Sci Fi
Xilah
She opened her hand. Sitting in her palm, the newfound trinket glinted a soft yellow in the dappled morning light of the forest. It’s a sign, surely, she said to herself. I’m nearly there. She pressed her thumb, dirty and lined black with grime, onto the smooth metal, crafted in a strange shape she had never seen before. A symbol, she guessed. It must have a special meaning, to carry such treasure inside. She lifted the chain on which it hung and pulled it over her head, the artifact resting gently against her heart as she walked onward.
By A M Portman3 years ago in Fiction
Procreation
Procreation Birth characteristics are no longer a matter of chance in the 2070s. In these days of manipulation of the human genome, bad DNA has been filtered out, and better or different DNA added to embryos so that the Government HR (Human Resources) Administration can ensure the appropriate mix of people to keep the country running at full efficiency. The HRA can create just the right number of scientists, athletes, drone workers, and artists by clicking on a few icons and sending algorithms to the many cloning and embryo development centers around the country.
By Cleve Taylor 3 years ago in Fiction
B. Graves: Zombie Slayer
Entry 1: They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. I wonder if that’s true for the half living or what some might describe as the undead. Did their lives play out like a movie before their eyes as the turned? Or are they constantly watching the mistakes they made on repeat as they wander the wasteland? Well, there’s only one way to find out.
By Anthony Herrington3 years ago in Fiction
The City of Misery
Nobody can hear a Scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Anabelle loves being on Facetube that her living room have three 65 inch TVs on each wall.Each TV have their own names Carl ,Zoe and Luz.The South wall TV is Carl ,with a golden name plate above it.The east wall has a golden nameplate with Zoe above that smart TV.The West wall has Luz on the golden name plate above that smart TV.
By Mariann Carroll3 years ago in Fiction
Antiquities Keeper
If you wake up early enough in the morning, when the earth is still settled and hasn't yet woken, before those who remain stir the dust, you can see the sun. Well you can't see the sun. No one can. No one has for at least one-seventy years. But in those quiet still minutes you can see this bright glow through the hazy grim layer that fills the sky. And it's beautiful. The sun itself a deep burning orange with a haloed glow around it, where the smog almost looks like gold.
By L. M. Williams3 years ago in Fiction
Waterlogged
I was born after the rain began. My grandfather told me how amazing the world was before the storm; how bright and green the grass was on cultivated fields as far as the eye could see. He told me climbing the mountaintops was a test of skill and endurance, not a simple saunter up onto what limited dry land we had left. He told me, through tired eyes and matted hair, of a time when the world was warm and dry. But that was before the rain fell. Before the sun went away.
By N.J. Folsom3 years ago in Fiction