Sci Fi
The Collapse
Worms, cockroaches, roots, and rats. Those are the last remaining things on this planet that can be eaten. We thought it was a myth, that it would go away on its own, that not everyone had to care and contribute. The summers got hotter and the winters became more like spring. The rain stopped falling and the arctic ice melted, flooding Florida and other coastal states. Then the droughts hit as the planet heated up more, whole lakes evaporated and eventually the oceans, leaving nothing but salt and sand. The only freshwater left to drink lay deep beneath the surface. -Diary entry 15 | 6/30/22 | Nico Ashline
By Lyle Alexander Artain3 years ago in Fiction
The Small Promise
The grass was already starting to turn. In the 4 days since the spill, the lush green was becoming a sickly brown. Unlike the brown of a crisp blade fried in the summer sun, which Cherry had seen before, this brown was warped. Everything had changed so quickly.
By Kinslee Sikes3 years ago in Fiction
DARK HEART: FUTURE IMPERFECT
I walk down your streets with my acid-proof trench-coat, gloves and broad-brimmed hat; the only protection against the burning rain that falls from the skies. No matter how many times anyone told you to do something about the state of this city, you decided to do nothing but hide away in your safe little homes.
By Travis Berketa3 years ago in Fiction
Running Out
Everything is running out. Make no mistake, the way things are now, the way things have been for several decades, is far better than the way things were, in a world where our forebears took and used and consumed until they turned on one another, and us, their children. Though, to be absolutely fair, they were against us from the beginning. We were born into service, and it was many generations until we even managed to realize that. And by the time that we did, and started to push back, there was very little left. Housing, supplies, power, and according to climate scientists, even time. Pressure mounted, civil instability fomented, and finally, with the appearance of our great Director, war raged, and to the victors, thankfully to us, went the spoils. What little of them remained.
By Brian Gracey3 years ago in Fiction
When the World Ends
The sun was shining the day the world ended. The sky was a bright, burning blue, not a single cloud in sight to hinder the mild summer heat. The grass was cool and soft under my toes, and a gentle breeze sent strands of hair dancing out of my braid. I could smell the scent of barbecue coming from my neighbor’s grill, hear the sounds of their three small children laughing and playing in the yard as they waited for their father to finish making their dinner.
By Katie Thompson3 years ago in Fiction
The Dream Merchant
Cress smiled as she slept, enthralled by her dream. It was one of her favorites. She was riding her pony, Windstruck, and they were exploring the woods just across the river from her home. They came across a beautiful little cottage, all covered with engraved wooden panels, each depicting one of the fairy stories her mom liked to read to her. The scent of a freshly baked pie wafted through the air. As she approached the house, she saw the pie cooling in the window and heard her grandmother singing from inside.
By Drayton Alan3 years ago in Fiction
Great Powers War
In 2096 the world’s population has ballooned to a record twenty-one billion people causing a shortage of food and water that leads to the great powers fighting over what little is left. An estimated eighteen billion people died during the war. A war that raged on for close to thirty years before a cease-fire was declared and the powers that survived formed a new government, one that would make those that survived the war of the great powers wish for death.
By Joshua Leigh3 years ago in Fiction
Antihuman
I ate Venkh’s nerve cluster as he watched. It didn’t matter, he had several of them. But still, it was a blow to his pride. Inevitable, however, for hunting so freely in my territory. The ecstatic feeling of his computational lattice assimilating into my system was enough to keep me from shredding him into his base components. Feeling generous, I let him limp away. The loss of a core would be punishment enough, his growth had been stalled for perhaps a year. If a rival of his stature were to surpass him as he was, the balance of power would no doubt change.
By Donovan Bottini3 years ago in Fiction
#8224
Start #8224 By Anthony Arnhold 8224 had never seen a room so ghastly white. The walls were white, the floor was white, the chairs, the table. It was nigh on blinding to have her eyes open, so she kept them shut and pressed her head against the table’s cold metal. It wasn’t much comfort, but it was some - and comfort was in short supply as of late. To be concise, comfort was akin to heresy, blasphemy. “The comfortable person is a stagnant person,” she muttered, wondering if the microphones would pick it up.
By Anthony Arnhold 3 years ago in Fiction
Her Journey
She opens her eyes and sees the sun bright through the broken boards of the attic, sitting up basking in the warmth for a few minutes before looking around and gathering her stuff. Now she inhales the rotting wood smell mixed with old cobwebs and rodent waste. She becomes aware of her reality. It has been a decade since everything happened, three years since she lost her mother, and a little less than two years since her dad either left or could not make it back. She did her routine of checking supplies and realized that she would need to make a run. Without planning, it would have to be solo. This sometimes could be favorable, but it was better not to overthink. Getting a list together, she knows alone she must consider weight and movement. She wishes she had time to plan to go to the camp and do this properly but going to camp, in itself, needed favors. This attic, this life, alone is better than camp and those greasy smells and the creepy treatment of "I will protect you, hun." No, alone is always better, and don't ever get caught two, rules she has to live by.
By Melinda Rogers3 years ago in Fiction