Sci Fi
The seeds of life
“Quinn, here don’t let him get them. RUN!” was the last thing Aleksei said before I ran. 110 years ago was the end of the world, no one's really sure what caused it but all anyone knows or what they are willing to tell us, is it wiped out all the plants, there are no trees, flowers or anything that once made the world beautiful. In the year 2,035 is when everyone that lives now was forced to leave their lives behind and forced into bunkers all over what used to be America, Europe, and Africa. In total the number of people who survived was 1150 that were all over the world. After the end everyone was lost, they had no idea what to do they looked for someone to tell them what to do next. Nobody could decide who was to be in charge, only 4 people stood up but they couldn't decide who to choose. So instead they decided to leave and make their own clans.
By Cayla Zuniga5 years ago in Fiction
Take Your Heart And Lock It
08/10/2072 Dearest, I never thought I'd live in a world where love would keep me alive. That might be a slight lie. Before the glass and the ghasts I knew it was love keeping me alive, but it it was a different kind of love. It was a hopeful love that built houses and families when things like an 'economy' still existed. When everything was good and excessive I found myself not really wanting to exist, except for the fact that not existing meant possibly existing without you.
By Daniel Rothwell5 years ago in Fiction
Vulture
If the chip comes out of my spine, I die. We were all taught this from the moment we could listen. If you take your chip out, you die. It’s simple. It’s for the survival of the human race. No one wants another pandemic, no one is going to take their chip out.
By Brianne Mulligan5 years ago in Fiction
Departed Innocence
“Take the shot, that’s an order!” The Commander echoed through the earpiece and into the skull of a young Lieutenant. Five seconds, four seconds, three, two— awake, to three holes in the drywall across a stark room. “Vital spike forty percent higher than normal, BPM elevated, do I need to report?” “Stand down Pariah.” Cain interjects as the synthetic lights embedded in his arm fade into the flesh. Copper shell casings still hot to the touch roll across the floor from the shots fired. Silence fills the room followed by a high pitch ringing. Cain stares blankly at the wall as if he were expecting it to move. His stale amber eyes resemble the dim light of a dying firefly. Silence is soon invaded by the shrieks of a dust coated alarm clock which is shut off by the blunt end of his gun. “One more day.” He whispers.
By H. J. Levon5 years ago in Fiction
Humanity Redacted
“Trade?” The garbled askance barely washed over me. I was too busy glaring into the distance, thinking about the next place sitting in the back of my mind. The air was humid, the scent of week-old rot heady in the air mixed with the unpleasantries of the coming rains. The rains weren’t due to spoil the lands for a few hours, clouds of gray and green swirling in the distance, the rumbling of whatever deity deciding to dance onward still out of hearing range. I shifted my bag, an old beat-up thing I’d found somewhere on the outskirts of another town ravaged by the blight of the unanswered problem that allowed that gnarled hand waving at me to exist.
By Stephanie Pittman5 years ago in Fiction
The Warm Smile of Death
Dust fills the air. You breathe it in. This is your home, your playground. No one beats you here. No one ever beats you. You are numb to the warmth of the setting sun, which glows a violent red through the hazy sky. You are oblivious to the city below, whose dreary streets are forever filled with plebians trying to survive in this concrete wasteland. This is no concern for you. You feel nothing. You sacrificed your humanity on the day of your first kill. Since that day, hundreds have fallen by your hand: three hundred and twenty-seven to be exact. You are so much more than the city’s most celebrated assassin for hire. You are a ruthless, efficient, emotionless killer. A killer who has never failed.
By Jackson Bankovic5 years ago in Fiction
Lifestream
Lifestream Dive into possibility. Jerry Perry A drafty breeze settled into the courtyard and beckoned the spotted begonias into an electric dance. The sun shone through the glass reflecting off of the screens that lined the hallway outside the main conference room. We’re set to unveil the newest Lifestream with an upgraded feature they’re calling “Posturity”- some stockholder’s not-so-clever quip on posture and posterity. Think of it as an automated form of muscle stimulation which can simulate a healthy lifestyle so you can extend your experience inside your lifestream, without the musculoskeletal degeneration we’ve been witnessing over the past few generations.
By Jerry Perry5 years ago in Fiction
The Fish Bowl
I just wanted to make you proud, one last time if not the only time. I thought it’d a great honor to give my life for The Community, that it would atone for my sins and make my life mean something, but here at the draw all I feel is fear. I don’t want to die! I know it’s too late now to back out now, volunteered and chosen. The drink in my hand feels slippery as I raise the glass to my lips, the little beads of water that run down it’s side remind me of the tears I’ve been shedding for the past two weeks. These were supposed to be the best two weeks of my life. That’s supposed to be the tradition, but all I’ve gotten are the piteous stares of my neighbors, of the people I pass on the street as I play with the polished heart shaped locket that hangs around my neck, the symbol of my fate. How many before me have run their hands over the brass, the oil on their hands smoothing the metal, their fingers grabbing it for comfort, then rejecting it, reminded why it’s there? Was their time just as miserable as mine? Did they feel just as much of an outcast when they were chosen? I can feel death around the corner, standing in the shadows, waiting for me with open arms.
By Trapper Piatt5 years ago in Fiction
