YA Fiction Short Stories

Perpetual (sci-fi, future tech)

We found the ultimate renewable energy source: ourselves.

I’m a perp. When I got older and actually cared about history, I found out that wasn’t a name people were proud to have a few decades ago, but most people today are perps.

It’s short for ‘perpetual.’ We wear collectors that harness the power created by our movement. It’s so normal now it’s hard to imagine a world without them.

When humanity exhausted the resources of Earth, we had to resort to harnessing energy in a different way. And of course, the worst kinds of people will find ways to exploit and cheat. They are called siphoners, and that's what they do, steal the energy we work so hard for.

My plan is to collect as much as I can and make the trip to Mecha, the best-paying bank in North America. At this rate, I'll never be able to get mom and Anise the care they need; there's no cure for Ohm's disease, but that won't stop me from doing everything I can to help them.

I can't let anything get in my way: no relationships, no selfish ambitions, nothing.

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Remnant, A Post-Pandemic Survival Story (dystopic fiction, near future)

If we’d only known that COVID-19 was just the beginning, maybe we would’ve survived the next three waves. Then again, it’s impossible to know. Dad said it was pointless to think of what could have happened, because that’s not a productive use of our precious time.

That’s the funny part—not the kind to make us laugh, not much does that anymore—no, I mean the fact that time is all we seemed to have had during the initial wave of the coronavirus. And no, it was not followed by the Bud Light virus or the Dos Equis virus…I doubt the people that made those kinds of jokes made it past the second wave.

I remember hearing about someone who came home coughing up blood after a week of having the coronavirus—that’s the same thing as COVID-19, it’s hard to remember those little things with everything that followed. The crazy thing is that she had gone to the doctor a week before and been tested for flu and all kinds of stuff, except corona, and then sent home.

And that’s how everything else went. We didn’t know what we were looking for until it was too late. In fact, by looking for those things, we made it worse, and the spread was so much faster, wider.

This is my survival journal, and based on the fact that I’m in the top 10% of survivors—there’s not much competition anymore—I might be someone worth listening to.

The Orphan Circus (young adult fantasy) WIP

“That’s new,” she says as one of the balls of orange fire she’s juggling transforms to blue.

The crowd gasps in astonishment, and The look on her face probably helps. She is almost as surprised as they are, but she knows not to show it. She knows, as most great performers do, that one of the secrets is not getting caught up in the show yourself.

Soon enough, the other balls of fire transition from glowing orbs to ocean fire.

One thing she can’t help but do is let her mind take off running. This is another thing that great performers struggle with. When they’ve gotten so good at what they do, it becomes hard to stay focused.

How is this possible?

She had heard of such ascension in power, but she was also told that it was impossible for someone like her. Everything in her family lineage pointed to a ceiling. Cenders like her—short for Incendiaries— could only manipulate fire from a visual aspect. To do what she just did requires a manipulation on a molecular level not to mention a bit more magic.

What could it mean that she has done something like this? And more than that, how did she do this? It didn’t seem that anything changed in her technique or even her focus.

She does hear other crowds around her, but that’s not uncommon in the circus on a Friday night. What is uncommon is the fact that The enthusiasm of every crowd has seemed to rise.

She’s able to glance away in between catches, and she can see that many others around her or doing things she’s never seen them do.

It seems her ascension was not so special after all. Well, it’s very special, but it’s happening for everyone.

Midnight Ride Through Time (time travel, historical fiction)

I stumble out of the haberdashery. They said the coat I picked up had just been donated, abandoned in a local alley or a similar story of the sort. I didn’t care to hear the story. I just needed something to help conceal my person.

I will say this coat may not do the trick. It’s certainly an odd style. It seems to be made of dyed leather—better black than my usual red— and there’s is actual metal built into it with the buckles. As I try to close the garmet, I find strange buttons—metal as well—which require immense pressure to secure, but they’re hardly enough to keep it closed. Sewn into the edge of each lining is a strange flexible iron.

I do wish I’d listened to the story that came with this jacket, but patience was not my partner in that moment. Nor is it now.

A horse trots down the cobbled lane, and I turn my face away. I do find that the adjustable collar works in my favor, though the garishness of this coat may draw more attention than it’s worth.

I’ll discard it once I accomplish my heretofore assigned task, that is assuming I can gain entrance to the rebel barracks. Rebel…how fitting.

My face is not one easily forgotten. It usually accompanies the death of a comrade. That’s not my fault, I am simply a messenger of the King, his royal decrees, and the latest obituaries for the crown.

The news I have could be of utmost importance, though it may fall to deaf ears. These colonists, or Americans as some prefer to call themselves, are nearly as stubborn as we. It only stands to reason since we are the same people, only removed by a sea and a newfound hope and taste of freedom.