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”.
Astronauts Don't Wear Pink
Melancholic slivers of sunlight break through a heavy, moody mist to reveal the desolate city below. A capital almost lost under the layers of nuclear snow. The wind still viciously swirling the remains of eight billion souls. I could almost smell the pungent odour of burning and death. The picture on the tablet began to pixelate. The screen froze on an image of a palace reduced to rubble. Peeking out of its white coffin was a gilded bronze statue, strewn in the snow and long forgotten. All that remains visible of the goddess Victory is her extended arm, forever frozen in one final plea.
undertherowantreePublished 3 years ago in FuturismDystopia
The humans, now extinct, had a word for it, a terrible and hopeless place, a place where existence was a constant penance: dystopian. Unit 36749 had never processed the significance of the word until it gazed from the deployment pod and into the green organic world it was there to gather data on.
Jared DavidsonPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Utopia Trials
Heaven is here inside this black hole. Not a hand to wave in front of my face, not bone ebbed to sinew to roll on the joints, to relax, to tighten the insulating muscle around, the warmest thing in the world-- is my body, sagged against the crooked wall of the cave. Now the darkness is my sanctuary. I can breathe, the cool air circles through me. My clothes were too heavy. I allow just this one thing to touch me: this necklace, and its light push against my pulse. It’s heart shaped, some times I trace my finger around its cool edges. Some times I play with the chain, push the locket like a moonsliver, up and down. I focus on this, the swathe of the dark around my form, the holy quiet I have found down here. Not a body to see, not a body to hurt. The darkness is all that there is.
Emily JeanPublished 3 years ago in FuturismBlank Slate
For years, we had lived in peace. I remember the stories my father had told us about the past. How we were divided and everyone was so full of hatred. That was before “they” came. They changed everything. Those who remember have not yet been taken. They do things to you in the sky, when you come back you are a completely different person. That’s how we lost my mother.
An Uncertain Future
Laura looked up at the sky and wondered for the billionth time what things were like before the event. She shook her head, she couldn’t think like that, she had to focus. They needed to find food and get to shelter before the heat of the day really began to get bad. Her mother had been young when the event happened and most of what she talked about was the heat and how it hadn’t been this hot back then. Scientists had warned of the potential risks if mankind did not find an alternative to fossil fuels in the next 5 years. Their timeline had been a bit…optimistic. Not that many people had believed them anyway. She liked to think she would have believed the scientists if she’d lived before the event. Laura didn’t much care for the heat and wished she could have experienced the times her mother reminisced about to her. She liked to think she could have done something, if she had just been there, to preserve those wonderful times so many had taken for granted.
Brenna SmithPublished 3 years ago in FuturismIron Man
Drift flapped down from the sky, covered the ground in an ever rising white barrier. kkkkkk--hhueuhh… kkkkkkkk….hueeehhh Long, drawn out, purposeful breaths through the mask, interrupted only by the tick...tick…ticking of the rad marker. The snow washed waste stretched out before the metal beast as it sat in its decomposing recliner, acting as sentinel before the hatch in its yard. A holster rested on its hip, a magnum occupying the space inside it. Wrecked houses with warped trees growing throw them, a television running only static, a burnt and broken skeleton sitting on a corroded couch before it. Rusted cars with various logos and skeletons in various garb litter the street in front of it’s seat.The wind blew through the field of leveled houses and strange trees, depositing frost against the metal casing of the watcher. As the wind kicked up, a new sound filled the air. A clink against the exoskeleton of it. A golden locket, fashioned in the shape of a heart. It stared on through the field, keeping its watch. It scanned the field of broken buildings as the locket shifted in the wind. The wind whispered in its ear as it passed by. Through the metal it could hear the wind’s words.
James ThebergePublished 3 years ago in FuturismUncanny Silicone Valley
July 28, 2042 The disruptive blare of the alarm snapped my attention from my oodle device to the screen on the wall ahead of me. All around the compact room, my delivery team adopted the same course of action. Each person looked to the large monitor with faces that emoted something bordering between excitement, nervousness, and anxiety.
Heart-Keepers
Heart-Keepers This day was not going how Sycus was hoping. The plan was simple; infiltrate the heart keepers, take the lockets, and get somewhat of a life back; one that didn’t hold the fear of being controlled by a corrupt organization. “Theseus what is happening down there? The captains just went by, if they spot us were sky fodder!” Sycus said. Theseus, the brains of the operation and the best hacker this side of High Chicago, was to make sure the plan went somewhat smoothly. So far he wasn’t doing that job very well.
Kevin SigstadPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Things I do Have
“SMACK” My cheek hit the concrete, and I could feel the small rocks in my palms as I tried to lift myself from the pavement.
Mitchell G KressinPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Continuing.
This story has a beginning and of course as most things do an end, But in this story you will also find something quite peculiar.. a continuing. It takes place in the city of Manchester, England. In the year 2298.
Renegade
Renegade - By Fiona Mackenzie The year is 2086… A field three times the size of a superbowl stadium. Packed with screaming fans.
Above Ground
We were crouching behind a dumpster. I was too terrified to acknowledge the stench of stewing garbage assaulting my nose. The moisture between Karina and I’s intertwined fingers intensified as she hugged our palms together tightly. We were both sweating profusely from our marathon sprint in the stifling heat to our current hiding place. Our threadbare clothes were molding to our bodies like a second layer of skin. Time wasn’t in our favor as the horde of daywalkers began to close in on us. There was no escape; we were going to die.
Kennedy LavingtonPublished 3 years ago in Futurism