Sci Fi
Stolen Future
Stolen Future "Did you lock the truck?" "No, didn't you? What's the worry? Whoever's coming is in too much of a hurry anyhow." Benny leaned up on the limestone bluff overlooking Wind Valley and squinted up at her. Serena reached for her blouse and slipped into it.
By Stephen Vernarelli3 years ago in Fiction
Pretend It's Just Another Day
I couldn't tell you when the explosions started. Sometimes I count the sounds of them at night, as if they're fireworks from that bygone age when loud noise wasn't the coming of some threat to our shores. At night, each bomb blast ignites the sky with fire, but so far they are just warning shots—the sign to tell us that the invaders are out there and that they know they can come to us any time as if there's an outstanding invitation.
By Jillian Spiridon3 years ago in Fiction
Before the universe dies. Top Story - June 2021.
“Do you think they’ll find us in time?” She blurts the words out as if she’d been holding them for hours. They’d been walking in silence for the past few kilometres, and he’d heard her stifle, swear and snort quite a few times behind him. He knew she had something on her mind. But the question still sounded strange. Unreal.
By Clemence Maurer3 years ago in Fiction
And It Was Beautiful
The sky beams fuchsia. The sun beats like a heart. Willows weep roses. Pale shades of pink scatter through long strands of cotton candy-colored grass as they stroke against my skin. My body lends into the earth, still soft from the daily New Earth Agrituals.
By sleepy drafts3 years ago in Fiction
Widow's Mite
The markets, if you could call them that, were in a state of ramshackle decay. The thoroughfare of shops was once a lovely center of commerce in small-town America, but now was a dusty collection of wooden planks and tattered canvas. Miles away, through the low-hanging clouds, the lights of the colossal towers leered and lorded with pompous stillness.
By Connor Caughman3 years ago in Fiction
Graphene Hearts
Clicking another X1 round into my antiparticle pistol, I drew one final breath of xenon-laced smoke before flicking embers from my fingertips. The rosy fireflies danced along the dreary, blackened room and were at once silent. I exhaled red-tinged smoke, setting my claustrophobic surroundings aglow. I feigned a smirk as I tapped the circular ring fixed at my nape, and a familiar bombastic voice stunk inside my cerebral cortex:
By Daniel Lokovich3 years ago in Fiction
Nuclear Change
My stomach dropped the moment I saw the aftermath. I'd always heard about what a nuclear bomb does to cities. I'd seen the pictures from Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Buildings leveled, people burned to death, barely any trace of humanity left. But it wasn't until I came back that the damage truly sunk in. Ash covered the ground. Every building I'd grown up by was gone. I knew that I was probably absorbing radiation the longer I stayed there, but I didn't care. My city was gone. My home, my neighbors, my family. I was the only one left.
By Jamie Lammers3 years ago in Fiction
HIGHRISE SKYLINE
The battered motor struggled to carry a rusted boat and its passenger over the outskirts of what used to be Fort Lauderdale, a concrete swamp abandoned by the corporate conglomerate that once governed it after pushing the federal government out of the southeastern states, the US losing around half their now perpetually contested land in identical fashion. The rest of south and central Florida generally suffered a similar fate as the Atlantic Ocean continued to devour the state, driving away corporate interest. Still, first counts for something, capable of withstanding the cloud of toxic spores engulfing the dilapidated ruins, mutated alligators densely populate nearly every block. The traveler locks his gaze on 4 solar-powered air boats buzzing north into the decrepit city, each carrying a duo of Riptide reclamation officers, every one of them equipped appropriately, breathable Nanokevlar armor leading up to a lightweight, corporate-grade alloy filtration helmet, the dome outfitted with a heads up display detailing vitals and environmental info, everything marked with their signature tsunami logo. The traveler’s helmet was nearly opaque from condensation. He’ll be lucky to make it through without heat stroke. A functional A/C is typically standard in even the cheapest filtration units, popular after 2064 saw the climate’s true point of no return. Unfortunately, the edentate merchant in Orlando failed to supply or mention this basic component before charging full price and vanishing promptly.
By Chris Conway3 years ago in Fiction