H.G. Silvia
Bio
H.G. Silvia has enjoyed having several shorts published and hopes to garner a following here as well.He specializes in twisty, thought-provoking sci-fi tinted stories that explore characters in depth.
Stories (23)
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Emotionally Distant. Morally Questionable.
The son of Portuguese Brazillian immigrants, my dad grew up during the depression, and after dropping out of school in the sixth grade, this dirt poor little boy grew to be a slightly less than dirt poor man. What does a sixth-grade dropout do with his life? He finds work at the various mills that used to soil the skies of Fall River and New Bedford, Massachusetts, back in the 1930s.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Humans
Thanks, Chuck
Growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, as you may have been told repeatedly, was infinitely better than the subsequent decades. I can’t honestly offer an opinion on the prior decades, as I was not alive then. A friend recently sent a photo of the translucent red plastic cups, from the sit-down era of Pizza Hut, with the caption, “Soda in these hit harder.” A bonafide case of someone attempting to elicit nostalgia in me with an experience I don’t recall. I prefer to stick to my own experiences and my own memories.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Humans
Jumpstart
The little blue light blinks a steady rhythm as Apocalypse enters the upper atmosphere. The whole world has been watching this mysterious thing for weeks as it approaches Earth. It hasn’t been classified yet because it isn’t a known celestial object. Not a comet we knew of nor an asteroid we were expecting. Whatever it was, it was heading right for us, and we could do nothing to stop it.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
A Case of Deja View
It was barely 8:30 AM, and already the brutal Arizona heat made holding the handle to my shop door difficult as I unlocked the deadbolt and slid back the security gate. The familiar sound of the fluorescent lights starting up, the pops and pings, reminded me that I had another twelve hours of artificial light to bathe in before sleep would come again.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
Cycle of the Unicorn
Every footstep in the snow compresses with a familiar, irregular abrasive sound. The world was coming into focus, and in all directions, nothing but white. I feel a warm, wet sensation on my forehead. It trickles down to my eyelash, and I bow my head. The whiteness of the world is stained red as my blood falls. The drops are covered by more snow as I walk.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
Unnatural Selection
A billion-billion nopes. After forty cycles of searching the cosmos, I have only ever found wretched deadly, lifeless rocks or beautiful, verdant planets that are already inhabited. At a certain point, an evolutionary leap happens, and sentient life emerges. We have rules against meddling with that eventuality, and the council takes them quite seriously. We live in space, and it’s hard to remain optimistic in a vacuum.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
RESTORE
I sat at the cramped dinette of our tiny apartment and tried to remember the last time we had actual food. Synthetic cinnamon soy protein. Real cinnamon’s reserved for the uber-rich. Only ‘Synthamon’ for us. I’m old enough to remember real cinnamon. I miss real food.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
The Trans-Europa
Beyond the cracked sidewalk, and the telephone pole with layers of flyers in a rainbow of colors, and the patch of dry brown grass there stood a ten-foot-high concrete block wall, caked with dozens of coats of paint. There was a small shrine at the foot of it, with burnt-out candles and dead flowers and a few soggy teddy bears. One word of graffiti-filled the wall, red letters on a gold background: Rejoice!
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
