Friday, 28 February 2020

Forever Live: A Free Flash Fiction (Science Fiction) - Lore Publication

Forever Live: A Free Flash Fiction (Science Fiction) - Lore Publication

Welcome to Lore Publication; a place where you can find free short stories and free flash fiction for all you bookworms out there! If this is your first time here, welcome. We publish horror, science fiction, fantasy, mystery, thriller and a combination of these genres for people to enjoy. We also like to post articles to help writers improve their craft such as articles with writing tips and tricks, writing techniques, reviews and critques of stories in all formats (books, comics, short fiction and even scripts) as well as occasional writing prompts. Overall, our mission is to give writers a platform to share their work and give readers free content for their reading needs! This also means we want to help writers from across the globe improve their craft and make their stories the best that they can be. In terms of our fiction, just as free ebooks allow readers access to quality work without burning a hole in the wallet, our stories do the same thing! Lore is a community of writers and readers alike! With all that said, enjoy our latest publication.

Today we are publishing a scifi story in the format of a flash fiction. This story takes a unique perspective on death, woven in with the worries of artificial intelligence. Enjoy! πŸ‘ΎπŸ’œ

Image credits: GDJ via Pixabay

We buried Dad today. New Dad, that is, not Old Dad. It was supposed to be last year, but then all those arguments — who to invite, who to include, who would be responsible for the final service. Dad was a complete pain about that. He’s been using the same company for years, but he blames them for the mess over his last upgrade. Then he got all hot and cranky about taking another snapshot, but with those memory glitches he forgot to pay the cryo company.

That’s the trouble with cheap nano-circuits, but what can you do?

It’s an absolute devil arguing with him. He gets in a temper, turns round and remembers yesterday’s argument. Or stands too close to the microwave and thinks it’s next Tuesday. Doesn’t matter which way he faces, he can’t remember burying Old Dad. Probably the same bloody bit of hardware that was supposed to handle paying the bills.

Seriously, we all loved Dad, but life, and death, were so much simpler in the old days. When Granddad went, that was it, two strokes and he was out. No bitching about it afterwards. No worrying about whether to go cremation or recycling, which got very touchy with Linda’s kids who were doing the history of landfill taxes at school.

So here we are, ready to go, fingers crossed that no-one mentions the E-word. Frankly, I’m not going to believe it until we get into the chapel and Dad finally hits the standby button. I can just see him sitting on the edge of the casket. Saul, I’m just not sure about encryption.

Old Dad wouldn’t have messed around. Pull the plug and switch me off. New Dad got all tangled up by the possibilities of this new Garden Of Remembrance. I tried to persuade him to stick with recycling the hardware and cremating his body — clean and simple, with negligible tax. Dad was set on the Garden — Saul, it’ll be great. Of course it will be great, because the Garden of Remembrance filled his head with promotional messages. The sort of thing his spam filters should have caught, if he remembered to use them. Like I said, that’s the trouble with cheap nano-circuits. I was almost winning, but he recited the killer catchphrase and Linda heard it. 

The grand kids can come and sit with me in the Garden. And remember. Y’know?

Linda had an ahhh bless moment, but then she’s already got a dozen snapshots of herself on file somewhere. I said the only thing I could — Fine by me, Linda, if that’s what Dad wants. I can’t see either of mine going to listen to their Gramps’ memories. There’s no cognition. Just memory, and the kids can download their own copies, so really the Garden’s just a marketing scam. And a treasure trove for bloody grave robbers.

So, we’re going to encrypt Dad. Only family will have the passwords. Or that was the plan, until Linda’s youngest got himself hacked. Saul, what happens if my password gets stolen? I don’t want my memories all over the place. There’s private stuff in there. Family stuff.

Encrypt or not. Six months of that. Even the Garden of Remembrance got involved — talk to our counselling service. Dad bought into that as well, which wasn’t difficult as they already had his credit account details. Old Dad would have told them where to stick it. New Dad wanted reassurance, the strongest encryption, regular password changes, monthly integrity checks — the Garden sales rep was ecstatic until the question of invoicing came up.

So, we buried Dad today, and everyone’s happy. The password is Gramps451, because Linda’s youngest chose it. Now Gramps is under a paving slab in Linda’s garden, next to where her kids buried their hamster. Gramps’ batteries should be good for a couple of years.

I’ve updated my personal disposal instructions. Pull the plug, switch me off, wipe the snapshots. Anybody who wants to remember me can just get on and remember. Almost like the good old days.

Writer Information - Before You Go!

This wonderful edition of flash fiction ‘Forever Live’ was written by Mark Huntley-James and was first experienced at a live reading organized by Virtual Futures. Since then it has found a home on Lore's Medium page before being moved to Lore's new online home on Blogger!

Be sure to check out the author. If you enjoyed Mark’s style, why not check out his novels Hell of a Deal and Road To Hell over on Amazon!

Last but not least, follow Lore here on Blogger to make sure you never miss a post and find us on Twitter here for all our latest updates.

Monday, 17 February 2020

'Silence' A Poetic Dyad of Poetry - Lore Publication

'Silence' A Poetic Dyad

by Sukanya Rajan and Stewart Storrar

'The Void' 

by Sukanya Rajan

poem, poetry
Image credit: ipicgr via Pixabay

There was a void,
Then there was light.

There was his voice,
His touch made me quiver.
His fragrance lingered,
Like the dew every morning,
Like the dreams that kept coming back,
Like the waves that washed away sandcastles,
Like the wind that bent the daffodils on the sidewalk,
Like a phone that kept ringing,
Like the letters left unanswered.

The birthdays kept coming.

His voice rang in my head,
Like a beautiful symphony that would be the end of me if it stopped.

A thousand pictures lying on the floor,
Do I even recognise us any more?

Like the seasons that come one after the next,
Like the unassuming traffic,
I see through the window of a hotel,
In an unknown town,
In an unknown date,
The calendar has failed me.

I need to stop tasting you on my tongue,
Like a pill I can't swallow,
Like a high I can't get,
Like a breakfast in a picturesque town left unfinished,
Like words of a foreign language I can't seem to pronounce correctly.

Every time I close my eyes,
I think I forget.

And then there is the void.

'Unspoken Melody' 

by Stewart Storrar

Image credit: MIH83 via Pixabay

It is the tree rustling in the shrill wind,
The amber leaf that falls from the tree,
The loose rock from the rigid cliff face,
The rogue cloud in a clear sky.

It is the smouldering ash,
To the raging flames.

The mighty sword,
To the broken shield.

What I am is your perfect chaos.

The chaos you refuse to face.

The first poem, The Void, was written by Sukanya Rajan.

The second poem, Unspoken Melody, was written by Stewart Storrar. 

Together, Sukanya and Stewart wanted to try something different and thus a Poetic Dyad was born! Enjoy!

This poetry was published to give talented writers across the world a platform to share their work. Acting as a community, Lore's founder believes that words and art are what separate us from the animals. He wants to honour that by sharing the best poetry, an art form of the word, with the world.

If you are interested in having your poetry featured here on Lore, no matter if it is your first poem, visit the 'Submit' section or email us at:

poem, poetry

Monday, 3 February 2020

'Ancestor's Spirit' a Poem by Stewart Storrar - Lore Publication

'Ancestor's Spirit' A Poem

by Stewart Storrar

Image credit: voltamax via Pixabay

The eternal flame of a thousand years,

Of all that has come before you,

And all that will succeed you,

Burns like a totem to all that has been lost,

And as a beacon to that which will be found,

Become a phoenix of fires past,

Risen up to forge a future from ash,

To claim a life from death,

To continue a tale of countless souls,

Passed down to spark your fire,

To burn your totem of loss,

Ignite your beacon of hope,

In a generational tale of families joined,

Over lover's sorrow,

Over blood spilled,

Over hope shared,

To breathe life into the legacy,

Of the Ancestor's Spirit.

To breathe life into your legacy,

For your Ancestor's Spirit.

This poem was written by Stewart Storrar.

This work of poetry was originally brought to you by Lore Publication's historic weekly series 'Poetry Monday' where we published poetry from talented writers across the world, giving them a platform to share their work.

If you are interested in having your poem featured here on Lore, visit the 'Submit' section or email us at:

poem, poetry