Post Apocalyptic Authors Novels & Stories

After my son finished his final exams, I ordered him a limited-edition supercar as a gift. But not long afterward, I came across a video of him riding an electric scooter and delivering takeout orders. I was deeply moved. I thought he was trying to learn how difficult life could be. Just as I was about to tell him not to overwork himself, I stumbled upon a post from a struggling student my wife was sponsoring. "Thank you for the gift. I'll work even harder from now on." Cyrus Young looked nothing like his usual modest self. He was dressed in a custom-tailored suit, wearing handmade leather shoes and a luxury dive watch as he posed beside my wife for a photo. And parked behind them was the limited-edition supercar I had carefully picked out for my son. A surge of anger rose in my chest. Unable to hold it back any longer, I called my wife. "Olivia Quinn, if this is the best you can do as my wife, then we're done. I'll find someone better."

Do you want the physical copy of the series to read ahead? Search Dark Blood Series/Taylor Walker Dark Blood on Amazon. £2.00-£6.00. My name is Killian Saunders. I started off as a normal teenager living a normal life until now. I’ve been pushed from pillar to post, investigation after investigation to find the main problem with my mental health. I live in the psychiatric part of the hospital because I can be a possible threat to everyone around me. But the main problem is, nothing is helping me. No one is helping me. I have no relationship with my family anymore and I’m losing everyone I need and trust. But I feel its going to be too late until I get the help that I need. It won’t be long until I’m not me... it won’t be long until I turn into the monster I fear the most.

The night the family’s don was attacked, my husband had abandoned his post to win back his misbehaving mistress. The first time I lived through this, I activated his communication device to summon him back. He thus saved the don and rose through the ranks. However, his mistress had died in the firefight, and he blamed it all on me. Thus, on my delivery date, he dumped me in an abandoned factory and had some stray dogs rip me and my baby apart. “There were so many bodyguards there that night. Why did you have to call me back? You knew that she would die! You did this on purpose!” Somehow, right before I died, I went back in time to that night. I did not activate the communication device this time. I threw it into the fountain and watched it sink. Then, although I was eight months pregnant, I shielded the don and took the bullet meant for him.

In our five years of marriage, my husband, Derrick Wickham, bails on me 99 times for his childhood sweetheart, Jessica Harson. This time, after he stands me up, I find two plane tickets to Frantines in his office. "I was planning to surprise you for our anniversary. Since you've already seen them, we'll just meet at the airport," he says icily. I eagerly pack and get myself ready, arriving early at the airport. I wait from the wee hours of dawn till the late hours of night, but Derrick fails to show up. Then, I see a post on Jessica's social media. "It's my birthday today. Though he doesn't have the time to go on a trip with me to Frantines, I forgive him because he brought me to the amusement park instead!" In the past, I'd have called him, crying and demanding answers. But this time, I'm truly done.

During a typhoon alert, Joyce Lane calls me and tells me to pick her up from her company. On the way there, I receive a text from her. "You don't have to pick me up anymore. I'm going to stay over at Fin's place for a few days." I opt not to start anything with her. Instead, I calmly text back, "Okay." In the middle of the night, Finley Jones, Joyce's junior at work, uploads a social media post that's meant for my eyes only. Joyce can be seen huddling against Finley while feeding him some snacks in the photo. The window outside depicts a storm. The caption writes, "It's only befitting for me to tide out the worst weather with the woman I love the most." I leave a like on the photo calmly. Suddenly, Joyce calls me and demands what that like means. I reply coolly, "It means we're breaking up."

After being kicked out by his family because of his sexuality, Ashton now needs to find a way to survive. Eventually, he agrees to take up Zie's offer to be his bed mate. Will everything go as expected? Will Ashton fall for Zie–the sexy and ruthless billionaire? *** Ashton was kicked out from their house because of his sexuality, he can only go back home if he decided that he's not gay anymore. He leaves their house defeated knowing that there's no chance of him going back home. Out of frustration to find a shelter, he decided to post on his twitter account asking for help in exchange for his body. That's where he met Zie Mendez, the guy with oozing personality and charisma, the CEO of Mendez Publishing Inc. Zie is willing to give him a temporary shelter if only he agrees to be his bed warmer. Ashton who's desperate for a shelter leaves no choice but to agree.

As soon as I get off the surgical table after my miscarriage, my husband, Presley Quinn, sends me a text message. "You were ten cents short when you paid your share of the power bill this month. Transfer the money to me immediately." I can only sit on the cold bench in the hospital on my own. The anesthesia has yet to wear out, but my belly is already hurting so much that I can practically feel it constricting on itself. The next thing I know, a new post appears on my social media homepage. It's a post made by Vivienne Ashford, the intern Presley is in charge of tutoring. In the photo, Vivienne can be seen holding a bouquet of flowers folded from money bills. A bright and radiant smile blooms on her face. The four-leaf clover necklace adorning her neck is the same necklace I've seen in Presley's purchase history two days ago. The caption of the photo writes, "I don't want a lot of money. I want a ton of love instead." Only then do I remember that today is Valentine's Day as well as my fifth-year anniversary with Presley. Over the past five years, Presley and I have been splitting every single bill, down to two decimal places. If I take a shower for more than 20 minutes, Presley demands that I pay extra for the water heater's power bill. When I cook myself some supper in the middle of the night, Presley wants me to split the gas bill generated by the stove. Even when my mom is hospitalized due to kidney failure and is waiting for her surgical bills to be settled, Presley refuses to lend me a single cent. Instead, he sends me a few links leading to web loans. As I stare at the social media feed, I chuckle all of a sudden. It turns out that Presley does know how to spend money. It's just that he doesn't have the heart to spend it on me. I smile once again as I leave a like on the post. Then, I transfer the ten cents to Presley. From now on, I don't owe him any single penny.

I was six months pregnant when my husband, Michael Greene, shoved me off the edge of a yacht during a birthday party. Why? Because Lily Clement, his childhood sweetheart, had fallen into the water, and apparently, the yacht was too small for all three of us. After being pulled from the ocean, suffering from hypothermia and shock, I was taken to the hospital. Doctors determined that emergency surgery was necessary and required a family member's consent. However, no matter how many times they called, Michael never picked up. At the same time, lying in a hospital bed, I scrolled through Lily’s Instagram and saw the post she shared just hours earlier. It was a photo of the two of them, soaked but clinging to each other like lovers out of a movie. "Sometimes love comes from the most unexpected places. Thank you for always being there for me—quietly, selflessly, unshakably." That was all I needed. The day I was discharged, I left Michael a signed divorce agreement. If he wanted to be her knight in shining armor, I’d let him.

On the same day I was admitted into the hospital for my pregnancy, my husband, Charles Page, received 108 missed calls on his phone. It was from Sue, his mentee, a girl who had cancer. I asked if he was going to pick up, and he replied impatiently, "All she does is call me all day! Doesn't she have any other family? She's so annoying." Later, that very girl posted a photo of herself on the hospital rooftop, wearing a white dress. The caption said: [If I jump down from here, will I become a butterfly in my next life? Maybe then, everyone won't hate me.] Charles only glanced at the post before chuckling mockingly. "What does she mean, turn into a butterfly? Is she delusional?" But after that, he grew visibly restless, before rushing out and not returning all night. That night, I hemorrhaged and was taken into emergency care. When the nurse asked if I wanted to keep the baby, I looked at the empty space beside me and answered calmly. "No, I don't."

At our class reunion, my husband, Calvin Vance, threw the game on purpose so his friends could "force" him to get a marriage certificate with his ex, Molly Rowan, and post it online. Everyone piled on. Calvin was already pulling out the divorce papers, practically shoving them at me. "It's just a game. Don't make a big deal out of it." I stayed quiet for a long moment. They all looked like they were waiting for me to lose it. Instead, I took the papers. "Divorce is fine. But you have to do three things for me." He agreed without hesitation and pushed me to sign. "Three things? Forget that. Three hundred, whatever. Just sign it. When we get remarried, I'll make it up to you with a huge luxury wedding." What he didn't know was that the second he chose to divorce me, my mission had already failed. The System would erase me. The only way to survive was to complete the three tasks it gave me.