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”.
The Competition
Here’s the tourmaline water shimmering with an oily iridescence. Here are gelatinous tufts at the embankment edge littered by Styrofoam cups, green nylon netting, rusting trollies, plastic bottles and shopping bags, broken glass and disintegrating debris. This right here is the river. This right here is the time I can never get back. It’s easy, my sister said, to make some money when you’re clever. Just enter a writing competition. Just imagine pawning the heart-shaped locket your ex-girlfriend gave you. But the truth is, I don’t have a heart-shaped locket. I don’t have an ex-girlfriend. I’m not even a fully fleshed out human being at all. I’m just a quickly made-up character created to try and fulfil the needs of an imaginary audience. The strange thing is, there isn't any audience here, only a big market shaped hole where you put the words in and wait for the money to come out. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no need to create anything imaginary. I just need to walk right out of the compound and onto the street. There’s a pigeon whose crunched beak is baking in the November heat. That pigeon was alive yesterday and now it’s dead. Maybe it couldn’t find food. Maybe it couldn’t afford to live. Maybe it got hit by a car and wasn’t able to afford a trip to the vet. No biggie though. It’s just a pigeon, right? It’s just a pigeon whose crumpled face is squished in, whose intestines are sizzling on tarmac.
Cate CarlowPublished 3 years ago in Futurismnine eight nine, 2049
The heat felt like it was screaming curses into my skin and my sweat was its spit . The haze of warmth around me made it hard to focus on anything but the shrill of cicadas in the distance , but at times I swear I could hear the heat . other than that it was silent - between the white hot pavement and the empty streets filled with dust , this was a fucking ghost town.
Longing for Death
The ashes rise from the plume of smoke that fills the air. The ozone is filled with debris that block out most of the sun’s warmth. I can’t remember the last time I was truly warm… Dying in a nuclear explosion was the easiest pathway through the wake of humanities destruction. The world went from bad to worse before the bombs fell. We all knew it was a matter of time but shock still took me when I realized what had happened. For those who remain in the wasteland we envy those who perished within the flash of burning light. A bright light and then nothing more. No worries of finding your loved ones, no worries of finding clean water, no worries of being torn apart at your very soul from the lost you have endured.
Chris BrowderPublished 3 years ago in FuturismDoomsday Tuesdays
TUESDAY, 8TH OF SEPTEMBER 2020 We were meant to go to Mount Rushmore in like two weeks. We had suffered enough, no? Surely some small recompense was deserved, for all the shit that God threw at us this past year, y’know, light at the end of the tunnel, silver linings and all that. I think I’d have preferred the plagues from the Bible to the ones that infest us just lately. Yep, actually, on extended pondering I’ve determined that I would definitely prefer frogs and darkness to global pandemics and civil unrest.
Matthew BlundredPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe One Percent
The light was blinding as the door swung open. Pain shot from his skull down the spine as they jerked him to his feet by a handful of hair. As they dragged him down the hallway he knew today had to be the day. How long had He been there, how many years they been torturing him daily, has it only been months? If she was going to come for him, he would be free already. They must have her too. He had to tell them it was more than just a medallion. He had to convince them to pry it open and as it melted in front of them he could laugh and say that was it and then maybe just maybe they would end his suffering and question him no more.
Marcus WilliamsPublished 3 years ago in FuturismParthenogenesis
It was already evening, and the time you had remaining to get to your destination narrowed with every step you took on the green earth beneath your heavy legs.
Kaelyn RodriguezPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Collector
I really don’t like writing, but it’s my only option left. Have you ever found yourself thinking you were in one place only to discover too late you’re somewhere else completely? That’s where I found myself last week, and now that I realize how dire the situation is I must put it down in words, if not for future generations, to maintain my own sanity.
Ryan StellaPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Last File Left
He didn’t know how long he had been standing there. What windows were left were tint black and peeling, a vast, bleak and ebony wall, its broken mirrored gaze projecting little more than dust and air.
Yesterday Used to be Tomorrow
“Attention all citizens of Cottleville, This is an announcement from your local Greater Good Services. *short pause* For the Greater Good” an android-like voice spoke through the PA system.
Tyrel CurtisPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Girl
The sirens wailed, and again she broke into a run, scanning the skies for any sign of the deadly drones. She stumbled on a section of broken pavement protruding from the ground but managed to stay upright despite being off-balance. She was only a few steps from the shelter provided by an abandoned roadhouse she’d discovered just hours before. How long had she been on the run? Hours? Days? She had no idea. What she was clear about was what made her run. What she had witnessed had driven her into a wild panic. It had happened so quickly and it was over so quickly. Once the black cloud of drones had ascended back into the heavens, the carnage they left behind was grotesque. People, one by one, had begun dying in the streets.. All around , men, women children convulsing and gasping for breath, then bleeding from their eyes and noses until they strangled in their own fluids. Yes, she had begun running then…running in a blind stupor. For how long? How long ago was it? Why was she still alive? Who was sounding the sirens warning of impending disaster?
eileen waitePublished 3 years ago in FuturismDisco Queen
Charlotte watches her idol, the renowned Darrell Kevans, perform center stage at Studio 54. He is her disco king as the music blares and colored stage lights flash off and on behind him. Soft waves, skintight pants, a see-through shirt with a hint of man fur peeking out make her temperature rise. She cuts through the crowd. Positioning herself in the first row, she moves her hips and raises her arms overhead; the music overtakes her. Her lip-glossed smile hypnotizes him on stage. He stumbles over his lyrics then winks at her. She removes her necklace, tosses her perfumed heart-shaped locket at him, and then darts from the crowd.
Samia AfraPublished 3 years ago in FuturismRaised By Metal
The end came sooner than expected, and not in the way they had prepared for. Natural cataclysms and nuclear holocausts had been narrowly avoided by the sudden and stinging collapse of the family. Mia O’Nosel had not been the first, but a picture of her grasping an open locket quickly tantalized and tormented the public. In it, she was holding someone’s hand, her big round eyes looking out, lost and oblivious, while a small portrait of her mother dangled, smiling against her chest.