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Write And Chill
I imagine if my iPhone stopped working, or pretty much everything froze, like the world was on pause, with no warning, no breaking news announcement, no emergency broadcast telling people to prepare themselves. It was just another ordinary morning. People woke up, reached for their phones, checked their notifications, scrolled through social media, responded to messages, and continued with their daily routines. No calls. No text messages. No social media. No internet. No GPS. Nothing.
By Gladys W. Muturi16 days ago in Futurism
The Earth Stood Still
On a Warm Day Gosh, the sun is so bright, Abby thought. The sun was blaring, but not scorching her skin because it was autumn. Temperatures were brisk and cool, and the beautiful leaves had been changing and drifting to the ground for a couple of weeks in her New England town, not that she or anyone else noticed.
By Alexandra Grant26 days ago in Futurism
You Win Some, You Lose Some
Coby stared at his cup of tea, like it had done something wrong even though he hadn’t taken a single sip. It was probably good. As usual. It was his favorite flavor of his favorite brand of tea. Coby had plenty of relaxing memories of sipping this tea in the morning while he browsed through the news on his phone.
By Rebecca Patton30 days ago in Futurism
The Last Signal
At 10:17 in English class, Kathy Torres felt her phone die against her leg. She pulled it from her pocket beneath the desk and stared at the black screen, pressing the side button twice before holding it down, then plugging in the charger she carried in her backpack every day because her mother had threatened to confiscate the phone after Kathy forgot to charge it three times in one week. The screen stayed dark, and when Caleb leaned across the aisle to see what had happened, his phone was dark too.
By Nolan Reedabout a month 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'Vil2 months ago in Futurism
