Sci Fi
The Oracle Hour
Paleo Style That the quonset hut was located on salt flats could have added electrolytes to the boy’s own, or else it was a trick. There must be something more going on. And Jethro thought this: when you are grown without a belly button you’re not from this timeline. You are your own ancestor, which has to be harder than it sounds. For, despite returning with heterozygote vigor[1] and apocalyptic expectations, your mission is sure to be lost along the way.
By Michelle Dussault5 years ago in Fiction
A Free Online Science Fiction Novel- “Liberty” Chapter 5- Sarah
*Note- A short prologue is on chapter one. Each chapter has a link to the next to make reading it easier. This is chapter five of a novel I am sharing online, titled Liberty, A Daughter Universe Novel. I use the word “Liberty” because it relates to this story on multiple levels.
By Blaine Coleman5 years ago in Fiction
Building a Bridge Too Vast to Cross
Our bridge has four generations. The outside is snow-white because of the sun, but our breeding caves are like the warm gold that I remember from my youth. It takes half a day to crawl from end to end, and the apex is proud to look at the southern ocean. My ancestors built this bridge with mineral saliva that dries as hard as bone. It will last for generations, but the lake below the bridge shrinks, leaving white salt rings as the water level drops. When the water is gone, we will be exposed to predators, and there is already not as many algae as there used to be.
By Rajya laxmi5 years ago in Fiction
The Watch
It was a curse. This deep, smoldering anger that colored every moment and every action of the day and night, every thought, even his dreams. It was like, he thought, a deep underground fire of the kind that spends years eating away at a coal mine, bursting to the surface now an then in flames to be extinguished or at least dampened down, only to appear somewhere else on the landscape days, weeks, even years later. Alois Schickelgruber could not remember a day in his entire life when the anger was not there. But then, there was never a day when there was not a reason to be angered.
By Mark Newell5 years ago in Fiction
Before Blindness
The man and his wife began speaking to one another in sign language. Neither had ever spoken this way before. And yet, suddenly, in the middle of an argument, they'd lost their ability to hear and started signing as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
By Sejal shrestha5 years ago in Fiction
Aye
I lowered myself to my knees to install a length of edging along the sidewalk from my porch to the driveway. It is a good feeling to find the moistness of the grass wetting my knee as I press down the decorative along the edge of the walk. As I go along, I pull clumps of grass-bladed sod that have extended over the side of the concrete, having impeded my progress. The soggy mud-encrusted clumps feel cool in my hands as I clear them. I imagine that I am renewing a connection to the good earth while I scoot my knees along, and reminding myself that a presence is ever with me. Twenty-five feet along and I stop to stand up and review my efforts. The edging is relatively straight, straight as the concrete of the walk would allow, but lumpy as it had not been completely flattened. I walked the line and tamped down the high spots with my foot, eyeing the line as I went along. I hoped my calming thoughts and attention to the detail of my project reflect well on my score.
By Joseph "Mark" Coughlin5 years ago in Fiction
Abduct - Tease
ABDUCT - TEASE Fritzie Salmano dared to open her eyes and screamed. It was a body beneath her--Harry Poller--in his satin, glitter-suit. But where was the stage? Where was Lincoln Center? She glanced around and tumbled from the still performer, whose head suddenly lolled to one side in a ghastly manner. His big saxophone was still around his neck. Her camera hung from her own. She jumped back, thinking him dead, and struggled to keep from losing control. She felt jolted like her body had gone through a lightning bolt. A whiff of ammonia worse than the stuff under her sink smacked her brain, gagging her.
By Stephen Vernarelli5 years ago in Fiction
