Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Futurism.
Black Hope
It's beautiful. In a world so dark, it was strangely beautiful. Each night he would read to me. I could sense his passion for this Book, the beauty behind the word he would speak and its emotional connection to him. This book seemed like it was passed on by someone he loved very much.
Bogdan GheorghitaPublished 3 years ago in Futurism"It's A Virgo Thing"
"Yes, I would like the strawberry parfait please. Uh..except..well this is kind of awkward ha. I believe you've spelt parfait wrong on the menu. Riiight there. Yes! By your logo, which now that I look at it again, is actually off centre too. You're welcome."
Dena MariePublished 3 years ago in FuturismA Simple Exchange
Emerald smoke coiled lazily around the monster in Emmeline's closet. Peeking between trembling fingers, she could see that this monster wore fancy shoes. Unusual, but not unheard of. She took a quiet breath in and risked looking a little higher. She knew better than to look at its eyes - she was seven and a half years old, after all, and this wasn't her first closet monster - but there were no rules against looking at a monster's knees. At least, she hoped not.
Kelsey JohnsonPublished 3 years ago in FuturismReservation
I guess I don't have a lot of reasons not to go to Mars... Hector sat on his couch in his discomfited bachelor's home, in his shabby clothes, ruminating in a thunderhead of aggravation and embarrassment. He was no longer feeling all that stoned and the wrinkled pamphlet limp between his fingertips suggested he could be paid a fair amount of money–$20,000–to leave this planet behind. Mars wasn't like the place he read about in science fiction stories as a kid. Mars had a Paris right next to a London right next to a New York, all dressed in their Sunday best. Mars had suburbs out of the fifties or, if you preferred, out of the nineties. There was no crime on Mars. There was no war on Mars. Why wouldn't a person want to go to Mars? Why would a person need to be paid to go?
Thughra
Thughra curls up into himself, warding off the morning chill. The sun hasn’t quite risen over the top of the mountains, leaving the valley in a purple haze, turning the shadows into lurking figures hiding between market stalls. A small wrinkled woman lays out prunes at the fruit stall, her hands melding into the crumpled skins and a young man carefully displays his colorful scarves of silk and linen. A pain fills Thughra’s stomach, his mother used to wear the same silk scarves, they smelt of burnt amber and frankincense, now their remains drift across the desert, the smell of smoke lingering behind, a black stain on a golden dune. He squints and shakes the thought from his head, focusing on a small beetle scampering across the dusty ground. It’s difficult to distinguish the difference between the pain of loss and the pain of hunger and he wraps his arms tighter around his ribs. The wind sneaks in through the holes of his clothes. As the sun shyly appears above the tip of the mountains, the market begins to wake up. Traders and hagglers begin to fill the streets, replacing the menacing shadows. Life returns and an energy buzzes through the air, an energy that Thughra hasn’t been able to connect with since he lost his family to the fire. He scans the crowd and is drawn to a particular figure. The thick brown cloak is unusual for these parts of the world. The figure stands with his back turned, peacefully still. If it had not been for the colourful patterned bag that whispered stories of travels and different lands Thughra would have completely missed him.
Kalinka PetkoffPublished 3 years ago in FuturismLucky
"Memories pass through like a calm gust of wind." "We can only embrace the experience, wondering where it goes after those fleeting seconds disappear."
Brittany ThompsonPublished 3 years ago in FuturismAnthro Universe
The bar didn’t have much to offer other than hot broth and eye-watering moonshine. It didn’t help that the alligator bartender referred to both as swamp water. Fifty-fifty chance you would actually get what you were looking for. Rob, an old tiger, took a cautious sniff of his cup. Not liking the odour he switched cups with his human friend, Sheila. Sheila took a swig, her face expressionless as she focused on writing in her little black notebook.
Kelsey ReichPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Second Door
The god idly thinks on occasion that it might be next. Though what 'next' means, the god would not be able to say. Exhaling, the god sinks into the pose; the god's body is a cacophony of pain. A quilt work of suffering, angst and despair. People think being a god is easy, that you are omnipotent, that you don't feel pain, that you can do anything. None of that is accurate. The god exhales again, sinks deeper into the pose. The god is forever scanning the sensations in the body. The god exhales once more, relaxing even further into the pose.
Shawn IngramPublished 3 years ago in FuturismWorlds colliding
Once upon a time... that is how they always start. Stories have endings and every ending is a new beginning. Adeline is a being cut out of this world. She is one of those human creatures that use to sit late at night by the window and talk to stars, and wake up early to meet the sunrise. She constantly changes her mind, as if there are 100 tabs open in her head.
Catalina CazacuPublished 3 years ago in FuturismPay to Win
Sluggishly crawling on the floor of the narrow alleyway, I sit upright utilising the weathered dumpster for support. The light pitter-patter of the rain provides a soothing atmosphere, a relatively decent distraction from the excruciating pain of the puncture in my lower abdomen. Placing my hand over the wound in hopes that the applied pressure would slow down the bleeding. “Cat” I call out, a small cloud burst happens in front of me and a small cat-like creature appears “Aye sir?” Staring at him silently for a few seconds before asking “How bad is it?” “Unless you pay the price…I’d say about nine-minutes before you die.” In his usually emotionless eyes, I saw a look of not sadness but pity, “How much is it for a full recovery?” “fifteen-thousand.” “And a partial recovery?” “depends how long you want to prolong your time for.”
Einreb OrtegaPublished 3 years ago in FuturismVirgo, The Critical Mind
I have a love-hate relationship with the character traits of my star sign. Virgo, the virgin. The Perfectionist. The giver. The mind of a silent internal killer. Over analytic, always seeking praise to avoid the demon in the head everything. Oh, how I love the drive that comes with my sign. But how I loathe the never-ending critiques of everything that doesn't shine the brightest in my eyes.
Adonis RichardsPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Book
It was an idyllic summer night. Lilith looked out of the benchseat window of her bedroom in the attic of what used to be her Grandmother's house. The air was warm and sweet, the midnight blue sky was littered with stars and when the moon revealed itself from behind the passing clouds it was full and bright and felt like it was shining just for her. The breeze was cool as it gently caressed her falling tears. She didn't need a mirror to know that she had a black eye, a busted lip and clumps of hair missing. He had viciously beat her again and as usual he had locked her in here to think about what she had done to cause his "outburst".
Mara CovetPublished 3 years ago in Futurism