fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
Little Black Book
There’s a narrow corridor, with the faint sounds of rumbling and chaos approaching. The quality of wood on the floor and walls is a dead giveaway that this is an old, worn out ship at sea. Statements like “It’s him!” and “It was him the entire time! He’s over here” become gradually louder. A man in decrepit, gothic clothing slams into a wall at the end of the corridor as he turns the corner. He is fumbling down the hallway in exhaustion, as the rough boat crew members close in on him. The white dress shirt underneath his brown vest is badly worn out, and filthy. He sprints to the end of the hall, where the captain’s quarters are located. Busting open the door, the captain turns to him. The man strikes the captain with the last bit of energy he has left, knocking him to the ground. For some reason, he is frantically searching for a writing utensil. “Quill, where’s a quill….come on”, the man says. The messy table is violently cleared of contents, exposing only a quill and ink. The man pulls out a little black notebook. He is shaken, desperately trying to remain composed enough to dip the quill. He begins to write in the journal as fast as he can, while simultaneously looking up at the doorway. The crew is getting close. The man tries to get his thoughts together as writes the finishing touch in his journal. The captain starts to regain consciousness, grunting as he opens and closes his eyes. The man notices, and gets one last dip in the ink before he backs up against the wall. Crew members obliterate the door from vicious entry and see their downed captain loading his gun to shoot his attacker, and they direct their weapons towards the man. During this moment, the man adds his final scratch to the notebook. He quickly looks at the crew with wide eyes, then the captain, then at an object on the floor that causes a slight crack of a smile. It’s a spilled bag of gold coins. He grabs it, and as soon as they open fire on him, he vanishes.
By Mitchell Blackburn6 years ago in Futurism
When in the Desert
A gust of wind wakes me. I raise my head, which hasn’t stopped pounding, off the rather comfortable rock I confided in to comfort me while I rest. Taking a mid-day hike in the Mojave Desert probably isn’t one of my greatest ideas. Though it beats some of my other proclaimed 'great ideas.' Like the time I got drunk and forgot I was lactose intolerant. Was the pint of rocky road worth it? Not exactly. But it was better than believing my girlfriend of two years would commit to doing distance with me while she would backpack Eastern Europe. I guess it would have been a good idea if it hadn’t resulted in her breaking up with me through this tiny black notebook we decided to send back and forth to one another. It was supposed to keep us close while being apart. She said there wouldn’t be a moment in her life that I wouldn’t be a part of, and I suppose she at least saw that promise thhrough. Would I have preferred a phone call? Goodness no. With the words engraved on this page, I at least can see her regret in triple underlining “This is my mistake.” And I wouldn’t have had the same clarity as provided through her extensive use of all caps in sentences like, “I didn’t sleep with her because of YOU, it’s because of ME, what I’M going through.”
By Taylor Zavala6 years ago in Futurism
Blackest of Books
Blackest of Books I woke up, stretching for the most annoying alarm clock you have ever heard. To realize my rooster had broken into my freaking room. Have you ever woke up and grabbed a rooster? It is not something you expect. I screamed, he crowed, and I fell out of my bed. He fluttered out of my window of my room and this is where the story takes a strange turn. Yes, already, don’t judge me. My rooster, his name for record is Kakaw AKA, Shithead, fluttered out and within a moment I heard a horn of a car and heavy braking. Throwing a shirt on I ran outside; I did however forget pants. There I stood with my blue deer boxers and my green shirt. Feathers drifted down onto the blacktop in the early morning sun with the black car sitting still. On the side the car had the word Book in black letters with white outlining. My head instantly went to a black book, but on wheels. Already a strange morning I would say. Moving up the blacked-out windows, the door opened.
By Timmy Joseph6 years ago in Futurism
The Time Capsule
No one wants to handle the dead when they may be contagious. She learned that early on. As the virus spread, her freezers could no longer contain the deceased. No amount of N-95 masks, social distancing and other personal protective equipment could quell the tingle in the throat of her support staff. Most of them quit early on. Too stricken with the stress of catching it. Too worried about those at home they couldn’t bring those types of problems to. She respected their decisions. As an employer, she did all she could for her beauticians, for her facility manager, her fleet manager, and her grounds keepers. She made sure they wouldn’t go under while the country tried to figure out how to move forward. She stayed, of course, because she had no one to go home to anymore—and it was her duty to the dead to lay them to rest with dignity.
By Jessica S. Carter6 years ago in Futurism
The Lighthouse
“Seven… Twelve… Sixteen… Twenty-One… Thirty-Three… Forty-Two.” Came the crackling monotone voice of the announcer through the rusted loudspeaker. One would think I should be ecstatic that my numbers were selected to win $35,000,000. But that number is just for show because after the government takes off 99% of all income and other fees are paid, the winner only gets $20,000. Should be enough for at least a week’s vacation. I will collect it after my shift today, the winners have forty-eight hours to collect their money before they are presumed unable to collect and a repick is made.
By Dwayne Chapman6 years ago in Futurism
The Dreamer Doesn't Wake
No one knows how the world began; there are only guesses, at best, to how this tiny sphere hurtling through the universe managed to span life—generations building and building until there was a populace. And that populace required a reason for being.
By Jillian Spiridon6 years ago in Futurism
I'm Write about Tomorrow
Eldridge Grayson was probably one of the unluckiest men who had ever graced this planet. He was neither black nor white. He was neither Jew nor Christian though his mother was fair and Jewish, and his father was black and Christian. He perhaps felt a little more affinity towards his Jewish clan for the simple reason he had been raised by his Jewish grandmother. However, every time she attempted to indoctrinate him into Judaism, his father would swoop in and declare that his child was not going to be a Jew. Eldridge’s grandmother would contest by saying Jews are born through their mothers. She had tried to get Eldridge circumcised when he was a babe, and his father swooped in and declared, “not my child.” She had wanted to enroll him in Hebrew school. His father appeared at the doors of the shul one day, saying, “I did not approve of my son coming to Hebrew school. After which, his father then asked him, “aren’t you glad that I got you out of that?” To which Eldridge replied, “Father, I want to go to Hebrew school. “
By Michael Lee Tucker6 years ago in Futurism
Black Magic
There was this young man who found a little black book one night. He opens the book and it has some names in the book, people that he knows, famous black people, like Rosa Parks, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. etc. So he asks around about this book, to his friends and family, and people don’t know what to tell him about it. So he takes it to someone that he knows, that knows about ancient African spiritual practices, and he instantly tells him that this book is enchanted with some sort of black magic, and that he has heard of these type of books before, and that he has heard that these type of books grant special powers to who ever finds it. So the wise old man goes on to say that the other names that appear in the book were previous owners of the book and by writing your name in this book, you will be granted what it is that you desire the most. So the young man decides to write his name in the book since he is now the owner of the book and see what he is granted.
By Rashid Ali Swanson6 years ago in Futurism
The Little Black Book
It all started on that cold autumn day in October. The leaves on the trees were a beautiful vibrant mixture of golds, oranges, yellows and reds. I was strolling through the woods with my favorite song playing on my phone, "Little Black Book" by Belinda Carlisle. As I continued to walk with my face looking down towards the ground. I noticed something black that was barely visible within the leaves on the ground. My curiosity got the best of me as I reached down and picked it up. It was a little black book that filled me with extreme excitement as I began to read the contents of the book. The first page said Lori Douglas you are a winner of $20,000. I thought to myself that this must be a prank of some kind and looked around for any hidden cameras or my friends hiding behind the trees, but there was no one in sight. It was if everyone had vanished from the face of the earth.
By Lori Douglas6 years ago in Futurism
