Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Futurism.
The Aggregator
Tina once joked that instead of collecting things, I collect people. I suppose she had a point. I have spent my entire life cultivating an understanding of them. A study in fascination and revulsion has compelled me to spend my life’s work collecting every last detail.
A.P GessnerPublished 3 years ago in FuturismJust because I’m the sign of mystery, doesn’t mean...
Scorpios are the most intense sign of the zodiac, I know, I’ve been one for the past twenty-seven or so years. When people hear the word “intensity” they automatically attribute the word to something negative, or to some sort of impending strife. Intensity to some folks, is almost like hearing the dramatic sound effect *DUN. DUN. DUNNN...* in a children's cartoon TV show. But as a Scorpio, I can attest that although there is a part of our experience that is like this, there is an entirely different spectrum of intensity that we rarely talk about. This article is primarily about my subjective view on how my zodiac sign relates to me. Based on research of my sign, the teachings and practice of Astrology, this also definitely applies to the majority of my Scorpion kin.
Nirvanhai Elixir O'RaahikojoPublished 3 years ago in FuturismOculus
There it was... The portal to who knows where. What will be found? The "Eye" was calling, just like he said it would. I couldn't resist. It was as if I had been destined to be here. In this spot. At this very moment. But where will it take me? I reach out my hand just for a split second to see what would happen and if this was all truly real. I guess I shouldn't have because what came next, was the beginning... of the end.
The Key
I look into the bright blue sky above, not a cloud in sight seen through a broken ceiling. Flashes of a bloody roman bath house with beautiful blue triangular tiles on the wall that dance at the slightest twitch of the eye. Smooth white grouting made of packed sand, smooth granite slabs on the floor kept the house cool in the shade during the summer. All the rooms seem to be looted and disserted. But so strange no bodies in sight just blood splatters. The Year is 502 C.E. The halls of the entire villa lay silent and uncomfortable, home to nothing more than insects and small rodents now. About 4 years ago my entire family had been slain where I stand now, while there was nothing I could do. An army of 2 leagues of Germanic soldiers had descended upon our humble country villa village. I dressed and prepared for war, prepared for victory and triumph, and glory. I was excited to use new spells I had just mastered from my mother’s red grimoire. I descended the stairs ready to hear my commands. And my father and older brother lock me under the false floor in the basement. The false floor has only one exit which leads to our private hunting cabin in the woods. Before he locked the floor, my father said to me “return home for your key on the 3rd blue moon only you can use it” ... The false floor backtracks underground, a 10k cold damp hike. I have done this trek thousands of times alone, even with weights, but never to escape and never with no one on the other side waiting for me... But I stayed and hung to the floor as I listened as my family pulled off their suicide plan and killed everyone who entered our house, including themselves. My father and my brother must have fought off 20 Germanic soldiers each. I could hear the flint of swords clashing together and my brothers grunts, and the enemy soldiers' war cry turn to shrieks as they fought my father. But I know this is just a stall while my mother frantically put together a gas bomb spell which makes the air in the house toxic and non-breathable for humans for 52 moons. A simple spell she conjures into a glass bottle only needing it to be broken to activate. There were a few more parlay attacks to a shield it sounded like and more enemy soldiers screaming “Hilf mir”… Whatever it meant it could not be good but after I heard the glass break.. I heard nothing, just silence. I take a seat next to books packed near the fireplace, thinking about what my father could mean by the key. He left a key for the floor along with $20,000 in the cabin. “How far did he plan ahead?” I think to myself. I wasn't ready to return home and lost track of the moon count. But last night through all the fires in the land I witnessed the 3rd blue moon shining through the endless smog and felt the need to check. But what if I’m wrong and die looking for the key? A mouse scurries chasing after a beetle and catches it just as the beetle starts to fly. The pair land in the sooty books and just as quickly scurries off. I see a light coming from under the book pile and instantly feel adrenaline bubbling, hoping some kindle has not suddenly caught fire from the heat of the day that would surely let anyone know exactly where I am right now, and I have no allies. I frantically dive towards the pile and start tossing books aside left and right. I start to cough due to the soot flying in the air only to see the light disappear when I pick up this Little Black book.
maybe: mayaPublished 3 years ago in FuturismTriduum
The Brecon Beacons, circa 40 C.E. The breeze sweeping over the black mountains brings a welcome change to many long weeks staring past corners of the cargo ship’s sail. Here at the edge of the world, the air is not just cooler, but thinner, closer to the unfamiliar stars. John Mark stands, grateful for the gift of catching his breath. His hands move to the satchel bound close to his side. He unwinds the leather folds, removing a simple weapon from its sheath. The motion sends a single red kite leaping into the air, where she circles above the snapping battle standards to the east, ascending.
Forgotten
Forgotten By: Julieanna Theng I lower myself to a crouched position behind a fallen piece of a building, hiding from a Bot. It begins to scan the chunk of concrete that I am hiding behind, but does not find me and marches away. I cannot be found, for I am almost to my destination. If I am found, I will be killed.
julieanna thengPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Crossing
It seemed to be a fact of life that any bout of good luck was sure to be followed by bad. At least, that was what Rhiannon had determined over many, many years. Graduating college had been followed by a massive recession, so no one was hiring full-time. Finally finding a full-time job was rewarded with her car giving up the ghost before any sort of savings could be built up. And so, when she got the notification a lottery ticket she’d purchased (alongside a singular bottle of wine and a bag of chips) at a gas station had won...well, she just started bracing herself.
Kira LempereurPublished 3 years ago in FuturismUnbound
Fragile are the truths these days, and all that we believe. Now fact is manufactured, conspiracies conceived, society manipulated by shadows, both nefarious and fair
The Artifact
“Professor! Come here! I think I’ve found something!” The excited tone of Jimmy coming from the speaker overhead shook Professor Wilson from a restless slumber in his tent. This new dig began right after they arrived. It had been going on for months with little to show, other than sunburns on anyone foolish enough to go out during the heat of the day. Most of the digging happened at night, under the harsh light of massive banks of LED lights.
Trevor LaRenePublished 3 years ago in FuturismCatch of the Day
CATCH OF THE DAY What do Bruce Willis, Quincy Jones, Stephen Curry, Catherine O’Hara, Seal and Albert Einstein have in common? Like me, they were all born under the astrological sign of Pisces.
Lisa CetinicPublished 3 years ago in FuturismDilapidated Mystery Book
“Hey.” Libraries are always quiet. That’s their typical state of being. But as the hours get later and closing time gets closer, and one by one patrons leave for their final destinations of the night, that quiet takes on an even bigger presence. So big in fact, that even a soft voice from my coworker sounds like an airhorn to my ears, and I jolt sending my cell phone tumbling out of my fingers and thudding against the wellworn, industrial strength carpet that’s sitting under the reference desk on the fifth floor.
April PiccarretaPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Mysterious Memoir of Madame Taper
The air was unseasonably cold forcing its way into the tiniest of places invading every home that afternoon. As the unwarranted chill was received so was the news of her grandmother’s passing. Her granddaughter sat by the open flame of her fireplace recalling every moment they had spent together. Her grandmother was effortlessly demure and mysteriously beautiful, a legacy she somehow had to follow. Tears that she’d forced herself to control came flowing in abundance for she had tried to remain brave for her Mother who seemed to take the news all too well. The lavishly decorated home was her grandmothers and as such, anything but quaint. Every room was full of priceless trinkets, handmade furniture, and luxury goods that only a lover of beautiful things would recognize. The muffled noise from a nearby television halted her darkened thoughts, it was a taped interview of her grandmother accepting her title of “Sexiest Woman Alive” from Genealogy Magazine. She focused her attention on the screen. Her grandmother sat across a handsome gray-haired man in a neatly pressed gray suit and tie.
J.J. WalkerPublished 3 years ago in Futurism