Sci Fi
Man on the Clock
“You know, Frank, there really isn’t that much trash in the ocean.” Frank Minor looked up. He had been cutting the plastic hi-cones from the office’s weekly soda supply when his older colleague’s voice had broken his concentration. Reuben Schneider stood over Frank’s desk, his fingers holding an unlit cigarette to his smirking lips.
By Nicholas LaCerva5 years ago in Fiction
The End....Chapter 2
Scooter Jenkings sat at the table staring down at the straight flush that he was currently holding. It was by far the best hand he had been dealt all night, and he planned on milking it for all it is worth. His face was straight up expressionless as he called Sam's five dollar bet. "I'll see that five and raise you ten..." Scootter said, looking across the table towards Sam Benson.
By Wayne Coolidge5 years ago in Fiction
The Anatomically-correct Adventures of a Spider-like Man
“Aww man, I didn’t want this.” For Christmas that year, Jack had asked his parents for the latest Virtual Reality game setup. Instead, his parents decided to go full science on him and got him a “Do It Yourself Bacterial Gene Engineering CRISPR Kit” from one of those catalogs that arrive around Christmastime.
By Anton Crane5 years ago in Fiction
The Sovereign
I do not know how l have been here. My troop and I became trapped in this cave when “The Sovereign” forces invaded our site. We managed to grab enough food and supplies to last us two months, and I’m not sure if it has been two months or close to two months, but the supplies are dwindling fast. Montgomery has claimed most of the rations. He says he has to be the one to distribute them because he is the only one who understands what the human body needs to survive, given his background in human biology. The rest of us called horseshit, but no one else has a medical background, so no one could truly pose a debate.
By Elizabeth Krantz5 years ago in Fiction
Sunset Mine-State
The sun sets earlier this time of year. James yearns for days beyond recall when the sun would shine past nine - Before daylight savings was abolished, before farming became an outdated profession - James is seated upon his apartment building’s rooftop with his canned fruit and cup of instant filling the air with an artificial bitterness. A tutorial video teaches the crosshatch brush stroke. A practice completed by the lust of his life, Mia. He’s painting a tree in the sunset, where the sun rests on the branches of a fruit tree – A scene Mia had described to him in poignant detail - The brush leaves crosses on the canvas before him. As above so below in the dusk sky, a similar pattern is drawn by planes leaving condensation trails to seed the clouds. A practice completed by The Weather Bureau department of the ‘New Life Corporation’ - The weather is designed and foretold rather than read and reported - James lets his gaze follow the whispering wind further outside the city than he’s ever physically been. Out past the minefield he spots a single tree peaking above a distant hill - Surprising for the soil is sour where weeds dare not grow - He wishes to capture the specifics of the lonely tree but the emerging fog clouds its clarity. Through an opening in the fog that looms, James notices a feminine figure wandering minefield to lonesome tree. The sun sacrifices itself so the moon can shine, its last rays catching the light snow falling from the crosshatch pattern in the sky. An orange glow with embers climb to his attention. The last book store had its final day and the police are burning the books. The council made an event out of it to bring the community together.
By Brode Foscaro5 years ago in Fiction
The Promise of the Pear Tree
It was in the iridescent green that I caught a glimpse of the future. The barren panorama that I had been trudging was wearing on me. All around the terrain looked like a dry Martian landscape. A useless vista. As I lifted my eyes to heaven it was like hell rained down on me. I don't remember much except the sound of bombs and explosions. It was as though the ground had opened up and was taking no prisoners. The doorway that got me to this place had been heralded to be a haunted one. No one ever heard it creaking open because they were either asleep, away, or in another room and not in earshot of the rusty hinges that held it to the frame of the house. Had I known then what I know now I wouldn't have gone through that door. What started off as a family-fun day with a picnic and then scary stories around a bonfire that night about the haunted door at our granny's house had turned into an experience none of us would forget. I rushed the door with every bit of irreverence I could retrieve. Hoping to elicit some laughs from my cousins and disprove the mysteries of the door I threw myself into the door dramatically. Everyone there now says they saw it open by itself only moments before I rammed into it. I fell to the floor unconscious. My body was there...but I was somewhere else.
By Cozett Dunn5 years ago in Fiction
One More Conversation With Mom
I gaze out the window at the midnight sky. I feel as small and insignificant as the tiny pinpoints of light in the wide expanse of darkness. I never felt that way while Mom was alive. Now that she's gone, I struggle to find any purpose in my life.
By Rebecca Key5 years ago in Fiction
Raindrop Memories (Part 2 of 2)
Whispering showers tap along the windowpane in harmony with a low electrical hum; the only sounds save uncomfortable breaths in the silence between the Wanderer and their aged daughter. Worn and tired, Lydia looks to her suspiciously youthful parent and grunts.
By C.S. Meigs5 years ago in Fiction
Quartz
Quartz On the other side of the Black Hole, which exited in what we refer to as another galaxy, what was left of Epsiton, the consciousness and the Interface was found by the God of the Quasar/Blasar who was Quartz, who breathed life into me, and he called me Asterick Epsiton, son of Epsiton.
By Lawrence Finlayson5 years ago in Fiction
