Sci Fi
The Fairytale Zoo
The tunnel was clammy, lit dimly through glass windows. Expansive space spread out on the other side, slipping from jungle to rocky lake to open meadow with jarring regularity. A door at the end opened as a figure slipped through, bright orange hair creating a halo while lit from behind. Darkness resumed as the door shut. The teenager blinked, then moved forwards, eyes wide and roving. They approached a plaque which threw light upwards, providing information and artist’s impressions of the exhibit. Running a hand through cropped hair, they bent to read, and fished in their jumpsuit pocket for a slim device. A disproportionately loud clunk echoed as a silver locket slipped from the same pocket, bounced open on the concrete floor, and rocked to a stop, a miniature picture thrown from it. A few tourists moving slowly along the tunnel glanced their way. The teen swore quietly and plucked the picture up, then snatched the locket from the floor. They glanced at their younger self. Her grin was framed by long ginger curls, and she was being squeezed by an older woman. They placed it back in the locket, clicked it shut, and stuffed it back in the pocket, zipping it up. The plaque bore illustrations of wolfish humanoids. Their size was unclear as surroundings weren’t included. One was larger than the other, and there was clearly a male and a female- the illustrations were not discreet. The teenager typed notes onto the tablet, copying a few phrases. Their eyebrows creased together as they wrote ‘From unwanted foetal tissue’.
By Eleanor Bates5 years ago in Fiction
The Colors
The world is blue now. At times it's gold, sometimes green or violet. The colors appear in separate waves, though they used to blend together. We don't know what caused the separation, but we all know what happens with each wave. Noah calls blue “the foundational shift,” because it causes the pavement beneath us to become disjointed, rolling back and forth, moving up and down, each piece of its own accord. I can see D’Andrea up ahead, smoothly transitioning from one piece to another, bopping with the wave of it. “Surfing the turf” as she calls it. Noah is not far off, his skin speckled with sweat because it is his turn to carry our communal pack. Green and tattered, but holding together as well as any of us, the pack is filled with the last of our possessions. One day ago, we packed up from the center—the place where most of the survivors in the metropolis had gathered to create a camp of sorts. It was a good place, but Noah had heard a rumor. Now the three of us are out braving the wide-open streets on our own.
By Kathryn Pearson5 years ago in Fiction
The Hostel & The Apartment
The Hostel Back when I was younger, I wanted the world to right itself again; I held tightly onto an unrelenting optimism that I only ever found in Reuban. But I’m sure that auspiciousness is what ruined Reuban eventually; it persistently gnawed at his criminalised body until he surrendered to The Scientists. When I watched The Cleaners obsessively mopping the shiny linoleum in his room that is when I changed too, I think. After moving into the new apartment complex last spring, I decided I wanted the world to keep smoking, hissing, and chugging like a well-designed steam train - no more unrealistic glimpses into the optimistic human mind.
By Julia Kemp5 years ago in Fiction
Cascading Joy
It was a long day in the heavy rain, but it was my purpose. Hauling water from the stream that was over a kilometer away from the shelter was my job. When I look back over my fifty-three years I can’t remember when I didn’t have a job that didn’t involve water. As a child I watered the horses and then as a teenager I was a lifeguard at an amusement park, in college I watered the plants at a garden center, and finally I worked in IT for a bottled water company. Until three years ago all those jobs were hard work, but they were never lonely or desperate work. Now everything is lonely and desperate.
By Nancy Ohaugherty 5 years ago in Fiction
Eight minutes and Twenty Seconds
There had been no warning that the light was going to go out. In all the sci-fi doomsday movies they know it's going to happen, or at least know something bad is about to happen. An Earthquake, eclipse, or the scientist warning the United Nations that imminent doom is pending. Nothing like that, it was just like someone flicked the switch and “click” it was late twilight. The moon disappeared from the sky even though we think it was traveling along with us in our wake. Without the sun's light, we also lost its gravity, and we were now flung out into space at sixty-seven thousand miles per hour into the galaxy. The milky way was stretched out alongside us now in a permanent swatch of splattered starlight. Jackson Pollock had just taken one long draw of starlight paint and splattered it across the midnight sky, and most was splattered in a straight line but many splashes were going what would be north and south on his black canvas.
By Daniel Lestrud5 years ago in Fiction
Caged
August 1, 2030 The world had changed since the humans had lost control nearly a decade ago. From the shadows had come the blood drinkers, the Vampyres. The once powerful humans were now slaves and playthings to the rulers of the night. Instead of upper. middle and lower class, you now had the companions, breeders, and slaves. Only the most beautiful were chosen to be the in the elite class of the companions. They are the ones they Vampyres chose to keep as pets of sorts. Breeders were used to keep humans populated so there would be food and fresh servants and companions. They were chosen by their pleasant looks and great genetic makeup. Breeders had to have clear family histories and lack any genetic flaws. Then there are the lowly slaves, they are nothing more than property there to do their master’s bidding. These were the leftovers, the ones who weren’t beautiful enough to be companions and their DNA contained genetic flaws.
By Kayla Gares5 years ago in Fiction
Damn If You Doom
Bethany, bleeding profusely from her lower region, dropped to the ground as contractions, two minutes apart, brought her to her knees causing her to extend the palm of her right hand involuntarily releasing the golden heart shaped locket engraved with the letters "B & H" that her late husband, Hector had gifted to her last Christmas. It was the last time Bethany had laid eyes on her husband before he fell ill. Slipping in and out of consciousness, Bethany kept hearing Hector's voice, "Our little girl needs you," he said. Reaching over for the bloody antique locket, it was as if it had given Bethany strength because try as she might, she slowly rose to her feet but as quickly as she stood up, she fell flat on her face.
By Chevelle Legami 5 years ago in Fiction
Let's Do Lunch
The sun was shining, birds were singing, and there was a slight breeze in the air. Seeing each other again had happened completely out of the blue, and with nothing better to do, the old friends decided to grab lunch. It was peaceful in the mall food court. The lack of other people made it easy for them to talk without any distractions.
By Callie Richards5 years ago in Fiction
Cardboard Coffins and Gold
The coffin was made of cardboard that he stole from a recycling bin behind the food warehouse, still stained from the GM foods it once held. It pained his soul to see his wife of thirty years lying in it waiting to be pulled through the black curtains at the crematorium. He had dressed her in her favourite black dress and shoes, she looked beautiful. He was glad he had traded some ofon the proper preparations.The coffin was made of cardboard that he stole from a recycling bin behind the food warehouse, still stained from the food rations once held. It pained his soul to see his wife of thirty years lying in it waiting to be pulled through the black curtains into the church crematorium. He had dressed her in her favourite black dress and shoes. He wished he'd had something to trade to for a wooden coffin, but it wasn't to be. He kissed her head, she looked beautiful even in death then walked to his position at the front of the church.
By David Shaw5 years ago in Fiction
Immoral Contact
Irene Sawyer wraps her hands around her mug of coffee to warm them, hoping the heat will make its way to her heart. She stares into the murky liquid her husband made for her. Two creams and a sugar, just the way she likes it. He watches her from across the small kitchen table.
By Haley McRae5 years ago in Fiction
A Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah Day
The carriages was sliding down the side of the avenue and my seat companion gazed out the windows with enthusiasm. The white horse pulling us was synthetic, an AmisTM, a likeness of the extinct species. Private vehicles moved freely, but carriages followed their own rails. After our arrival from the Parsons colony in Mars, Walt and I had had typical Mexican dishes for breakfast at the Tacobell Classic, not far from the Chapala spaceport, before boarding this carriage in order to visit the most remarkable sights in the city of Guadalajara. We passed the Cathedral, with its sole standing tower since the earthquake of 2035. Walt absorbed it all, stunned, with childish enthusiasm. It made me sad to see how little remained of this country, how badly it remembered himself.
By Luis G. Abbadie5 years ago in Fiction
