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”.

ENDLESS NOTHING
ENDLESS NOTHING It feels like we’re in the boardroom of a big bank. Gray concrete walls and big wooden doors, just like the meeting table. As the room appears to be on the top floors of a Manhattan skyscraper, the Chrysler building can be seen to the north. Suddenly, in this cold and detached atmosphere, we hear a cry: “Dr Schmitt ! You have two doctorates in human biology and an IQ of 170 ! It's more than Einstein's for Christ’s sake ! How can you not find what is wrong with the humans established in the new colony ?!? They haven't had any social interaction since they arrived ! Do you think we're going to repopulate the planet with eunuchs ?!
By Laurent Cambon5 years ago in Futurism
Red Dirt
"Give me a whiskey and Shiner. And some more whiskey, Kathy. Please." Juana peered up from her own drink to see an elderly woman wearing a jumpsuit red with Martian soil, splotched with random strips of duct tape. Her face was worn and hard. Gray and black hair pulled back in a bun made specifically for fitting inside of a pressure suit helmet. She looked like she could kick your ass before baking you an apple pie as she kissed away your boo boos.
By Thomas Hernandez5 years ago in Futurism
The Fanged Lady
Two men stand outside a saloon, one has an eyepatch, the other a beanie made from rat hair. “So you ready?” Said the man with the eyepatch.
By Jack5 years ago in Futurism
Introspection
In Saint Belyaev's hospital room 113, Dr. Robert Sawyer looks at a computer screen. He strokes his wrinkled and freckled right hand through his grey, widows-peak hair. It’s an act of stress and anxiety: the heartache and pain that he feels are enormous… instead of a grand breakthrough, his nuclear bunker contemporaries would have an ‘I told you so’ moment. He looks at his computer screen, which has chromosomes and DNA spirals of varying lengths on it.
By Grant Phillips5 years ago in Futurism
Dear Goldie
From: Daryl LamieurTo: Goldie Tempa RE: Our Future Dear Goldie, It’s a cruel world, but know that I will always love you.
By L Dean Oliver5 years ago in Futurism
The Alarm.
‘Beep’. The alarm had begun. And although she knew it was coming, she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Would it be deafening, inescapable-how would she cope? Its gentleness had surprised her; it was low, melodic and warmly soothing like a row boat on a slow, steamy river. So far, she’d heard two; the one that had woken her up, and the one that had interrupted her breakfast of canned chicken soup.
By C Noelle5 years ago in Futurism
Milk
Catherine woke up in the dark. Her head throbbed. The last thing she could remember, she and her daughter were playing in their front yard. That felt like a hundred years ago. “OLIVIA!!!” She screamed until her throat was raw. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness she could see three dirty walls and row of slimy iron bars in front of her. She was a prisoner.
By Kerri Chisum 5 years ago in Futurism
All In
I break from shaving Nero’s head to feel my baby trying to kick his way out. At least I assume it’s a him, with the strength of a football player – or maybe a ballet dancer. Either way, thankfully, this little one is fierce and mighty.
By Karena Graca5 years ago in Futurism
Genesis In Reverse
Have you ever wondered what it means to have been made in "God's" image? As a man of science, I didn't care much for such a thought. However, since creation, be it cosmic or divine, a lot's changed.
By Marukichi5 years ago in Futurism
Down Memory Lane
I was 30 years old when memory tech started to become mainstream. In the beginning, it was used for older patients; particularly those suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Of course, you needed the embedded bio software to utilize it, which many older folks were afraid of.
By Katlyn Kerss5 years ago in Futurism
A Heart of Brass
The first time I met David Scott through the lens of my tight brown leather gasmask, he was clutching a heart-shaped locket made from the brass that he had stolen off the tops of garden taps. Carefully placing it in my grasp he claimed that he melted them down, by rubbing them on his denim jeans, causing such friction that they could be moulded into the locket. “Probably should’ve taken them off first. The bugger damn near burnt my dick off” He casually joked. In reality, it was probably the constantly exacerbating heatwaves that made this possible, but I didn’t want to argue with this unhinged individual as he started loading his Antique French Flintlock Pistol. “Fucked if I know, if this shit-cunt thing still fires” he glumly moaned staring off into the blood-red sky numb to the sweltering heat of the beating sun. “What’s in the locket?” I asked him as he continued to examine his Pistol. “My bloody heart and soul of course. Means more to me than you will ever know” he exclaimed winking through his grey leather gasmask. “I’ll be careful with it then”, I replied carefully plunging the locket into the pocket of my pants. I was a tall lanky man with red hair and a beard sweating through a black pinstripe shirt with brown pants and suspenders that I was seriously regretting while he was a short bald man sweating through his rose-patterned white shirt with grey pants. We were in the middle of what was usually a busy highway, but today dividing the concrete monoliths of financiers and clergymen was a long asphalt track. Crowds of masked and unmasked people surrounded the edges creating makeshift barriers between the real world and the sideshow about to unfold before their very eyes. The heat apocalypse slowly but surely, killing us all seemed not to worry them as they eagerly stared at the other side of the road where Michael Brent, stood tall and broad-shouldered, in his cream-coloured shirt with a blue paisley vest and blue leather gasmask. He too was fumbling with his Antique French Flintlock Pistol. This may seem like a peculiar sight to you, but such events are commonplace at the Wernham-Miffler Institute of Hydration and Air Filtration Insurance, where workplace disputes are solved by the only efficient means possible. Pistols at dawn. My name is Keith Malone, I chronicle apocalyptic events affecting the workplace, this is my personal account of the duel that transpired.
By Zac Rose5 years ago in Futurism
Lebensraum
Come in, come in. Yes, sit. Hello! Sit over there – anywhere. Just… just toss that aside. Hello! Hello, how do you do? Welcome!
By Simon Holloway5 years ago in Futurism