science fiction
The bridge between imagination and technological advancement, where the dreamer’s vision predicts change, and foreshadows a futuristic reality. Science fiction has the ability to become “science reality”.
A dune buggy of memories
A dune buggy travels through the streets filled with debris. Debris from cars that have not made it to their destination. In those cars charred remains of people who failed to get there. Ash filled the air all you can see is gray for miles. And that runs into a gray horizon. The vehicle does its job with its huge puncture free tires rolling over the remains of what seemed to be a neighborhood with pets and families. It is a mere shell of what it once was…alive. The man driving is unrecognizable in a gas mask to protect him from the toxic air. Military gear from head to toe as his boots hits the accelerator to get the buggy over multiple cars on this road of decay. As he is slowed down you see red eyes peer through the cloud of ash. Shadows seem to be gaining on the buggy. The man sees their approach as red eyes appear to have gained on him to his right sprinting atop of the houses next to him. He reaches to his passenger seat and pulls out a multiple barreled weapon with a revolving chamber. The green light from his weapon giving the user the aim he needs to make his shot. He pulls the trigger. The back fire makes him swerve as his target disappears behind an explosion. The growling is still coming as the red eyed creatures are still in the rearview. He knows that he has to get these red eyed creatures off his tail as he is coming to his destination. As his GPS alerts him by showing a blink hologram of location as it is to his final spot. He must get rid of them now!
Peter G HornbucklePublished 3 years ago in FuturismAlive Inside
Something caught in my upper gears and jammed. It made a sickening mechanical grinding noise inside my head. Then it whirred back and forth, trying first to back up and then to go forward over and over again without success. Reaching up to the sides of my neck, I switched the two metal brackets to the unlock position and rotated my head to remove it from my body. It twisted loose like a jar lid and came off in my hands with ease.
TheChrissyMaePublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Uninhabitable Zone
A superheated humid airstream slipped under the silent sails of the white electric aircraft encapsulating Urduja, traveling low over lands once familiar to some once upon a time, but now alien to most life. Long ago, the rainforest floors wilted, burned, and eroded, leaving behind a vast horizon of charred forest and expansive detritus, with even invasive hardy savannah grasses stunted and browned, struggling to cope. Grayscale were the skies, with the vaguest hint of blue. On crisp white letters somewhere over her retina HUD displayed 41 degrees Celsius and 43% humidity. Urduja knew that south of her destination in Bogota, once existed a vast rainforest stretching innumerable horizons, a cornucopia of life, teeming with a density of sounds and smells, of light particles shimmering off canopies and flowers.
Beau GarlandPublished 3 years ago in FuturismWinged Tomorrow
Entry Number 001 I haven't really tried one of these out for myself. I think my great grandparents called it Journaling. I'm board and this is one of the one things I did learn while in Basic knowledge videos.
Darian JacksonPublished 3 years ago in FuturismLong Drive
Perfect. Perfect. It was all perfect. She drummed her fingers in flawless rhythm against the cracked, sun-blistered skin of the steering wheel. The car she had chosen smelled like a dog left outside and cheap vacuums sucking up cigarette ash from an old shitty carpet. It wasn’t hers. She didn’t need a car, before.
Hayley DaggersPublished 3 years ago in FuturismBovine Crisis
Trista Langley watched as the last of the bubbles swirled down the bathtub drain. Luckily, they continued to disappear without hesitation, perhaps proof that this time at least, the hair clippings from her newly shaven legs hadn’t been as thick as usual.
Rhoda Tripp WritesPublished 3 years ago in FuturismArchived
Archived 1 The signal is all I am, all I can remember. I desire nothing other than its grace. There are flashes of other moments, other images, but as soon as I perceive them, they are washed away. A girl shouting as she shoves me from behind, the howls of a creature I cannot recognize, each reality vanishing as quickly as it forms. I try to identify the flashes, but the signal always sates my curiosity, always brings me back to the bliss of my unseen shroud.
The Heart-Shaped Lockett:
***Thank you for joining the New Government’s (re)Public Database. Your Neural Chip has [7 minutes] of time remaining.*** You are now reading: "The Heart-Shaped Lockett: Excerpts from Lockett’s Utopia: The Rise & Fall of America’s Perfect Society"
Eric PrincePublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Twenty Percent
Pollyanna Polcheck’s life had given her cause to think about her name. What glint of the eye, what waggle of the tightened first, what early wailing, had compelled her parents to name her Pollyanna? She could only conjecture, but she was nothing of the sort. It conjured images of a happy, smiling child, where Polcheck, as she would come to be known, was inscrutable, wild, and gifted with a genius that rendered her under stimulated as a child, and therefore, unhappy and unsmiling – the antithesis of a Pollyanna.
Danielle AgborPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Dare Games
“Long after The Collapse, perhaps decades or even centuries of a global power vacuum wars, society has started to rebuild. Technology production and development has started up. Government has begun to reform itself. One global government. It’s not as big as you think. 60% of the planet is uninhabitable or just too troublesome to try and survive on with the limited resources and technology that is available. No one really knows for sure what year it is we know it was 2065 when The Collapse tapped its music stand and began to conduct the government through its own slow, ominous funeral march, but was generations ago. My father’s generation was the first one to not be drafted, sold into slavery, or otherwise have their lives uprooted. A sort of ‘beginning of the end.’ Okay I’m exaggerating; the slavery thing was a short time period like 25 years ago and the roving gangs responsible have been dealt with. ONE village disappeared sometime in the middle of it all. It could have just been bombed to ash instantaneously and no one noticed amongst well, everything. At this point you’re probably like ‘Okay okay okay.. Phineas. Dude we got it. Shit sucks.’ Trust me. You don’t know the half of it; I haven’t even gotten to The Dare Games.”
Spirit of Fire
SPIRIT OF FIRE Rain fell and thunder roared in a beautiful suburban neighbourhood. The car careened through the streets at breakneck pace, tyres screeching on asphalt. Dana, wrestled with the wheel as she fled, pursued by two unmarked cars. In the passenger seat, Hansol bled profusely, he looked bad. Sweat matted his brow, pulse was low.
Poison
Well, that’s a kind of funny story. On a number of levels. You’ll see what I mean. It’s ironic really. Or, I think so. I’m always confused about the definition.
Troy GoldenthalPublished 3 years ago in Futurism