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”.
Greyer and Keel
Haggard is what Keel would describe Greyer’s state to be. He suffered from black eyes, incurred occasionally through sleep deprivation, but mostly due to his knack for parading his hyper-masculine tendencies in the form of punches to the face, stomach, and, in rare occasions, the groin. These beatings to said features occurred on 55th and 3rd, 22nd and 8th, and on the platform of 14th Street Union Square, where he paced, waiting for the 6-train heading uptown. Greyer was not one to stand clear of the closing doors, and he often held up filled subway cars with his navy backpack, refusing to wait for the next train. As he was unwilling to tarnish his ego in this manner, those who challenged his right to stand wherever he wished were often ejected from the car and emptied out onto the platform.
A Locket Revolution
Under the November gray sky of twilight, Marcus pedaled his bicycle along the pitted highway of Route 24 which led from the village of Maumme. He could not fathom that this road once teemed with rushing motorized vehicles. Decades later this crumbling pavement was traveled by mules and horses pulling engineless automobile frames, human pedaled cycles of various sizes and styles and the rare solar cart. Upon leaving the sector gates of Maumme, Marcus glanced back at the night managers who climbed their ladders to ignite gas globes using long tapered brass torches. The golden hued glass orbs illuminated the main streets of the town, a glimmer of security during the long night hours of early winter. Maumme was one of the fortunate towns to have been granted a gas-powered lighting system by the Alliance of Lakes, the ruling government which spanned over North America’s Great Lakes region.
Connie JonesPublished 3 years ago in FuturismHomeward Bound
If there was ever a place my soul would zoom to after life, it would be this place. The soft buzz of summer, faded stripes on the highway winding up the hill, green grass hugging the edges of the cement. Sweet pea blooms tangling and unfolding from underneath barbed wire. Large lazy meadows graced with sun that race up into the high cliffs studded with redwoods. Mountains and mountains that disappear into the golden afternoon haze.
Hannah BrockPublished 3 years ago in FuturismCrisis 2.0
Don’t tell me how long it’s been. I know all too well when it happened, because my third child was born in the middle of a forest no more than a week after. He is 13 now, and we are still on the run. Everything I once knew has been destroyed. There is a new world now controlled by crooked men who thought it best for everyone to be forcibly directed. It was certainly a small price for them to pay to create what they are convinced is a utopia.
A.I.
Prologue The year is 8147, humanity is now an endangered species. There is no longer anything made naturally. The food—artificial. The water—artificial. Even the air is artificial.
Tiffany PhamPublished 3 years ago in FuturismDystopian Life
Sarah's POV: "Hey Ms.Davis" my therapist said greeting me. "Hey" I returned the gesture "How have you been holding up?" She asked me
The Water Lily Soul
Working in the conservatory that housed the Water Lily Pond was one of the far more desirable jobs on the entire plantation. It was a serene and calming place with the large pads beautifully stretched across the still water of the pool. The dank humidity that clung to the windows muted the sound outside and she found it deeply soothing to open the heavy glass door and feel the warmth inside billow over her. As she would squeeze her body in between the gap she always felt safest as the door weightily closed behind her. It also meant she was mostly left alone these days. Her work was good, and she rarely complained about anything. Her battle-weary Line-Commander was the only one who would ever appear and, even then, with suitable disinterest in anything other than fulfilling his own directives.
Chris SmithPublished 3 years ago in FuturismRed Sky
There were no sounds. It was not so long ago, this would have been a blessing. 2 months ago, the bark of angry and starving dogs pursued me 3 miles. Whenever I felt I had escaped them by climbing, or through a door which I closed behind me, or some other way not designed for the less intelligent on 4 legs, their desperation found a way around. So I was forced to run.
Going Nowhere
I’m standing outside of a bar called the Bridge to Nowhere, watching my kid blast off into the upper atmosphere; outbound for a better life.
Hank RyderPublished 3 years ago in FuturismGreen Heart
“How dare you defy me again!” His words are filled with a terrifying anger, and I am suddenly snapped to supreme awareness. I whirl around to see my husband filling the doorway with his presence.
The Portal
The Portal 3:33 in the morning, on a dark and rainy night in southern Spain. Another Magnificent echo of a city, buried in absolute plasma and mud. Another scene of horror. Was it 1893 or 3033? The thought didn’t resonate anymore. None remembered the ‘when’, or the ‘how’. All left were remnants of a muddied social control, or seekers of vengeance through flood. This night was a darker shade than usual, and more so than any other formerly. Imagine the cursed-red stained blood from the glorious petrified Cathedral’s crime scene floor was the reason for the tone. It was electric. It spoke to any who viewed it. The blood covered nearly half the main sanctuary. It had a certain eminence flowing up to the altar, to the large dome above. To be alive, even after removal. “Have you ever seen anything like this before, Inspector Venustas?” began the forensic officer. “I guess you haven’t been with us on the previous crime scenes?” she said with a sense of being aced to the whole situation. “This marks the fourth different crime scene, in all four different countries, by using the same M.O. on the victims and the buildings. “And you’ve followed it this far? What drives this kind of reckless anger? If you don’t mind me asking, Inspector”, the forensic officer said, blushingly. “Maybe sheer curiosity of where anger can go? Or maybe something else entirely?” She continued, “Each of these crime scenes have a certain quality to them, all of which are portraying uniqueness to the buildings we’ve seen so far”. While speaking, a heart-shaped locket fell from the top of her closed buttoned shirt as she was examining one of the numerous decapitated bodies, lying near the altar floor. “He is so reckless,” she stalled slightly, “but very methodically chaotic, if you can follow that thinking.” What was so reckless about that scene was that all the heads were removed, but yet the bodies were left strewn about, overlooked. “Why would he need the heads?” she thought aloud. “How do you know it is a ‘he’?” the forensic officer said, with a quite puzzled look. “I for one don’t think a woman could be so reckless and brutal…no offense,” she said proudly. While the forensic officer was thinking of something to respond to that remark, Inspector Venustas seemed to have dashed off, in search of more answers to this puzzling crime scene. She was standing quietly, near the decapitated bodies, gazing at her reflection in the pool of blood nearest to the front door. “There is something odd here,” she thought to herself. The Inspector would have thought this a form of clairvoyance had it not been for the slight buzz on her right pant leg. It was her phone buzzing. “Yeah,” she said almost as if rudely interrupted by the call. “Yeah, this is Specialized Crimes Director Noble, and I was wondering what Intel you have?” he said. She responded, “Right, hello sir,” and she continued, “As of right now, we seem to be stumped on the same situation as the previous 3.” “It seems that the heads are…I know sir…thank you sir…Goodbye sir,” she said rather quickly. “What would a SCD want that we could have just told him in the morning?” she thought. “Maybe the HEADS are taking extra precautions on this one?” said the forensic officer laughingly. “Maybe” she said, “or maybe…? Another Inspector calling to her from down what seemed to be the basement of the Cathedral suddenly stopped her. “Venustas!!” said he. “We’ve found the victims' heads, but there is more,” he continued. The Forensics’ officer looked at Inspector Venustas with amazement. “I’ll be there in a second,” she said, “Maybe I should call Director Noble back?
Silence and the End of All Things
We all expected the end of the world to be some loud, dramatic, catastrophic event. Maybe a meteor, or the Earth’s crust destabilizing. An ice age, or a great flood. For those more violent, perhaps thoughts of war and MAD, and even the wildest thoughts of an invasion of either extraterrestrial or domestic sort.