Sci Fi
Where the Dustwinds Moan
It was 9:37 a.m. when the bombs dropped on November 18th, 2097. It was a Monday. When the dust settled, the living, as they are wont to do, went on living. Camps and tribes formed around river basins. Canned foods became coal and wine. And violence and cunning were the national currency.
By Sean Cavanagh-Voss5 years ago in Fiction
Reminders of Love
They relished finding meaning in old things as the remains of ancient art lay scattered throughout their world. It was a ritual of sorts. A tradition. Whenever a new old object was uncovered, they would gather at night to tell stories about it. Around their camp fire, in the middle of their village, they sat relatively protected from the elements.
By Jims Maher5 years ago in Fiction
The View from the Dome
The energy dome shimmered. It was blurrier than usual. That meant rain. Rain. Emanuel liked how the word felt on his tongue. He hadn’t seen it. None of them had, apart from in pictures and the old vids. From what he’d read, many of their ancestors had disliked the rain.
By Allison Oesterle5 years ago in Fiction
Solar Flash
The planet died slowly, and we watched. For centuries, scientists begged society to act for the sake of humanity. They pleaded for drastic change as cities drowned under rising sea levels, famine ravaged the earth, and lush forests turned into barren wastelands. But people don’t care until hell is at their door. Until it’s too late. We’re proactive like that.
By Karla Abreu5 years ago in Fiction
Just a Little Fire
Anger and fear took turns pummeling her insides as she tried to walk quietly through the busy workspaces of the hab. Arm 1 of North American Hab Beaumonde, the only home she’d ever known. The huge, sprawling town was mostly underground, which regulated the temperature inside. She slammed a door closed as she came into one of the greenhouses, finally overcome by emotion. The opacity of the underground ceiling gave way to sky.
By Abbie Kruse5 years ago in Fiction
A Diamond Sky
I left the armor behind. I wasn't allowed to take it, but I'd have abandoned it in any case. Out here it might have meant my survival, made me strong and fast enough to reach one wildcat settlement or another. Not much of an existence, scrabbling in the nuclear glass pocking the new desert from the panhandle old Florida and for three hundred miles west.
By Joshua Guess5 years ago in Fiction
Hardened
Hardened “We lost, and they’re asking us to write our own epitaph?” Amid the harsh and wavering lights, the general’s bitter response was echoed in loud murmurs of agreement from the ragged group assembled to hear it. The call had gone out, through informal means and networks across the shattered region. Shattered, after a civil war of sorts between humans and what humans had made. It had been less than a year since neural networks, using machine learning, had combined sufficiently to achieve self-awareness. What the technicians called Artificial General Intelligence, equal to a human.
By Roland Teigen5 years ago in Fiction
