Andrew Stevens
Stories (6/0)
Awakening
Somewhere up in the Thousand Peaks of the Vale… The night was dark, the woods quiet and still. Several hunters sat around a freshly stoked campfire as the smell of smoke filled the crisp, night air. The forest was silent except for the crackling of the wood as it began to slowly shed the last hour of its life, giving way to a bed of burning embers below.
By Andrew Stevensabout a year ago in Fiction
The Knowledge of Man
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. As Alaina peered through her only window into the outside world, she could scarcely remember what lay beyond those panes. The truth is, she could not really remember anything before the Collapse. All she knew of what the world held was what she could barely see through this two-foot window in Kai’s private study inside the library. Kai was the man who had saved her from almost certain death when the first of the great fissures appeared. Alaina was 17 then, but she remembered it like it was yesterday. Yet, for some reason, she could not remember anything that had come before. Perhaps the experience had been so traumatic, it had overwritten all her previous memories? She couldn’t say.
By Andrew Stevensabout a year ago in Futurism
One-way Ticket to Oblivion
I open my eyes and feel the warmth of the sun as I wade softly through a field of marigolds. The gentle touch of each petal sends warm sensations through my fingertips. Every few seconds a cool breeze jets across my face. My spine tingles. I feel safe.
By Andrew Stevens2 years ago in Fiction
One-Way Ticket to Oblivion
Continued from Cabin 13, my story entry for the Runaway Train challenge: As I gazed at the contents of what was inside, my sigh of relief turned to a sigh of discontent. Inside the case, there were only a handful of things, nothing of which seemed very useful in my current predicament - at least not at first glance. There were some papers with various writings on them; drawings of some of the artifacts, more runes, and random notes. These appeared to be the scribblings of a mad man. To be more precise, they appeared to be mine. I couldn't quite decipher what all I had written down, so I placed them off to the side for now. Underneath the papers were some photographs that had been taken of the artifacts and more notes and drawings. There were several pictures of my friend and myself as well. In particular, there was one of him and I together, along with another unknown man, all standing behind the globe I had seen in my vision. We were in what looked like a museum of sorts, though it did not look like one that I remembered. My attention focused on the third man. I did not recognize this man, though as with other things, there seemed something familiar about him. He was an elderly man of perhaps 60 or so, sporting a short, scraggly beard. He wore a white suit and had what looked like a red rose above his right breast pocket. He was a bit blurry, so it was hard to make out for certain. I strained my eyes to look at it. No, it wasn't a rose. It was a red sun – the same symbol that my friend had on his ring!
By Andrew Stevens2 years ago in Fiction