Published Short Stories 2025

“Quick, in here,” Brodie whispered to Maxie through her Air Pod connection. “We can both fit but mind the rusty pipes.” Maxie scanned the ruins of the building she had been chased into through the tiny window provided by her air filter mask. She could feel they were close, but how close were they? Could she and Brodie make it back to their underground base before the filter clogged up completely and they suffocated?                

The soldiers were destined to hunt her simply because her mother had refused to conform to the demands of the state and give her eldest daughter over for ‘training.’ 

The beginning of the end started in 2032 with a worldwide pollution problem dubbed Olympia 32. With no one eating meat or animal products anymore, work in the country dried up, forcing everyone to move to the already overcrowded cities. New high-rises sprang up overnight, each tower taller than the last, completely blocking out the sun's rays and causing the already stiflingly thick air to become clogged with soot and smog and an unknown pathogen. This, in turn, led to thousands of deaths as people slowly began choking on the mysterious substance.

That’s when the state stepped in, taking the firstborn daughter from each family on their 18th birthday to train. The need for future-fit women to lead our new, futuristic world and save us all from certain death. The state ran an outstanding campaign, and nearly everyone jumped on board. A small group of people weren't convinced and hid girls like Maxie when her time of collection came. The group called Grounded believed it was all a ploy to grow reengineered humans capable of breathing the clogged air. The girls would be incubators for the next generation, who would be able to breathe and survive outside free from masks and air filters. Being able to move freely around indefinitely would make the first country to accomplish that unstoppable.

Sighing, Maxie took in the scene behind her. Surrounded by nothing but broken pieces of brick and rusty pipes, a desolate jungle and the result of months of battle between Grounded and the soldiers. This place used to be a captivating museum, filled with beautiful artwork by artists such as Steve Rosendale and Adam Cullen. Children would run excitedly through the bright, open hallways, holding sheets of craft paper, as they tried to copy the great pop art masterpieces. Laughter echoed from room to room as parents watched on, sipping cinnamon coffee, chatting about the newest disaster to befall their dreary lives. All of that was now long gone; nothing left of the magical, enchanting place that held hopes and dreams. Just the rubble, mildew and dust that lay around her in a shambled mess mirroring the ruin her life had so quickly become.

Slipping quickly and quietly into the grate on the floor, Maxie tried desperately to fold her weary legs into the tiny space Brodie had found for them to hide. What was once simply a drain in the floor, with the sole purpose of taking water away, now held her tightly, the key to saving her life. 

Covering her mouth with one hand and tightly holding Brodie’s shaky hand with the other, Maxie held her breath. She could hear them above her, throwing bricks across the floor in a futile attempt to find her. Banging and crashing through the building like a herd of wild elephants, the sounds were deafening and chaotic until they slowly began to fade away as the soldiers moved onto the next rundown, derelict building to begin their search anew. 

Maxie counted to 10 just to be sure she was in the clear. At six, spots began to dance in front of her eyes as her lungs painfully begged for air, reminding her of the need to breathe. Dammit, her air filter must be full. Praying only Brodie could see her, she quickly removed her mask to suck in some precious oxygen. As quietly as possible, she began to take the smallest breath she could manage, again and again, until the pressure in her lungs gradually eased.

She had survived yet one more encounter with the soldiers. She just had to pray she could continue, and her secret ability to breathe and survive what was in the air would remain just that.. 

Dark Decent - Whispers from beyond webzine 

Dark Descent Portal | DarkHolmePublishing 

See the separate web page

The Beginning

Compassiviste turns their focus to our planet’s youth—those who stand on the front line of climate change and social inequality concerns.   At the heart of each reflection is one key trait: compassion—for each other, for ourselves, and for the world around us. 

You can find it on:

Amazon US

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Compassiviste Website

Youth Voices and Grassroots Compassion: How to Save the World - The Compassiviste Anthology #VIII 

West slumped forward, wrists bound to the rough beam overhead. The mud walls pressed close, still stinking of roots torn up and left to rot. Once, this place had breathed with green life; now, the air was heavy with rust and decay.

He thought of East’s laughter, of North’s steady hand, of South’s endless patience. Each memory was a knife—every sibling slain, their strength burned into him against his will. He had carried their power like a brand. Alone.

Outside, the sect’s machines clanged, tearing deeper into the land. West closed his eyes, drew in the last threads of heat from the fading sun, and let the spirit rise. It clawed out of him, tearing skin from soul, until the chamber filled with the roar of voices older than mountains. How he longed for his siblings; they had all been so graceful and kind working with each other to cover the state of Queensland. It had been a devastating shock when he felt their power transfer to him upon their death. 

He had thought he was safe hiding in Cloncurry, a small country town in western Queensland. He was paying for that lapse in judgment now. The wrong person must have told of the nature retreats he offered.

He had tried to keep his retreats small, teaching eager people how nature provides everything they could ever need, such as how willow tree bark could be used as an alternative to aspirin, how to use mint for a sore throat, or how lemon balm calms the nerves and promotes sleep. 

He had tried to help, but how could you keep these lessons small when so many people wanted to learn, to grow and expand their knowledge? 

It was the industrial sect that was out to destroy. They had brainwashed the people of Queensland into thinking chemicals and steel were the way forward. 

He was trapped. He had been caught by the sect and was trussed up in an underground cell awaiting his fate. With his death, there would be no one left to teach the significance of the environment to the people of Queensland.

He had to do something; he couldn’t just accept his fate. But what could he possibly do that would save him?

Drawing heat from the waning sun, he summoned the power within. He had to try to save the spirit of the guardians. 

Fighting his body's natural urge to remain one with the spirit, he pushed with all his might, sweat dripping down his back, pins and needles creeping over his fingers and toes. With one final push, the spirit, born millennia before, left his body. 

The spirit of his siblings, his ancestors, and the land itself left his body. Flying through the air, before entering every Queenslander’s soul and filling them with the spirit and knowledge of the guardians. 

He would live on.

Every Tuesday evening, a new 100-word horror rises from the ShadowSphere.  ShadowSphere | Join the Indie Horror Community at Dark Holme Publishing 

"This week's featured drabble is by Tina Wingham.

A past soaked in petrol, a home that never offered safety, and a final act that burns through years of pain."

“Just throw the lighter already, she wasn’t kind, she didn’t light up the room with her smile, just burn the bitch.” Weariness pressed on me as I met Lily’s gaze, her pain mirroring mine. 

“She’s the one responsible for…” Lily gestured to my poor arms as she stopped short of touching me. The chilly whisper of air skimming over my barely healed burns. 

Sucking in a lungful of petrol-infused air, I threw the lighter into my childhood home. “Bye, mum,” I breathed out as the flames ripped through the old wooden shack, and her tortured screams tore through the night 

My work appears in The Haiku Shack Magazine: Issue 5 - The Haiku Shack Magazine | Cendrine Marrouat - Artist 

 Visit Cendrine Marrouat's Shop! 

The Haiku Shack Magazine is a new digital publication that focuses on very short poetry and microfiction stories that seek to make an emotional impact. A specific theme inspires every issue; this issue is silence.

Having an energetic toddler was like teaching a class of 20 monkeys how to blow a glass vase with pretty pink and white flowers. A lot of noise, tantrums and mess.

But as I sat on the cold, wet grass at my son’s graveside, my hair blowing everywhere, tears streaming down my face, I begged for just one more minute of noise and chaos to fill the void left by his silence.