise and close the curtains. I’m sick of sand. It wasn’t this bad ten years ago. Resources were scarce then, and the only reason Grandpa, Mom, and me have a small cabin is because he was some sort of war hero before all of this.

Am I lucky that I’m sheltered from reality? I don’t know. Every once in a while the TV turns on, and we get a glimpse of the outside. The $ians like to parade their wealth by showing us how horrible it is out there. The sad thing is that there are just three factions left these days.

The VAl&ers, us. We live under the military pensions of old in decaying, manufactured neighborhoods–we are a dying breed.

The Fendrz, the ones left the fend for themselves in this mess. Grandpa says they were the working class way back before the world went to hell. They slipped through the cracks and were too poor to buy themselves out of the Disaster of 2045. He says they were always treated like shit.

Then there are the fat $ians, the ones who live in the famed *light City. They come from the upper classes of old or fendrz and VAl&ers attractive enough to be snatched up. Grandpa says that’s what happened to Dad right after Mom had me.

I shudder. Is he some Ms. Piggette’s husband now? Is he doomed to forever shovel horseshit? Mom says the $ians snatch us up to keep themselves from inbreeding. I don’t like to think about it. I keep to VAl&. I don’t dare go near the crumbling wall just outside the forest.

They’ve taken a liking to us in the past year.

Are the fendrz dying off? Have they stolen all the beautiful ones? I’ll never understand the radio broadcasts and government pamphlets we get in the mail…What is so wrong with the fendrz that they’re left in the ruins of the giant cities of old?

Grandpa remembers when the food shortages began and The Smarter You initiative started. He says it was a bunch of fascist bullshit designed to stop the dredges of society from breeding. They got blamed for everything. Grandpa blames society. People used to be selfish, infantile brats, especially with the rise of technology. He says there used to be gadgets for everything. They had bracelets that counted your steps and pocket ‘puters that could access other people–

I don’t know what he’s talking about. I just know that the fendrz are dying off, and we’re next. M@t from the blue cabin has been missing for three days. Dela has been missing for three months. They were the most attractive people in our village…

Grandpa says I’m next.

~FIN

Stories in 6 Words

Write a story in six words–the ultimate way to put your brain to the test! I got this idea after browsing around the web one mindless evening. It’s like @VeryShortStory on Twitter, only shorter! However, the idea of writing a tiny splash of fiction is much older than the Internet. Earnest Hemingway won a bet over it. You can read the Wikipedia article if you’re curious.

I took some pictures and used them as prompts. I’m no Hemingway, but I had fun!

 
“One to beam-” cried the redshirt.
 Took a selfie…lost my phone.
 Too stubborn for change, late notice.
Last seen at the lunch counter.
Wanted: a fitting meme and catnip!
****
Take a shot at your own!
 [ Your six word story is waiting. ]