Sci Fi

The Last Call Booth
The phone booth hadn't worked in years. It stood like a forgotten relic on the edge of town, half-buried in ivy and rust, just before the road turned to gravel and disappeared into the woods. The glass was cracked, the cord half-severed, and the dial pad missing several numbers. Most people passed it without noticing.
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
Signed, The Future Me
The letter arrived on a Tuesday. There was no stamp, no return address. Just a single sheet of aged, yellowed paper folded precisely into thirds, tucked inside a plain envelope. On the front, written in ink that shimmered faintly like oil on water, were the words:
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
Mysspelled
Year 3990 Brockway District, Mars The bookstore resembled that of a classic, small town, library. In the middle of it were rows of seats filled with nervous and eager readers readying their questions for the speaker as their hands gripped a hardcover copy waiting to be signed by its author. The surrounding room was filled with that smell you only get from aged paper.
By David S. JohnsonWilliamsabout a year ago in Fiction
The Signal from Orion
It came at 03:14 a.m. GMT on February 4th, 2049. A pulse—structured, rhythmic, too complex to be natural. It originated near the Orion Belt, 1,300 light-years away. And it was encoded with something humanity had never encountered before: language.
By Ashley Anthonyabout a year ago in Fiction
The Reinitializer. AI-Generated.
The rain ticked steadily against the lab window—almost like the system’s habitual pre-boot diagnostics. Eliot opened his eyes to a too-quiet world. He stared at the ceiling for several seconds before the crystalline interface at his side flickered on, pulsing with a message he could quote in his sleep:
By NeuralDriftabout a year ago in Fiction
The Duality of Twins
It's funny how the same upbringing could so frequently produce such different people. It was never more prominent, to my own belief, than in myself and my sister. Identical twin girls, you would expect us to be the same right down to our breakfast preferences. You wouldn't be alone in this view, either.
By Alexa Forbes-Ritteabout a year ago in Fiction
Energy
Johan reached out for a cheeky squeeze. Not to be confused with a squeaky cheese, by the way. Such as the one Martha had just trodden on, on her way back from Manson's bedroom. This caused a moment of panic, sure that Manson's little voice would pipe up from the nursery, or there would be the dreaded thud of little feet coming after her. Or a thin wail would gust from her 8own room where little Sinclaire was (for now at least) sleeping. Such was her tension and fatigue from putting the darling brat to bed for the nineteenth (or maybe the twentieth) time that evening, Martha was not in the mood. It took all her restraint and self discipline not to slap Johan's hand away. Harsh words were bitten back and caged behind teeth that threatened to break if she clenched them any tighter. Bags slung low under eyes that stared into the middle distance. Her hair frizzed out at the edges. Martha spent half a moment trying to remember if she'd brushed it yesterday... or was it the day before? Ignoring the baby sick on her leggings, the wedge-shaped yellow dog toy forgotten in her hands, Martha allowed the squeeze. She did not throw anything at him. Did not leap out of the window rather than being touched (again) by pawing hands that wanted something. It had been weeks since they'd had sex, and much longer since she'd enjoyed it. The other night had seen a scene unfold just like this, but his touch had been tentative and his tone understanding and supportive when he said, "Are you sure you're not too tired?" She'd rested one of her hands on his, leaned in close, and whispered, "Absolutely bloody knackered, babe." He'd held her for a while, and she'd got an early night. Tonight, he was silent, and less tentative. When he tilted her face to his, she closed her eyes and thought hard about the time, just a few short years ago, when she couldn't keep her hands off him. Couldn't get his clothes off fast enough, couldn't sate her hunger for his body. Remember that? Remember what that felt like? Martha held that feeling in her mind, and tried to super-impose it onto now. This. Tried.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Library
The world ended not with a bang, but with a slow, persistent silence. Fifty years ago, the Great Forgetting began. It wasn’t a war or a virus—just... loss. People woke up not remembering their names. Entire histories faded from minds, cultures collapsed not from conflict, but from erasure. No one knew why. It was as if knowledge itself had slipped through the cracks of human thought.
By Ashley Anthonyabout a year ago in Fiction
The House That Forgot Me
I returned to the house on a whim, not nostalgia. It had been twelve years—enough time to forget the creaky stair that always screamed at midnight, or the window latch that never shut tight. But when I pulled up the gravel drive, none of that mattered. The house didn’t recognize me.
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
At the Edge of Midnight
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. The rain tapped steadily against the window, each drop sounding like a ticking clock counting down the seconds.
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Message
She found the old phone buried beneath the loose floorboard in the attic. The house smelled of dust and forgotten memories, the light from her flashlight trembling across faded wallpaper. The phone was cracked and worn, the kind that felt heavy in her hand — a relic from another time.
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
The Silent Symphony of Space: A Journey Beyond Earth. AI-Generated.
When we gaze up at the night sky, we are looking into a vast, silent arena of cosmic activity. Space, though often perceived as a dark and empty void, is teeming with mysteries, wonders, and phenomena that defy our everyday experiences on Earth.
By Sharmin Akterabout a year ago in Fiction