Post-apocalyptic Fiction の小説・ストーリー

In my tenth year of marriage, my old childhood friend, Joshua Sears, posts a photo on social media. Both Joshua and my wife, Sabrina Lawson, are hugging his son, Andy Sears, and my daughter, Tiana Jenkins, in it. The four of them look very close to each other. The caption accompanying the post says, "Blessed to have the perfect son and daughter." I leave a comment below the post, saying, "Looking good together." A few seconds later, the post is deleted. The next morning, Sabrina rushes home and yells at me. "Ashton Jenkins! Joshua was finally feeling better for once. Why did you have to trigger him again?" Tiana shoves me hard and snaps in an accusatory tone, "It's all your fault that Andy's crying now!" I take out a copy of the divorce agreement and slam it down before them. "Yes, it's all my fault. That's why I'm stepping out of the picture now. Then, the four of you can form the wholesome family you've always wanted."

Traveling to the center of the earth to retrieve her son from Center Land is intense enough without having to deal with Amazon rogue women, prehistoric animals, and... yes... the aliens and zombies that they thought they'd left on the surface are there too! Is there no escape from the horror? They have a plan to end the aliens and zombies once and for all... but... will it work? The answer is in "Center Land", book three of the apocalyptic romance-thriller series, Kendra's Journey.

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.

On the night of my 30th birthday, I waited until the early hours of the morning, but my husband, Theodore Hawk never showed up. Instead, I came across an Instagram post from his childhood sweetheart, Emily Gallagher. [What romantic is not the starry night, it is having you by my side.] In the picture, she was wearing a delicate, sky-blue camisole that revealed just enough to charm and seduce. A man stood close behind her, his hand firmly gripping her waist. The scene was set in the seaside villa that Theodore had gifted her, their figures intimately entwined under the soft glow of the night. Someone had commented beneath the post: [I can’t stand you two being this lovey-dovey all the time! Just get married already!] Emily had responded with a shy-face emoji. I had just liked the post when Theodore, who I had failed to reach all night, blew up my phone with calls. "Are you out of your mind, Camilla? Emi and I grew up together! If we wanted to be together, we would’ve done so long ago! Why are you being so petty?" Looking at how Theodore gently held her in his arms, comforting her, I realized something. Letting go of someone you’ve loved for seven years... can take only a moment.

Since it's already the end of the year, I'm slacking off at my job. That's when I come across a forum post on the Internet. "My husband has gone on a business trip on his own. This is the photo he sent me when he updated me on his situation. Everyone, can you please take a look at the photo and tell me if there are any problems with it?" The Internet users are quick to go into their Sherlock Holmes mode. Still, they aren't able to spot any problems with the photo. But a comment is quick to catch my attention. "Am I the only one who thinks that this post is a clickbait? Could it be that a disloyal jerk who's cheating on his wife wants to proclaim his devotion toward her but is scared that he might get caught? Maybe that's why this photo is uploaded here instead so that everyone can help him find out what's wrong with this photo!" As soon as the comment is posted, the original poster deletes the post instantly. This makes me frown. At the same time, my husband, Gavin Prescott, sends me a photo on WhatsApp. "Honey, here's my daily update! Your darling husband is still devoted to you as always!" As I stare at the photo, which is exactly the same one that was posted on the Internet, I feel my heart sinking. This is definitely not a coincidence!

On Valentine's Day, I wait for my wife, Nancy Curtis, to get off work after preparing a candlelit dinner for our date. But she only texts me at 9:00 pm. "I have something going on at the company. There's no need to wait for me." Soon, I see a Facebook post made by Nancy's secretary, Derek Jones. "I'm on a business trip with my female boss on Valentine's Day. The thing is, the hotel's fully booked. Oops, this is getting awkward…" The photo in the post features a feminine silhouette standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window while draped in a bathrobe. Everyone in the comment section compliments Derek for being lucky, seeing as the boss of his has a smoking hot figure and is extremely charming. Derek merely replies with a cheeky emoji. So, it turns out that Nancy's "business" is having fun with her own secretary, eh? I take a screenshot of Derek's post before uploading it to my own social media feed. I even include a smiley as a caption. Immediately, Nancy calls me on the phone and starts berating me. "Derek was just cracking a joke! Why are you being so petty, huh? And here I thought you were mature!" I end the call immediately before texting her, "Let's get a divorce."

Bedtime stories, fantasy, fiction, romance, action, urban,mystery, thriller and anything more you can think ... Just a warning ... none of them are normal.

"A great alpha handles pack affairs outside, and chores at home." my mate Luke had posted. I stared at these words. It was a post from my mate, Luke's Instagram. In the picture he was in a vineyard pruning grapes. Chores at home? Luke who would not even help me to clean a table was actually helping someone else. He had left this morning saying he was going on werewolf business, but from these pictures he was at a she-wolf's vineyard in our pack. A bitter smile escaped my lips as I quietly liked the post and put of my phone. Whatever was coming next, I did not know. But I knew it was over.

On our third wedding anniversary, I received a cake from my husband. It had the names Clarisse Burke and Antonio Carey written on it, along with Happy Third Anniversary. But I felt like I'd been plunged into ice. That wasn't my name. Clarisse was his secretary. Sure enough, I saw my cake in Clarisse Burke's latest post, labeled Iva Grant and Antonio Carey. [Three years, and someone's already treating me like his wife.] Below, there was a comment. [Delete that post! The cakes got mixed up. Don't let Iva find out.] That was when I realized he had planned every romantic surprise in pairs. Holding my phone, I laughed at his pathetic attempt to cover it up. But I was done. I started planning my exit.

It's my third wedding anniversary with Eanes Lambert. However, he and his childhood sweetheart put on a public display of affection on their social media. "My heart beats for you and you only." I like the post and share it, but the original post is immediately deleted. Later, Eanes calls me to tell me off. "I was just comforting her because she was in a bad mood. Do you have to be so petty? What else can you do other than get jealous of others?" The next second, I receive a photo of him and his childhood sweetheart kissing passionately. She's the one who's sent it to me. In the past, I would've stormed over there to kick up a fuss. Now, however, I merely choose to leave Eanes. I'll let him have what he wants.