literature
Science fiction's most popular literary writers from Isaac Asimov to Stephen King and Frank Herbert, and the rising stars of today.
aMUSEment
Darkness. All that surrounds me is apathetic darkness. I slowly adjust to my surroundings. Nothing, nothing is surrounding me. I look around, but all I can see is the apathetic darkness. Far above me, a light begins to form as a soft glow filling the emptiness of the dark, and a shiver pointed out how cold I truly was.. The warmth of the light soon reaches me, and I am bombarded with an abundance of positive emotions. The faint, warm, glow gently caressed me, surrounding me in its yellow-orange warmth.
Kitty FermengsPublished 3 years ago in FuturismA Librarian's Tale
Andrew was a quiet man who had worked as a librarian for many years. He was married, then divorced, then remarried, with no children of his own. He mostly kept to himself, only really reprimanding students when their volume grew too loud as they spoke about their late night wanderings around campus and beyond. He had taken the job of a local campus librarian four years ago to work closer to home in an attempt to spend more time with his wife. Things weren’t going well.
Jenny HynesPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Loom
It was tucked up against my chest under the layers of shirts and with every step I could feel the soft leather cover against my skin. I tightened the belt around the outside of my coat which acted as a barrier keeping the precious notebook from sliding down away from me.
Signatures
“Shh...I know, it’ll be okay.” Mary gently pushed back the curly hair from Ellie’s face. Mud was dispersed over the knees of Ellie’s leggings and dirt was speckled on her forehead...in her hair...Ellie had taken a pretty big tumble. She wasn’t seriously hurt, thankfully, Mary thought. Just a little shaken up. Mary brushed the dirt from Ellie’s forehead, as she bounced back and forth humming softly. Slowly, her two-year-old got quiet and rested her head on Mary’s shoulder.
Gabriella DawsonPublished 3 years ago in FuturismCoventry
The weather was unusually warm that morning; the barrel was no longer frozen solid. Usually only the water in the deep inner storage was in liquid form when the sun first rose. Usually the barrel, abandoned at the entrance, was a immovable block of ice. Something was different. Not a lot. Just a little.
Rebecca LuptonPublished 3 years ago in FuturismPaper
“Nia. Come back to the surface. Over.” “Another minute, I almost have—" “Another minute and you’re free diving, Nia. Just please, come back. Over.”
How Curious
Eddie walks with shoulders slumped and uncomfortable in his way too tight red cardigan sweater and tan Docker's pants down the crowded subway corridor.
Christopher RobertssonPublished 3 years ago in FuturismTusk Glass
It was Trimalchio Tusk, one of the American Elect who could honestly claim to be 1/10th of a trillionaire, who stood before what a perspicacious passerby would assume was a replica of The Monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. This wondrous spectacle of Hollywood memorabilia, stuck in the white sands of Carmel-by-the-Sea’s beach, featured a small troop of baboons, sheltering within a sliver of shade cast by this sun-transformed sundial scaling 20 feet into the sky.
Jon C. HopwoodPublished 3 years ago in FuturismEscaping reality
“Everything comes with a price. What is to give light must endure burning”. That was the first line she read on what it seemed to be an ordinary little black book. Little did she know that the book was neither ordinary nor random.
The Interminable Life of Emma
There, sat a wise little girl. Wiser beyond her years, little did she know before going into the woods to sit with nature on this beautiful Sunday, spring afternoon. Emma, she who had a sensation and feeling of knowing that her life would simply fall into place. Never questioning and never doubting. Emma, this eleven year old little girl, simply knew she had to stop the chaos around her by being still in her little corner in her neck of the woods. On the ledge of the tree trunk, Emma sat and pondered about her ancestors and how there will one day be a version of herself, long in the future, whom she wishes she could help the next “mini-me” she called in her mind, unknowingly realizing spirit could hear her.
Alexandra BlightPublished 3 years ago in FuturismLife Unwritten
It had been passed down for generations since what seemed like the dawn of time. Those who protected it were chosen by a select council made up of men and women who were chosen carefully and secretly by someone who was even more careful and secret. That someone was so secret that no one knew who they were either. This Little Black Book. The Holy Grail of recycled paper and leather. This little book designed to look so ordinary it was beautiful. So simple it was refined. And it held secrets to the very human civilization that existed today. Those that knew the Order of Caretakers even existed spent every moment of every day making sure that no one knew that they knew, because everyone knew what happened when someone slipped up. They knew the consequences of exposing the knowledge that this book existed, Well, they didn’t actually know what the consequences were, but they knew they were a secret within a secret, and of course, with that many secrets involved it must be very dire. Something truly horrible and unthinkable. Like pancakes with no maple syrup, pizza with no pineapple, or, and I can hardly think about this, it's so horrible, a Canadian who never ever apologizes. All things that even the most horrible person would admit, go way way too far into uncharted territory. And no one likes uncharted territory because it is, well, so, uncharted. So, according to those who were chosen to remember and to protect this little black book held within its pages the answer to something important. Right?
Johanna de BoerPublished 3 years ago in FuturismFloating Girl, Sunken Man
After the business of shooting Anne was over, Denys alone was to take care of the witch notes. She had given no instruction on how to safely do it. Indeed, she had denied they carried the touch of the devil at all, which left him blessing a bolt of linen and shearing it into strips. He made mitts of them and fashioned a sling to carry the slippery tan stacks, spurning the touch of their gleaming bodies.
Mallory PalmerPublished 3 years ago in Futurism