I know a lot of people have been looking forward to the release of the Fall Anthology. Luckily, the wait is over! Eighteen stories have now been released for your enjoyment. I hope you find something you enjoy and don't forget to leave the author's a review to let them know what you think of their work! Also, after you've read through all the entries, don't forget to go and vote for next years themes! Thank you to all the Authors and their teams, the Anthology Proof Team for giving the stories a final polish, AJ for his Tech help, and Cia for the Anthology banner!

 

 

 

 

I finally left him. Who would have thought I would have the courage to do it? I sure as hell didn’t, but I did it, even if it meant I had to leave in a goddamn ambulance. I mean, when you have a roof over your head and are mainly left alone, you can handle a lot.

 

“Please, just lie still, sir. I know you are in pain, but we have to get this IV in, and then we can adjust the breathing tube. Nancy, please let Dr. Avold know he is awake.”

 

I hear them run around me like ants trying to patch me up. They seem to think the scars they see are the worst. They should only know the truth.

 

“I want the dose high to begin with. He has massive injuries, and I don’t want him to wake up. We are going to have to induce a coma to give his body time to heal.”

 

 

Miah glanced over his shoulder at me, eyebrows drawn down in a scowl. “You can put me down now.”

 

“No.” I smiled at him.

 

“Don’t you think you should help Lisco pack your stuff?” he asked.

 

I shook my head. “No. He’s faster than me anyway. Better I stay out of the way. Besides, I like you in my arms.” I did. Miah was solid but no challenge for my strength. I almost wished he hadn’t gotten the hover chair to move around in until his hands healed. If we’d known how scared he was, and that the pilltock juice from the plants in the dome would affect him, we’d never have set up the mock chase. Trying to bond with a human was a lot more complicated than I’d thought it would be—who knew some of them didn’t like being hunted?

 

Seth DaCosta put his head back and opened his mouth to taste the rain. To him, one of the best things about living in south Florida was the region’s propensity to dispense thunder, lightning, and copious quantities of rain with delicious predictability. All afternoon the rising wind had been chopping up the sea, making the waves fun, dangerous and challenging. Visitors and tourists stayed well out of the water, but Seth was not alone out there in the breakers with his favourite red and white surfboard and his cropped wetsuit. Locals and morons were the only ones who liked to surf in storms, and as the next big wave began rolling in, Seth jumped up onto his board to a crack of thunder like the smashing of marble headstones. He cheered in delight, and rode the wave all the way to the beach.

 

Out of the sea, the rain started coming down in buckets, and Seth unzipped his suit and rolled it down to his hips before planting his surfboard in the sand and simply standing there being bathed by the warm rain.

 

I retched as I approached the dilapidated house. I wondered why we were even here. With a stench this bad, the police should have called the coroner, not paramedics.

 

Kevin grimaced and handed me a bottle of Vicks VapoRub. I was glad I hadn’t eaten lunch yet. A policeman ran out of the house and threw up on the lawn. A fireman followed and shook his head. “You boys better get suited up before coming in here. It’s pretty bad.”

 

‘Pretty bad’ didn’t even come close.

 

The mailman had called the police after noticing an increase in the pervasive smell that surrounded the place around the same time the mail started accumulating. The occupant was a known hoarder with a belligerent past with local authorities.

 

Kevin and I donned white protective suits along with air masks and the VapoRub.

 

“Maybe we should have waited until next weekend.” Ean slung the backpack over his shoulder and shut the truck door.

 

“We’ll be fine.” Tyler adjusted the shoulder holster he’d donned as soon as he’d gotten out of the truck.

 

“Somehow, the fact that you borrowed your dad’s pistol doesn’t reassure me.” Ean shook his head and watched Tyler check the chamber and the safety before sliding the pistol into the holster. “Neither does the fact you haven’t been up here in years. We’ll be lucky if we don’t end up lost.”

 

“Have a little faith.” Tyler chuckled. “I may not have been here in years, but this is where I spent a lot of my childhood. As for the pistol, you never know. It’s always better to be prepared, especially since I remember my dad finding signs of a mountain lion just across from camp one year. We weren’t allowed to go climb on the rocks across from camp after that. Well, not without an adult at least.”

 

Bill sat quietly in the corner watching the three men sitting at a table at the other end of the bar. He hated that he had to come across the country to deal with this, but when the council made its decision, that was final. He had barely crawled home from the last mission they had sent him out on, only to turn around and be sent here. However, even he had to admit the murders had to stop. The only problem was, he knew one of the two men before him was the possible killer, and the third was making him want to go over and blow his own cover.

 

“Want another?” The barmaid glanced at him, her eyebrow cocked as she wiped down his end of the bar.

 

“Just make it a soda. I have to drive later.” Bill turned on the charm as she watched. He smiled, winked, and slipped a few more dollars across for her tip. He’d been nursing the same beer for nearly an hour.

 

My name is Bob Ross and I'll be retiring as a teacher when the school year ends. In preparation for this, I began removing the personal items from my classroom that I had collected over the years and took them home. As I stored them in my den, I spotted several dusty, old journals sitting forgotten on one of the shelves. In them were recorded my memories of the classes I'd taught over the years. Like any educator, we tend to take notice of the good students, as well as those we've had problems with. We also remember the students that should have done better and those we could have done more to help.

 

Instinctively, I grabbed one of the journals from the shelf and began to reminisce about the various students I'd taught over the years. Regrettably, far too many had struggled with issues at home, so I found myself thinking about a few of them now. The issues I'm talking about not only affected their educational achievement, but they also left a mark on the lives of these students in general.

 

He sat beside her bed, holding her hand. She was thin, too thin. Her skin was yellow, as were the whites of her eyes, a telltale sign of liver failure. Sometimes she would fall asleep for several minutes, and then, when she woke, she had this faraway look, as if seeing something nobody else in the room could see.

 

She was forty years old and dying. According to her doctors it would happen in the next few days. Nothing could be done; the cancer had come back.

 

I hadn’t seen him for almost two years when I met him again at the post office a week ago. We hadn’t parted exactly on good terms back then. Sometimes I talk without thinking.

 

He was looking good. When he saw me he came right over, his hand outstretched to take mine in a firm grip, a smile on his face. I expected the usual ‘How are you?’ ‘I’m fine’ talk, a little awkward at first maybe because of the things that had happened between us. I never expected it to turn out like it did.

 

“What do the four H’s represent?” the tall man at the front of the group asked.

 

“I pledge my head to clearer thinking,
My heart to greater loyalty,
My hands to larger service,
and my health to better living,
for my family, my club, my community, and my country.” The group chanted in unison.

 

Delbert chuckled as he heard his buddy Orv add, “and for hot dames.” He was always making a joke. Sometimes they were even funny but Del always had to laugh at him. Always.

 

Elliot jumped when he felt a pair of arms snake around his waist and squeeze him tightly, narrowly missing the open cabinet door.

 

“Hey, hun.”

 

Elliot spun around and smacked Max on his chest. “You scared the shit out of me! I have enough scars from whacking my head on the hood of my car when Pete used to sneak up on me. I don’t need to add any more!”

 

He rubbed the back of his head. Max replaced Elliot’s hand with his own and drew him close, kissing his forehead.

 

“Sorry, babe. I thought you heard me come in,” Max said, chagrined.

 

The man crouched low to the damp earth and touched the small indentation. The track was fresh, only minutes old. He rose and continued down the path that was invisible to those less observant. His bare feet made no noise as he stealthily walked forward, trailing his hands along the occasional broken piece of vegetation marking his quarry’s path. He heard a twig snap and stopped, listening intently. After a brief period of silence, he slowly crept forward to a small stand of shrubs and peered through them. He held his spear close, ready to fly at a moment’s notice. He held his breath as he spied the small deer he’d been tracking for hours. The little animal was at a bad angle; if he threw his spear now, he would surely miss. He waited with the patience of a skilled hunter as the creature grazed in the small clearing. The animal turned toward him, providing the perfect opportunity for the hunter to strike. The spear sailed noiselessly through the air and found its mark unerringly. The little deer staggered forward and collapsed.

 

The man was upon the deer in seconds, eviscerating it with a sharpened stone and eating the warm liver and kidneys before other predators could scent the kill and drive him off. The deer was lean, but there was enough meat to last for days. He proceeded to expertly butcher the animal, then stopped abruptly. The ambient noise of the forest had changed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Severe Climate Awareness and Relocation Services unit, S.C.A.R.S. for short, was founded in 2043 and charged with relocating individuals and families living in areas that were most affected by the rising sea level. Those working for the agency were assigned to assist the communities that were becoming inundated with salt water and where the homes and businesses were slowly being reclaimed by nature. This meant there were regional offices situated all along the east coast, west coast, Gulf coast and Mississippi River Delta to assist the residents in those areas that could no longer stay where they were.

 

The water level had risen 4.5 feet (1.5 m) over the past century, so the oceans currently covered vast swaths of land along the rivers that emptied into them, as well as much of the former coastline. Unfortunately, many of the affected areas were the same locations that had attracted a great deal of residential and commercial development over the past 200 years. Some had even become home to popular tourist attractions, but now these areas were either partially or totally uninhabitable. Due to the ever increasing amount of land and structures that were being overtaken by the rising sea level, they could no longer function in their previous capacity.

 

Fields of Lava

 

Gray dust and smoke darkened the skies. No animal remained on the mountain to be troubled by the hot, harsh air. The lucky ones had fled down the slope and found refuge nearby. A few tree skeletons clung stubbornly to the hillside. The smoldering remains of once proud trees testified to the destructive force of the volcanic eruption.

 

Weeks passed. Cooling rivers of lava slowly turned to stone. Beneath the surface, the heat and pressure created sparkling stones; unseen treasure prized by greedy and careless men.

 

Above, the wind playfully stirred up volcanic ash and dust. Small, gray eddies danced across the rock, uncaring of the heat or the fragility of the rocky crust. Tired of the game, the gusts changed directions and the suspended particles slowly drifted down. The beginnings of fertile soil are laid…

 

 

I met Stone the summer before entering fourth grade. My family had just purchased a house in another neighborhood, which was on the other side of town from where we used to live. I didn't want to move and was devastated that I would have to leave all of my friends and classmates behind. It was one of the worst nightmares that someone my age would ever have to go through.

 

Almost as soon as the movers finished taking the last items out of the moving van and had placed everything in the house, I sneaked out to the backyard so I could sulk. At the moment I didn't want to be in the house around my parents, because they were happy and I wasn't. They were scurrying around the place getting everything organized and commenting about how wonderful the new house was, but I didn't think it was so great. I liked our old house much better and missed my friends, so none of this seemed wonderful to me.

 

As I moved farther away from the house, I tried to remember if I'd closed the sliding patio door that led from the family room. I was in such a hurry to get out of there that I couldn't recall if I'd shut it on the way outside.

 

 

 

 

You hurt me so
For what you shun
Much to my woe
I cannot run

 

Curt slid his key into the lock and turned the knob, pushing at the door with his knee. “Trey, I’m home. I did a little Christmas shopping today and bought homemade chili down at Mamie’s Diner for dinner tonight. Trey?” Frowning, Curt kicked the door shut, dropping his shopping bags carelessly onto the rug in the den before carrying the bag that contained the container of chili into the kitchen. Depositing it onto the counter, he searched the counter and front of the refrigerator for a note from Trey, his boyfriend of three years.

 

Feeling concerned, he pulled his cellphone from his coat pocket and dialed Micky, his friend and Trey’s therapist. “Hey, bud. Did Trey have an appointment with you this evening?”

 

“It’s Friday, Curt. You know I see him on Thursday evenings so he doesn’t miss any work. Why? What’s up?”

 

Curt, feeling a little overprotective sighed before speaking into the phone. “I’m a little worried. It’s not like him not to leave a note if he goes somewhere after work. I’d told him I was going to the mall when I got off and would be home by seven. It’s a little after that now and he’s not here.”

 

I am not quite sure how I want to be remembered.

 

The most vivid recollection I can call on was that constant smell of cordite which hung in the air after the bombardments began. It was so thick you could almost taste it. And then there was the noise. More than anything, that noise shook my soul. It was a constant attack on every sense a man had stuck in them miserable trenches. The mud, the rain, the fear of death… I could live with those, process them, accept them, deal with them, but that incessant concussion of blast after blast ripping through the ground, the tremors reaching into the very fibres of my muscles, the dust raining down in a fine sheen that made the light seem blurry and left a film of grit in the mouth and just below the nose. It was that eternal shaking that troubled me most. Night after night, day after day.

 

And when it stopped….