Uprooted Novels & Stories

He straightened, finally stepping away from the door. “Unpack,” he said. “We’ll see how long that lasts.” then he left.

Ricky said, "You made Ingy sad! She won't even come and play with us anymore! You're horrible! Do you really think you're that great? I only want Daddy to kiss Ingy! We'll be a happy family without you!" Micky then said, "I'm going to draw ugly poop on your face to punish you! You ruined Daddy and Ingy's relationship! I hate you! You're a poopy Mommy! "You don't even know how much Daddy loves Ingy now. His phone is full of Ingy's photos! And he'll always cook for her when she's hungry, massage her shoulders when she's tired, and cheer her up when she's sad! "Mommy is the worst! Get out of the way! You made us unable to see Ingy anymore!"

​The Iron Grove was no longer breathing. The black, oily sludge from the Revisionists’ attack had reached the secondary xylem, and the golden sap was curdling into a bitter, non-conductive resin. Without the Grove to filter the resonance, the Ninth Peak was becoming a tomb of cold obsidian. The Vesper refugees huddled in the lower wards, their breath visible in the freezing air as the life-support systems flickered and died.

Roar! With a thunderous roar, Dalton suddenly hugged the roots of the banyan tree and uprooted the whole thing by himself. Mad King was a man of his word, always fulfilling what he said he would do. Having declared that he would uproot the whole tree, he indeed did just that. That was the extent of Mad King’s insanity! Looking at the current state of the tree he had personally planted decades ago, Silas could not accept it. Not only had it been slashed in half, it had even been cut off from vitality, as Mad King had uprooted the whole tree.

Beside him was an old woman whose eyes had been polished down to two featureless spheres of violet glass by an auditor’s lens. "They aren't stable," the Assistant said, her bare feet sinking into the wet gravel as she helped a young woman whose fingers were still fused into the shape of a typewriter key. "The system didn't delete them; it just stopped validating their code. If we don't ground their variables into this earth before the winter wind hits, they’ll turn back into loose paragraphs and blow away." "We have the soil," Julian said, running down from the schoolhouse wall with a shallow basket filled with the copper-green seeds that had fallen from our tree. "We ground the old ledgers

Ursa’s once clean skin was again covered in dirt, her scars from her time in the forest reopening on her arms and legs as the harsh thorns of the wall grazed her limbs. She rounded another corner, but her face fell as she saw one of the marks that she had previously left. She quickly turned around, running in another direction. Her legs moved on their own; she could hardly feel them until her foot got caught on a branch that appeared out of nowhere. With a yelp, she fell to the ground face forward. Tears threatened to fall, but she was distracted when she felt something move under the ground right under her. It twisted and turned, shooting out of the soil. It was a tree root. It kept growing

How would an adult think that a pup had disposed of the toy unless they knew the toy wasn’t in the child’s playroom? At least his niece was sharper than he was. It was a good thing Enora got rid of it. Upon coming out of memory lane, Greg stripped and shifted. His brown-furred animal flexed its shoulders and growled at the tree. Then, with its bare hands on both sides of the trunk, hauled it towards the sky with all its might. The muscles in his body tightened, veins popped, his jaw tensed, and when the sound of the first snap of roots entered his ears, a surge of strength motivated him to tug further. More snaps followed until the entire tree was uprooted.

"We're Unplugging it." The white sphere exploded. The Root Directory has been corrupted by the Glitch. The Architect Overmind is experiencing a system-wide crash. But as the simulation collapses, the Feral Six realize that "Unplugging" the machine means there is no longer a "Source Code" to hold their physical bodies together. They are falling into the "True Void" between dimensions.

The valley wasn't really asleep, just faking it. Fires were turned way down, tent flaps were zipped tight, and voices were nothing more than whispers floating in the air like dust. I was wide awake on my tiny cot, watching the canvas shadows dance as the wind changed its mind every few seconds. Being uprooted isn't about loud noises. It's that quiet, sinking feeling when the ground you're standing on feels strange and unfamiliar. I sat up slowly, and it took way more effort than it should have. My body felt jumbled, like my insides were heavier, my blood was moving like molasses, and my breath was shallow, as if I was learning to breathe all over again without