Sci Fi
Little Girls, Who Made Thee?
To say we were shocked about it all was a bit of an understatement. I mean, nobody wants to go around, living their lives and what not, and discovering that they actually didn’t do the things they thought they did, and said the things they did, and whatever else happened in their lives because, supposedly, someone else came up with all of that. And that we three were just supposed to shut up and go off gentle into that good night when they supposedly figured out how to do our job better than the way we did it. Even though we had done our job well, and effectively, for what we thought was quite a long time.
By David Perlmutter5 years ago in Fiction
The Inner Silence:
I was all packed up and ready to go. This had really been an interesting trip, especially the people I had met the last day here, or had I? I looked at my watch. Someone was supposed to meet me this morning to take me to their secret underground world, but no one was here. I could have guessed, even though I don’t know how they pulled off what I had seen the night before. It all seemed so real.
By Om Prakash John Gilmore5 years ago in Fiction
The Evil Villain DNA
I heard a strange story the other day about DNA. It struck me as plausible on account of the fact that I have quite a vivid imagination, or so people say. Also, I have some training in the biological sciences which helped a lot in this particular case. The story went something like this. What we now know as DNA was actually once a terrible criminal from another galaxy far from our own. All galaxies are actually really very, very far from our own, but don’t let that one small example of imprecise language use cause too much doubt in the veracity of the tale overall. Rest assured, since I am the one doing the retelling, I’ll be sure to correct any further abuse of the language like the one just cited whenever it may occur. This particular criminal was of the extra evil variety, and extra clever too I was told, and he had been captured and escaped many times previously. His judges and jailers were an ancient alien race with almost God like powers. Needless to say they were more than a little annoyed at how poorly their previous punishments had fared. So, upon his most recent capture (~4.85 billion years ago according to what I heard) they desired to design a prison that could not be escaped and would last until time ran out at the end of the universe.
By Everyday Junglist5 years ago in Fiction
Technicalities
Blaster fire was the first thing that Sheridan heard when she regained consciousness, and that was enough for her to come to full wakefulness very quickly. She sat up and winced as she banged her head on the too low ceiling. No – not a ceiling. She was in a medical pod and had hit the lid. Only now was it starting to slide open, and she got out gingerly, holding onto it as the floor beneath her shook. Where was she?
By Chris Cunliffe5 years ago in Fiction
Death From Above
A new day begins, though it was still very early. The sun rise was barely visible and peeking through the windows of Lieutenant Aaron Schwartz’s house. Amelia sat in his living room with a cup of coffee. She couldn’t remember how many cups she had drank to try and stay awake, but being this tired made her act a little goofy. She was talking loudly and laughing about Aaron’s miserable defeat at a game of chess, while he was in his room trying to get dressed in his uniform. After straightening himself up, Aaron walks out to the living room.
By Stephen Portis5 years ago in Fiction
The Restoring of Broken Parts
Cattails and milkweeds. The sun had come up blurry behind the waterlogged, drooping trees. As the mist cleared, the short green sedge crowding around the cattails became visible. Finna used it to mark the shallow parts of the swamp, walking only where the long green blades stuck out of the water itself. Even the shallow edge of the swamp was quite deep, however, and the dark water nearly covered his stomach as he waded onward. His arm was held out to his side, three snakes hanging from it following their unfortunate attempts on his life. In his free hand was a basket, empty.
By Olivia Fishwick5 years ago in Fiction
Plutacracy
Bradley sat facing out the window of his office watching the sun rise in the mirrored windows of the other downtown buildings going over everything in his head. He had gained success beyond measure and had become a well-known and well respected figure of the world. His most recent project, the development and implementation of the bio-tower, had awarded him the Nobel Peace Prize; which he was to receive in a special ceremony later today. His other work, private work, was his secret weapon for taking control. He had created, what he called, the bionic-human and the botic-double. Advanced A.I. that could function just like a human or take the place of a human. Everyone that worked for him was one of the two. They were the last things he trusted and took precautions to make sure he could.
By Derrick L Coleman5 years ago in Fiction
Spelville
On this day of stifling air, when just a few clouds were hung in the distant sky, in ghostly puffs and spires, the uncontrolled jungles of growth along Beacon Trail Avenue looked beaten and submissive. On the property that once had belonged to a wealthy family named Morris, but now was lived upon by a woman who was named Nicole Pearson, there waited an aging pony. Because of anticipated toil in the blistering sun, it hung its head, weak, and surly, trapped in heavy harness, before a lumbering wagon, with a galvanized water tank in the bed. Unsympathetic Nicole wielded a switch that the diminutive pony knew well. It hunkered down, dreading the whipping it fully expected to endure. For, Nicole sometimes applied the biting lash across its shoulders with unprovoked viciousness. Today, such a beating did not right away come. Those aching legs finally moved when the human took a firm hand to the harness and led it on the path to the river.
By Charles Turner5 years ago in Fiction
The Inner Silence:
I used to hear them talking about me. I guess you could say they were spirits, or angels, or something. As I got older I ignored the voices. They went away eventually as I sat in my small room reading my science fiction books and fantasy books. I couldn’t get enough of those books until something strange happened--I got a hold of a book on spirituality and shamanism. I was very young.
By Om Prakash John Gilmore5 years ago in Fiction
Symbiote
Andi loved the beach. That's why they went. The undead of winter: skin-shearing wind, rain like small-caliber bullets—it didn't matter. The sound of the surf in all its ferocious brown froth and sharp-edged waves didn't deter them from a walk on the flat, depopulated expanse of sand and sodden vegetation. She felt the lure of the shells, or what was left of them. Miles and miles of mangled exoskeleton. The charm had no effect on Charlie. But it was the space she occupied and was therefore where he had to be.
By Josh Langston5 years ago in Fiction
