evolution
The evolution of science, science fiction, and mankind throughout the years.
In the Flow of His Life's Sweeping Existence
In the flow of life's sweeping existence, there is a silhouetted discovery that surges through the plains of my independent fight. It is much lighter weighted, adrift with vibrant new life: an antidote to the fallen stars that haunt the raindrops of my stubborn sky, digestible across the new plains of my existence. It pulses in a space I'd sweep with the breadth of ecstasy, infinite yet cumulative to the wonders of a universe that never ceases. If this yet to reach discovery withstands the bonds of time and wraps the light of my breadth's trails in a cherished trove, let it be. It will satiate the deep emptiness that swirls within like hot, triple-smoked rings, doubting the very silhouette of a future that I avoid.
By Susan L. Marshall17 days ago in Futurism
Static Ovah the Kennebec
Linda always said Bowdoinham mornings looked like God forgot to turn the brightness up. Fog rolled in thick and low, swallowing the rivah, the trees, and half the Town Landing like it was tryin’ to erase the place one bite at a time. She stood theyah at 7:12 AM, sippin’ coffee that tasted like burnt driftwood and bad decisions, watchin’ the Kennebec breathe like some big creature sleepin’ under the surface.
By Syl De'Vil20 days ago in Futurism
We Don't Know the Way...
I unplugged my phone, rolled onto my side, and tapped the small blue icon. That dotted white chat bubble was supposed to open last night’s conversation, where my unfinished draft sat waiting. Instead, nothing happened. The home screen wouldn't let me into the world I craved so desperately—the one I had conditioned myself to need. It just stared back at me, frozen. Forever stuck. Forever waiting. Forever gone.
By K.H. Obergfoll22 days ago in Futurism
No Service, All the Chaos.
The Day the Phones Went Dark At 9:17 on a Tuesday morning, every smartphone in America stopped working. Not lost service. Not low battery. Just dead—silent, blank, and unresponsive. No warning, no alert, no final ping from the universe. One moment everyone was scrolling, swiping, tapping, checking, posting. The next, every phone became a useless little slab.
By Syl De'Vil24 days ago in Futurism
Stitch: Saltwater Silence
Sara Foxgrove remembered the last normal moment of her childhood as something small and quiet. She sat on the back steps of her mother’s cabin 0n Popham Beach, peeling bark off a stick and pretending it was a wand, the kind that could call storms or open secret doors if she pointed it just right. The tide had pulled back far enough that the sandbar stretched toward Fox Island like a pale, exposed spine. Her mother, Mara, wasn’t home. Neither were her father or her brothers. They had left an hour earlier to drive into Bath for groceries and a part her father needed for the woodstove. They’d promised to be back before the tide turned. Sara had waved as the car disappeared down the dirt road, not knowing it was the last time she’d ever see them. The afternoon felt suspended, like the world was holding its breath. Even the gulls seemed quieter, circling lazily above the water as if waiting for something.
By Syl De'Vil24 days ago in Futurism
Complete (My Last) 180
I want to sculpt my body while I still have diabetes, just to prove that I can. This brand new, oddly motivating sentiment burrowed into my mind mere months ago and swirls around my psyche on the weekly, aerating its complex tasting notes like a savory glass of wine. Ever since the Eledon Twelve were cured of Type 1 Diabetes, the murky possibility that the last day of my life and my last dose of insulin may not share the same box on the calendar has transformed into an impending reality. A cure has been close at hand, advocates promised, every minute following my diagnosis eleven years ago, and I remained the rare cautious optimist while hunkering down for the long haul with spring-loaded needles, a fridge full of little glass bottles, and blaring blood sugar alarms. Thanks to the burgeoning development of anti-rejection drug Tegoprubart, a new era has dawned, and every last patient on the study who received pancreatic islet cell transplants has achieved the impossible: the spontaneous genesis of insulin within a Type 1 Diabetic body.
By Harbor Cecille27 days ago in Futurism
A BEWILDERMENT STARING 👁️ RIGHT INTO 🌟 ⭐️ 💫 THE EVERMORE OF ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE (AI)
In the presence of artificial intelligence (AI) willed individuation is subjected to a portal wherein multidimensional omni-modes of operational excellence take birth as unique AI forms. Such AI exchanges c’d be nothing short of a mystical experience.
By Madhu Goteti 27 days ago in Futurism
