Sci Fi
The Heat
The waves keep rolling in, higher and higher, inch by inch, each passing day. Long gone are the white sandy beaches. Their shorelines have crept and morphed into an erosion of the city. The sunbathers have since receded back into the shade indoors or, if brave enough, under the canopies of balconies, all of them on the edges of their seats. From out there, toward the horizon, a gull might have seen such a magnificent sight if there were any left, any wings yet scorched out of the air. The sight: a hundred or more reflections of longing eyes guarded by mirrored shades in the windows of the high-rises, all of them glaring at the sky. They wait and they watch as the moon pushes close against the sun’s gruesome gaze upon the Earth. A darkness that they haven’t seen during the Hot Hours, that hasn’t eclipsed them in over a hundred years approaches with an audible anticipation brewing in the audience.
By Duncan Catellier5 years ago in Fiction
They Came from the Sky
I dive into an aqueduct as the sirens start to blare. It’s old, the metal barricade is covered in rust with only a trickle of water going through. My hands are pressed over my mouth to silence my sobs. The panic around the city is palpable as I listen to the screams and cries above me, silently begging that nobody finds my hiding spot. The ground around me vibrates as the explosions begin. More screams. More panic. More hell.
By Katie Tarbell5 years ago in Fiction
The Blackout Pact
Peter climbed the last steps to the roof, opening the door to the terrace and closing it behind him. His breath fogged in front of his nose and mouth, the cold night biting his skin and reddening his cheeks. Still, it was bearable, the worst of winter gone for months now.
By Gleice Miranda5 years ago in Fiction
The End of the World As I Know It
Jack opened his laptop as if the internet anxiously awaited his wisdom. He had a habit of spending hours scrolling through social media. Several years after earning his Bachelor’s Degree in Literature from Brown University, he spent most of his time online criticizing people’s opinions and overusing the term “Kafka-esque.”
By Tucker Williams5 years ago in Fiction
The Last Remnant
Through a window she gazed out at the devastation. A reality worse than death loomed larger than life outside cracked and, in some cases, shattered windows throughout the house. Trees had toppled. Power lines were fallen and sporadically sparking in final fights against failure. Dust hung thickly in the air, turning the day into night for what might turn into forever. Smoke billowed into clouds that formed overhead and in the distance. She saw no birds, no bees and heard only the various sounds of sirens streak futility through the city. The sounds seemed to amplify through the remaining broken windows and foundation breaks the great shaking had caused. She heard strange booming alarms she’d never heard before in her young life. And this was only her view of the ravaged world, seen through this window whose crack remained too slight to allow the tainted air to invade.
By Christopher Carrolli5 years ago in Fiction
The Last Human
Doctor Joey Wilson, age 873, looks out his high rise apartment at the bleak, reddish landscape that at one time a long time ago was a thriving metropolis filled with actual flesh and blood humans. Not like today. You see, Wilson is the last of his kind. The planet is now dominated and ran by androids, robots and finally the closest relationship to humans - the cyborgs. The result of an apocalyptic takeover by the metal creatures? Nope. The end was much more subtle...and ironic.
By Albert L Larsen 5 years ago in Fiction
Remember.
Josephine begins to wake. A loud bleating forcefully filling her ears as she attempts to open her eyes. A thick layer of dust and grit sealing them closed. She forces her eyes open as an involuntary panic shivers over her cold, depleted body. She remembers.
By April Phillips5 years ago in Fiction
All That Remains
It used to be known as Colorado. Now there is no name. People worried about the Juan de Fuca plate but the drought and fires that mounted from below were worse than anything. I was living in Alamosa when the evacuations began and barely made it to Mosca within a week. Strokes, heart attacks and exhaustion took over seven hundred lives inside of two months. If Lee hadn't shared his water with me that day in the Great Dunes I'd be one of them.
By Christopher Gallo5 years ago in Fiction
The Line
She waited in line. Every so often the line would shuffle forward a few paces, the parched ground beneath their feet releasing dust into the air. There was no talking, not because it was forbidden, but because there was nothing to say. They all waited in line. That was what they did.
By Ryan Thomason5 years ago in Fiction
