“That’s it.” Bea nodded her head toward the gray block building. “That’s the Med-Lab? It looks deserted.” “Most of the staff go to and from using a tunnel system.” Mac studied the windows, but watching for signs of movement was impossible through the opaque glass. “Do you remember when they change shifts?” “No. All…
The metal creaked under her feet. “Are you sure this is the only way?” The younger girl glanced back. “We’re not far now.” An unnatural quiet surrounded them. Mac focused on each footstep and the pressure she put on the ancient steel beams. Most were decaying from rust, revealing gaps to the ground and…
The Road Less Traveled Fiction; 100 words Mac stared at the decrepit road from the tree line. It stretched east and west, further than she could see. A few birds hopped around deep holes that marred the surface, pecking at the black dirt and rocks. John crept forward and crouched next to her. “What…
Means of Escape Fiction; 99 words Mac peered down the darkened tunnel. Afternoon turned to dusk and the lengthening shadows hid a multitude of threats. Fear prickled the skin on the back of her neck. She breathed slow and scanned the area. Adrenaline from the escape had her imagination working overtime. Not every fluttering leaf…
Rain pelted Mac’s head, her shoulders. The stone building would offer some shelter from the storm, despite a crumbling roof and missing door. “Do you think anybody lives here?” Bea peered around the boulder. “No. It’s too run down.” Mac picked her way to the hut, avoiding muddy ground that might capture a footprint. She ducked inside, Bea close…
Mac ducked behind a building. She pressed her back to the cool brick and slid down. Her arms crossed over her knees, shoulders slumped. “Didja find ‘im?” Her head snapped up at the sound of a soft voice. The girl approached, her footsteps silent over the dirt. Twelve, maybe thirteen. Sinewy arms hugged her front,…
I missed posting for the Literary Lion flash fiction prompt “bloom” a few weeks ago, but have had a story blooming in the brain (really, an image from which the story grew) ever since. It’s been a challenge establishing a daily routine with the newest little addition to the family, and with the exception of the first round…
“Go!” I whispered, pressing Bea forward and glancing back to see Tommy haul John back into the tunnel. A black flashlight was lying in a puddle. Tommy nodded to me as we ducked under the decaying wood, just before a spray of gunshots rang out. “Hold your fire!” From between the boards I could see…
For the twenty-four hour writing competition (or “Joust”) offered by One Throne Magazine, a piece about four kids escaping the violent aftermath of a dissolving civilization.
VCE Chemistry teacher in Melbourne, Australia
a 100-word story every day
The website of Christopher Iacono
Fiction Writing
The Mom Who Runs: 