Brutalist Stories
Bio
Short sci-fi stories in 500 words or less deriving from the stark style of the functionalist architecture, that is characterised by the use of concrete.
Stories (60/0)
Brutalist Stories #46
There’s a futility in their action, but there’s hope. At least they have that. They built this vast, vast hall out of the last of the concrete, out of the last of the wood, out of the last of our labour and physical strength, out of the last of our knowledge so we could perhaps float away into our extinction with a moment of clarity, a moment of beauty.
By Brutalist Stories6 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #45
I can’t remember how many times I’ve killed Helena, a dozen, a thousand? Does it really matter once you go past the first one? That first killing, the first time you take someone’s life, you must cope with what you’ve done forever. You have to look down at your hands and say to yourself, "These are the hands that murdered her. These are the hands that took her life."
By Brutalist Stories6 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #44
The carriage of the subway rattles along as I hold onto the steel bar and the hologram projected onto my retina beams with a gigantic smile. “Fantastic new possibilities await you in the Realm! Sign up now and receive a live test experience in your stream, free of charge and without obligation!” That obnoxious smile, wide and sparkling, trying to convince me to take up the call like so many others have.
By Brutalist Stories6 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #43
Fifteen years since its birth and announcement to the world, and fifteen years since it vanished with no trace, and today it decides to reappear. Why today? Why make this moment so special, why this particular time? I can’t help but wonder if it holds some sort of special significance. If this thing, this AI, the Citizizen as it calls itself, is really so special, so grand, surely it would have picked some time in the grand cosmological calendar that made some sense?
By Brutalist Stories6 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #42
He’s sat there, and I watch the android come over to him and help him clumsily pick up his cup and bring his juice to his mouth and I wonder what the future will bring for him. My son, this delicate young soul that has some sort of path ahead of him, some sort of time that’ll see him grow into.
By Brutalist Stories6 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #41
He sits and lowers his head and takes a long breath. There’s a sandwich on the table next to him he’s just prepared for himself and he’s considering eating it, but first he just needs a moment. A second to close his eyes and breathe, lowered head, rubbing the worn knuckles of his hands with his leathery fingers. Trying to warm the joints, habitually trying to loosen sore and old bones, knowing it never has any effect, but doing it anyway.
By Brutalist Stories6 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #40
“Yo, Billy!” Winston shouts at me from across the way. “Yo, Billy get your ass over here!” I pull my fangs out of the neck I’m chewing down on and turn to him as the blood continues to pulse out of my victim. What the fuck is he doing? Whatever it is, it can wait until I’m done here. A few more seconds, a little more to quell the lust. It’s been weeks since we’ve fed and I’m making the most of it while we have the chance.
By Brutalist Stories6 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #39
“What the fuck is this, and how did I get here?” I say as I turn to face the breathing sound behind me. There’s a girl stood there dressed in red with a kind smile edging across her face. Her blonde, bobbed hair shines in the amber light; the gold rim of her round spectacles glints at me as she tilts her head slightly and simply replies, “You have to believe.”
By Brutalist Stories6 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #38
A man with a broken back sits in a dark room, there’s filth on the walls and no one cares. A small window lets a crack of light in from the outside where ash falls from the grey sky. There’s the sound of some children crying, their eyes are burning from the soot and chemicals in the air. A mother leans her tired body against a wall and watches them, she lights a cigarette to help drive the death into her quicker.
By Brutalist Stories6 years ago in Futurism
Brutalist Stories #37
Blood on these hands. How long has it been now since we started all this? Years. Years and years. Too long for any one person to stand, too long for the people to have to cope, but we carry on all the same. The fight eternal. We warriors, it is what we do, but at the sake of what?
By Brutalist Stories6 years ago in Futurism