literature
Science fiction's most popular literary writers from Isaac Asimov to Stephen King and Frank Herbert, and the rising stars of today.
The Survivors: Chapter Two
As the sun began to set, I started to shove things into my bag. My heart raced as I grabbed as much off the shelves as I could. I packed our first aid supplies, our remaining food and water, a flashlight, as well as some fire starting materials. I paused for a second to take a deep breath before continuing to pack. “Everything is going to be okay,” I repeated to myself. Deep breath in, slow exhale. I stopped putting things in my bag to help Emm pack hers.
Katie MoorePublished 6 years ago in FuturismThe Survivors
It’s been about twenty-eight days since the first person started showing signs; now over half of the people in the town are dead and whoever is still alive is already sick. No one knows how it started and we sure as hell don't know when it’s going to end, IF it’s going to end. The only thing we know for sure is that our town is quarantined. My dad has moved us into a bunker that he built next to the house. I have no clue how he built this without us knowing, but I have a feeling that this room is what’s going to save our lives. Dad worked in the labs for as long as I can remember. He would go to work early and come back late. But weeks before the outbreak, he changed. He sat in his office and only left for work. I never thought of my dad as a paranoid man, but obviously he had a reason to be. He had inside knowledge and was sure something was going to happen. Now I realize he just wanted to keep us safe, and he knew something was coming before it even started.
Katie MoorePublished 6 years ago in FuturismAlex The Inventor - Chapter 10 (Pt.1)
Chapters 1 - 9 can be read at: Deep Sky Stories & Illustrations Chapter 10 (Part 1) - A Vital Dream-Vision Stepping back a few hours in time and following Big Ben's thoughts of his young Master, one would come upon a large brick and glass building in the heart of Delta-Town that was very unlike Alex's cozy old house. Dawn broke over Delta Hospital much too soon for the boy in the white-sheeted bed. Everything smelled too clean and the blanket on the bed felt too thin and cool on him for it to belong to his bed. The blankets he was used to were woolly and heavy on top and all around him like a small, warm cave. No, this bed didn't feel like his at all, it was too stiff and crinkly.
G.F. BrynnPublished 6 years ago in FuturismTraveler
*Please note: This is my original work and has not, in any way, been plagiarized. I respectfully ask that readers do not plagiarize after myself. Thank you.
Ubermensch
The science fiction and fantasy genres have been greatly inspired by American Mysticism and Spiritualism, beginning mostly with the new religious movements of Theosophy and Rosicrucianism. These genres present themselves in new religious movements through the mythemes of alienation, radiation, and mutation. These genres have also had a significant effect on new religious movements by instilling in people a belief in a greater universe of fantasy and magic from within a fiction text.
Josh WhiteheadPublished 6 years ago in FuturismSword of Gaerus 1-1
The Bar was just another Inn in another town with a new sea of faces that are not worth the trouble to remember. The three brutes up near the innkeeper are trying to start a quarrel. The lone man in the corner did not wish to get involved, and why should he? He has spent the last decade or two getting involved in other people’s matters, other village’s problems, the Kingdom's wars. What did it get this man? Ridicule from his friends and family, shunned from his village, and afraid of getting closer to people in fear that his past would harm them, either emotionally or physically; he felt they would get hurt. An immense feeling of loneliness.
Fog of War
The ground shuddered with each and every impact of the morning's bombardment. The number of shells hitting the enemy line was so immense that each thud merged with the next, each crack of the detonations became one endless sound. The wet mud of the trenches vibrated, the ripples hitting one another, loosening the caked walls of the trench.
Simon McbridePublished 6 years ago in FuturismThe Storm Of Last November
This is how it ends, or at least how it ends for me. I don't know if I'm the last man alive or not, but I could be. I haven't seen another person for at least two winters I guess, but I could be wrong since it's always winter.
L.B. Joshua SaylorPublished 6 years ago in FuturismAlex the Inventor - Chapter 9 (Pt. 2)
Chapters 1 - 8 can be read at: Deep Sky Stories & Illustrations Chapter 9 (Part 2) - ...and a Weird Doctor His grin was just as gritty and wide and his eyes were even wider. They gazed starkly through the heavy shadows and never once blinked, as though searching to find one small specific person. In the vague, shifting shadows, it was remarkable how even the weak front porch light of the Faraway's home was able to illuminate the ivory white face of the stiffly shuffling doctor Kirstt. Any other soul who happened to be traveling on the same farming road at that late hour would likely sense an unsettling, musty coldness in the doctor's wake and would want to keep well away.
G.F. BrynnPublished 6 years ago in FuturismNeurothought Issue 0.5
The horns of taxis sound as the citizens walk through the city. Like sheep... all of them... shuffling along to their deaths. Or their families... but I don't see the difference. Bank City's got nothing on any other city in the world. Besides the fact that John Davison started his empire here, and that the dude who died on Mars lived here. But my target here is not for money, not for any relics. It's for the vengeance. Melvyn Graves, the man I'm here for. Graves is my second stop on my rampage across the world looking for The Russian, the man who had my wife killed. I came close to him looking for Lao, but I never got the chance to strike. Never even saw his face. But that voice. I'll never forget it. That deep Russian accent. If only my recorder still worked. I could have The Russian's real name in minutes. But I have to do this the hard way. My way.
Aidan O'KanePublished 6 years ago in FuturismKa
Cries of a newborn...those vibrations that embody within them the very essence of life, resonated throughout the cold, metallic, and plastic room heated only by warm bodies; mainly the mother’s. She was calm and serene as her premature son’s skull protruded impatiently into an inhospitable orb ruled by laws, both produced and predetermined. The birth was painless. He was wet with one part oxygen, two parts hydrogen, womb, and blood. They named him Enoch, after his grandfather.
David WarrenPublished 6 years ago in FuturismNeurothought Issue 0
Shanghai, China. Beautiful city during both day and night, but what's under the city is the part they'd prefer to keep hidden. Drug runners, human trafficking, every crime you could possibly think of. There's petty crime, sure, but what's that compared to the stuff I'm contracted to do. Knocking off kingpins, executing cops threatening to tell. It's a wonder I can still sleep at night. I guess I've just gotten used to it.
Aidan O'KanePublished 6 years ago in Futurism