Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Futurism.
Heavenly Descent
Heavy, Dangling. Waiting for the Lucky Host. The Chosen One. Ready to Integrate. Guised as a “Mischief Give Away”. Already “Trending”.
Jesse WiedemannPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Line
He still had roughly a mile or so in line before he would finally see a meal again with his own eyes. Hot or cold, he didn’t care. Peter’s reasoning and senses were already ghosts. But now, standing in what had to be his final moments of vigilance and fortitude, there in his place in line, everything had grown dull. It had already been for a couple of days, but now, here in this moment, he had finally been adopted in by panic and despair.
Jordan GoingsPublished 3 years ago in FuturismDimension Lib
Years must have gone by but we’ve given up on trying to count the months. Every time we formulate the calendar, it ends up being skewed. We counted ‘mississippis’ to create seconds which Unit R swears is the proper way. With a lot of practice, I managed to procure a watch made of fiberglass. It had a habit of melting off the wrist like a Dali painting except made in MS Paint. The same happened with our wall clock, so we use it as a frisbee.
The Collapse
I never dreamt of opening it. I’ve worn this heart for seventeen years, without troubling the secret shut inside it. “Open it alone,” mama said “and only when there’s absolutely no way out. You’ll know when it’s time.” The locket had belonged to my grandmother — your great-grandmother — and once would have held portraits of treasured loved ones ensconced in its tiny golden folds. Perhaps it still does. It was our last meeting, our last embrace before they took her. Mama clasped the chain around my neck and held me tight, whispering “Keep it on and keep fighting til the end. I’m always with you”. I wish that were true. I’ve yearned for mama’s calm wisdom every day of these seventeen years. Then I was separated from you, my darling, and I thought I would die of the heart ache. It’s amazing what the human heart can bear. The past eight years without you have been gruelling, torturous at times. The hope that you have survived, that we will find each other again, has kept me alive, more than anything, more than water … until now. Now I think — I know — it’s time. I’m finally going to find out what gives this little locket such surprising weight.
HEROD
HEROD Pilot Background: [1 Year Now = 1 Second ] A technology war broke out around the world after a pandemic. The war ended with a bright light, ending most of humanity. What most of the survivors do not know is, that the light broke a barrier between technology and the spiritual realm. Refugees were blind sighted and forced under a one world martial law.
Kiara HolmesPublished 3 years ago in FuturismA Locket Full of Surprises
There is always a reason to kill someone and always a reason someone wants you dead. Today someone will be dead, and it won’t be me. It will be a bunch of people and the world will be better off. So now I play my role, to lure the bees to the flower. I have to play the role of the sitting duck, so I must sit in a cold auditorium and watch my dad get an award. It’s cold today. It is always cold during awards ceremonies, colder when it is not you getting the award. But I have to be here, it’s a dying man’s request. I can’t believe that anyone would hold anything anywhere close to Chicago in the dead of winter. The weather is the least of my concerns, I got shot the last time I was outside of Virginia and any random idiot could get a twofer today. I am going to stop doing things for the sake of nostalgia or out of some misplaced debt that I think that I may owe to someone. I am on a stage with my father as he gets some sort of Lifetime Achievement Award for being the president who collapsed the world. Maybe that is not entirely true. He didn’t collapse the world by himself, but he did drop the bombs that started the process.
Thomas ScurlockPublished 3 years ago in FuturismGreen Heart
“How dare you defy me again!” His words are filled with a terrifying anger, and I am suddenly snapped to supreme awareness. I whirl around to see my husband filling the doorway with his presence.
JUNK BOX PLS
I have to leave the windows open. All of them. There are no curtains, the feathered palms gave sufficient privacy. There is little breeze so they don’t move, the wide open windows. Before, doing this would let the noise in, now there is barely any. I don’t know where the crows have gone, but I can hear the smaller birds that were once muffled by the sound of aggressive traffic and city. Today looking out all I see are more palms and plants I don’t know the name of.
The Cœur Locket®
Powerful. Timeless. Breathtaking. TerraCorp’s latest line of jewelry also became its last. Forged from metals found deep in the heart of the Earth; plated with the organization’s newest blend of trade-secret Zemra™ alloys; with a ‘heart-within-a-heart’ core made of revolutionary blue Sydänite. The Cœur Locket®.
Zach CampbellPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Seed
The rubber trees twisted toward the sky, dwarfed only by the glass towers that competed with them against the streets of the city. The air was a smoggy mustard yellow on the clearer days. She propped herself up against the synthetic tree. The plastic leaves bent toward her, in anticipation of her next movement, to offer shade from the burning sun. The entire city was built from the trash of generations before her. Compiled and compounded to contort into the shape of nature. Water was rationed in the city so the Autocrats could water their lawns in the neighboring villages. They spent their days enjoying fresh air, far away from the polluted airs and dense populations of the city dwellers.
Alexis NicolePublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Portal
The Portal 3:33 in the morning, on a dark and rainy night in southern Spain. Another Magnificent echo of a city, buried in absolute plasma and mud. Another scene of horror. Was it 1893 or 3033? The thought didn’t resonate anymore. None remembered the ‘when’, or the ‘how’. All left were remnants of a muddied social control, or seekers of vengeance through flood. This night was a darker shade than usual, and more so than any other formerly. Imagine the cursed-red stained blood from the glorious petrified Cathedral’s crime scene floor was the reason for the tone. It was electric. It spoke to any who viewed it. The blood covered nearly half the main sanctuary. It had a certain eminence flowing up to the altar, to the large dome above. To be alive, even after removal. “Have you ever seen anything like this before, Inspector Venustas?” began the forensic officer. “I guess you haven’t been with us on the previous crime scenes?” she said with a sense of being aced to the whole situation. “This marks the fourth different crime scene, in all four different countries, by using the same M.O. on the victims and the buildings. “And you’ve followed it this far? What drives this kind of reckless anger? If you don’t mind me asking, Inspector”, the forensic officer said, blushingly. “Maybe sheer curiosity of where anger can go? Or maybe something else entirely?” She continued, “Each of these crime scenes have a certain quality to them, all of which are portraying uniqueness to the buildings we’ve seen so far”. While speaking, a heart-shaped locket fell from the top of her closed buttoned shirt as she was examining one of the numerous decapitated bodies, lying near the altar floor. “He is so reckless,” she stalled slightly, “but very methodically chaotic, if you can follow that thinking.” What was so reckless about that scene was that all the heads were removed, but yet the bodies were left strewn about, overlooked. “Why would he need the heads?” she thought aloud. “How do you know it is a ‘he’?” the forensic officer said, with a quite puzzled look. “I for one don’t think a woman could be so reckless and brutal…no offense,” she said proudly. While the forensic officer was thinking of something to respond to that remark, Inspector Venustas seemed to have dashed off, in search of more answers to this puzzling crime scene. She was standing quietly, near the decapitated bodies, gazing at her reflection in the pool of blood nearest to the front door. “There is something odd here,” she thought to herself. The Inspector would have thought this a form of clairvoyance had it not been for the slight buzz on her right pant leg. It was her phone buzzing. “Yeah,” she said almost as if rudely interrupted by the call. “Yeah, this is Specialized Crimes Director Noble, and I was wondering what Intel you have?” he said. She responded, “Right, hello sir,” and she continued, “As of right now, we seem to be stumped on the same situation as the previous 3.” “It seems that the heads are…I know sir…thank you sir…Goodbye sir,” she said rather quickly. “What would a SCD want that we could have just told him in the morning?” she thought. “Maybe the HEADS are taking extra precautions on this one?” said the forensic officer laughingly. “Maybe” she said, “or maybe…? Another Inspector calling to her from down what seemed to be the basement of the Cathedral suddenly stopped her. “Venustas!!” said he. “We’ve found the victims' heads, but there is more,” he continued. The Forensics’ officer looked at Inspector Venustas with amazement. “I’ll be there in a second,” she said, “Maybe I should call Director Noble back?
Cryptofomo
She pressed her heart into my hand. It was all that was left of value. The bellhops were buying but no-one seemed to be selling. Everyone recognised the bubble forming but Cryptofomo had not only taken hold but was spreading at what should have been an alarming rate. Of course there were naysayers, but every time the market made their predicted correction it would just as quickly bounce back with interest. People may not have understood exactly what it was they were buying, but they certainly understood that they couldn’t get enough of it. Demand for cryptocurrency continued to outstrip supply. Cash would soon be confetti.
Stephen WyattPublished 3 years ago in Futurism