Sci Fi
DREAM COME TRUE
The year is 2199. Buildings are tall and made of glass. All the land is nothing but dirt and desolation. The earth stopped revolving some time ago, so every day is 24 hours of sunlight. All vegetation has been moved into factories. Air is no longer free. Government is run by A.I. In fact, what isn’t run by A.I., come to think of it. Everyone has universal income. A nice little barcode, embedded into your wrist, lets everyone know your income base in an instant. With a little bit of backdrop out of the way, I guess that leaves you curious about me. Me? “Hi, I’m Alvin.” I’m nothing special. Scrawny, scrappy. I stand 5’10”, sandy blonde hair, light blue eyes, semi-muscular, long faced, strong jawed. I am an orphan, or at least I think I’m an orphan. I live in a basement of a building. Raised by an A.I. Her number is AI-VIN: MUM2002. I just call her Mum. Look familiar? AI-VIN… Alvin… So, mum raised me by being a peddler on the side. Now that I’m 17, I can help her find her wares, if you know what I mean.
By Crystal Edmondson5 years ago in Fiction
The Birds
I pull the sleeves of my hoodie back down as Matthew gets out the tablet to turn on the news. The chill came from the west. I don’t even realize there’s the roof is half missing. The small group gathers around while I lean slightly against the wall outside the circle. It passed. It had the president’s support and both houses. His Holiness was now the commander and chief.
By Heidi Fisher5 years ago in Fiction
The Instrument of Emanations
Nysa ran her fingers over the pitted silver of the locket around her neck. It had become a nervous habit. If she were playing a round of poker with the vandal kids in the mess hall it would be her tell. She’d kick herself after losing the few credits she had managed to hold on to and swear to never play another round with them again….but this wasn’t a poker game. She wasn’t in the mess hall, tucked safely away underground with the rest of the resistance and the stakes of this game were much higher.
By Helen Ward5 years ago in Fiction
Human Skein
Ash drifts across a broken landscape. The skein’s pearlescent, silk-seeming web below my feet shades the husk of our world pale white. Everything, now, is seen through the gauze of the skein, both protecting and muting. It’s like a hand across the throat, stifling; and like a mother’s breast, too. I love and hate it.
By Bradley McCann5 years ago in Fiction
Pillars of Sand
I still remember how hot it was that day. I was sweating as I stood in the middle of the desert in my turban and plain white robes, but I didn't think about it too much. I'd learned to live with it by then. In front of me, and beside me, and behind me to the edge of the visible horizon in the distance, were rows and rows of people that seemed to stretch all the way from one edge of the desert to the next. We were all adorned in the same turbans and plain white robes, and I could tell everyone else was sweating just as profusely in the heat as I was. But they learned to live with it. We all learned to live with it. Because that day, as we stood on the barren remains of what used to be inner city Seattle, we all knew we had no other choice.
By John Zhang5 years ago in Fiction
