Sci Fi
Talisman
Day 118, Sol 2240 45° 40' 37.192" N 111° 2' 34.562" W (Bozeman, Montana) We moved locations today, five miles closer to the epicenter. Clean-up is going well. Fewer bodies, this far into the perimeter. The pyroclastic flow took out most of them, which is significantly less messy than the ash and pumice we found further south. Less digging, some of the houses are still intact. We will probably be done here within the day, Sol willing.
Angel WhelanPublished 3 years ago in FictionA Place Once Called Home
The house looked a bit more run-down than Abigail remembered it, despite it only having been a few years since she’d been there. It had been mostly left alone, the only fully intact house on the street. All the others had broken windows, wide-open doors, or had been partially incinerated. This house, however, was still standing, with nothing but a couple cracks in the windows and a bit of moss growing on the roof.
Reyna CondonPublished 3 years ago in FictionResonate
She stepped out that day, happy as could be, everything was right in her world. Leaving that house, her brother, a Singularity, could not affect her or her status.
Thor Grey (G. Steven Moore)Published 3 years ago in FictionThe Resort
Far away in the mountains, the helicopter weaves amongst peaks without regard to physics. As non-aerodynamic as a bumblebee or dragonfly, it lifts on pockets of wind and drops without warning. To the millionaires strapped into the seats, it is a terrifying experience.
Peter WisanPublished 3 years ago in FictionIn the Cage of a Dream's Lament
It was the perfect life. Trella lived for the moments when she stood in a ballroom, hushed voices rising over the music that provided an ambiance absent from ordinary life. Even when she was not dancing, she liked to close her eyes and just bask in the soft percussion and the trill of a violin. And, no matter how much she wandered or frolicked among the gathered guests, her feet never ached.
Jillian SpiridonPublished 3 years ago in FictionBy an Illusion's Fickle Thread
I sift through the panels of prospective partners and wonder just what the hell my mother was thinking with this charade. The pictures don't matter—women showing off their teeth in white arrays, hairstyles that defy the imagination (and gravity), too little or too much make-up from the Generation Markets—but I find myself searching for something. That something, well, perhaps I don't exactly know what it is yet.
Jillian SpiridonPublished 3 years ago in FictionFirst Date at the Last Blockbuster
The dull and corroded satellite lurched toward the Earth pod, its rusted solar panel screeching and scratching across the side. Petra didn't even notice. Besides, the Federation built these Earth pods to be indestructible. Space junk was too common an occurrence to give it even a second's notice. Nothing interesting ever happened.
Meredith BellPublished 3 years ago in FictionPlague Dogs
A series of taps at his wrist alerts Nathan that a delivery has arrived. His vitaband lights up with the checkmark that indicates it is government approved and sterile, so he swipes the alert away and gets up from his desk. He can hear Edgar, already aware of the rover’s arrival, racing back and forth in front of the door with that manic energy that all mini-pins seem to have. Tiny doberman pinschers with the tension of a coiled spring.
Owen SchaeferPublished 3 years ago in FictionAll Tomorrow's Lives
I am in Colorado, flying above the forest. My body-extension drone hovers above the beginnings of the wildfire that will burn an area the size of Manhattan. There is a plume of black smoke, and the air has become turbulent. Twenty people will die in this fire, most of them firefighters. I can only assume this is the best possible outcome. I have no access to the information in my past, but if I were to judge by the mobilisation of crews here to fight it, and its proximity to the town of Kittredge, I believe it could have been a high-casualty event.
Owen SchaeferPublished 3 years ago in Fiction