Stories

Mia Chen’s pencil hovered over her sketchpad, her mind as blank as the paper before her. Around her, other students in Mr. Holloway’s art class chattered and laughed, but Mia remained silent, withdrawn into her own world. She’d always felt like an outsider at Evergreen High, but never more so than in this moment. “Having trouble finding inspiration, Miss Chen?” Mr. Holloway’s gravelly voice startled her. The eccentric art teacher peered down at her empty page, his wild gray eyebrows furrowed. ...

Nadia’s fingers trembled as she traced the jagged cracks in the old stone wall. Dust and debris clung to her skin, a gritty reminder of all that had been lost. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Beneath the acrid smell of smoke, a faint hint of olives lingered—a ghost of what once was. Five years. Had it really been that long since she’d fled her beloved Aleppo? The city of her childhood now lay in ruins, its ancient streets and vibrant markets reduced to rubble. Yet here she stood, drawn back by an inexplicable pull she couldn’t quite name. ...

Zara Thorne squinted at the holographic display, her heart racing as the ancient coordinates materialized before her eyes. After months of painstaking research and countless dead ends, she’d finally pinpointed the location of the fabled New York time capsule. A treasure trove of pre-Collapse artifacts, perfectly preserved for over 150 years. “This is it,” she whispered, a grin spreading across her face. “The find of the century.” With trembling fingers, Zara reached out to manipulate the 3D projection, zooming in on the precise GPS coordinates. The capsule’s location pulsed like a beacon, buried deep beneath the twisted ruins of old Manhattan. ...

The heat hit Lena like a wall as she stepped out of Marrakech Menara Airport. She squinted against the bright Moroccan sun, hefting her camera bag higher on her shoulder. All around her, a cacophony of voices called out in Arabic, French, and heavily-accented English. Taxi drivers waved and shouted, eager for fares. The scent of spices and exhaust fumes mingled in the air. Lena felt adrift, unsure where to begin. This assignment was supposed to reinvigorate her work, but so far she only felt overwhelmed. She’d pitched a photo series on the hidden corners of Marrakech to her editor, hoping it would reignite her passion for photography. Now, faced with the bustling reality of the city, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. ...

The ancient pickup truck rattled and groaned as Marcus Thorne guided it down the dusty country road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. In the passenger seat, his daughter Lily pressed her face against the window, her eyes wide with wonder at the unfamiliar landscape. “Daddy, look at all the trees!” Lily exclaimed, pointing at the rows of gnarled apple trees that stretched out beyond the cracked asphalt. “Are those Grandma’s?” ...

The sharp cry of a newborn pierced the stuffy air of the small bedroom, momentarily drowning out the whispers that had been circulating through the town of Millbrook for days. Eliza Blackwood exhaled slowly, her hands steady as she swaddled the squalling infant. The exhausted mother reached out with trembling arms. “Is it… is she alright?” Sarah Cooper’s voice was barely audible, her face ashen from the difficult labor. Eliza’s lips curved into a reassuring smile as she placed the bundle in Sarah’s arms. “She’s perfect. A bit small, but she’s got a strong set of lungs on her.” ...

Zara’s fingers traced the embossed lettering on the leather-bound cover, savoring the tactile sensation as she carefully placed the book on the returns cart. The library was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the climate control system and the occasional rustle of pages. She glanced at her watch—an antique timepiece inherited from her grandmother—and noted it was nearly closing time. As she made her way through the stacks, straightening a misplaced volume here and there, Zara couldn’t help but feel a twinge of melancholy. The library, once a bustling hub of activity, now stood as a silent sentinel to a bygone era. Most patrons these days preferred the convenience of digital downloads and virtual reality reading rooms. But for Zara, nothing could replace the weight of a real book in her hands, the subtle scent of paper and ink, the satisfying crack of a fresh spine. ...

Mira Alvarez squinted against the glare of the desert sun, adjusting her wide-brimmed hat as she surveyed the barren landscape. The research station - a cluster of squat, sand-colored buildings - shimmered in the distance like a mirage. She hefted her overstuffed backpack and trudged forward, each step kicking up a small cloud of dust. Three months. Three months of isolation, heat, and endless sand. But also three months to potentially make the discovery of her career. Mira allowed herself a small smile as she pictured the rare Ariocarpus kotschoubeyanus cactus she’d come here to study. The elusive “living rock” cactus was notoriously difficult to find and cultivate. If she could unlock its secrets, it could revolutionize drought-resistant agriculture. ...

Lena fumbled with her waterproof microphone, nearly dropping it into the choppy waves sloshing against the side of the boat. She cursed under her breath, pushing her salt-crusted glasses back up her nose. “You alright there, missy?” Captain Gus called from the helm, his weathered face creased with amusement. “Them fancy gadgets giving you trouble?” “I’m fine,” Lena muttered, her cheeks flushing. She’d been working with the crusty old fisherman for weeks now, but still felt like a clumsy landlubber every time she set foot on his rickety vessel. “Just making sure everything’s set up properly for today’s podcast.” ...

The rusted plow blade snagged on something buried in the earth, jerking Eliza forward. She stumbled, catching herself on the weathered wooden handles before she could fall face-first into the freshly turned soil. Wiping the sweat from her brow with a dirty sleeve, she peered down at the furrow. A glint of gold caught her eye. Eliza crouched down, her calloused fingers brushing away clumps of dark earth to reveal an ornate locket. Its delicate filigree was tarnished with age, but still beautiful. She pried it open, revealing a faded daguerreotype of a striking young woman with eyes that seemed hauntingly familiar. ...