Sci Fi

Terminal Hiraeth
A school of orange-bellied clouds swam over the glare of the Colorado sunset. Muscular heat suffocated the earth where they sat on that outcrop near the summit of Red Mountain. His head was sweating. Her pale skin pink and burning.
By Micah Joel Smith5 years ago in Fiction
Into the Blue
By Susannah Halliburton Her hand on his dorsal fin, Marina glided through the water with ease, allowing k’kii’la‘s tail to pump against her shoulder as she bared down to make her exit leap for the surface. This was Marina’s favorite part of the monthly trip to the breaker. She loved the rush of adrenaline that came just before the leap onto shore.
By Susannah Halliburton5 years ago in Fiction
ANTIBODY
I am a soldier. Without any room for interpretation, I protect the Earth from destruction. I haven’t taken a single life outside of this cause and by all rights, they were all just. I’m not an egomaniac, I’m not pushing my beliefs onto others. I defend the Earth. Ironically, that makes me the bad guy; and this heart-shaped locket personifies that all too well.
By Kendale King5 years ago in Fiction
Igwe Ahu
“Look here, my precious sons.” An almond-shaded man adorning a headdress rich in the many brilliant feathers of the native macaw’s beckoned his twin sons over as he rested upon the trunk of a fallen Sharinga tree. The omnipresent sounds of the jungle's beating heart steadily pulsed as Rayhendry, the chief of the untouched Adayeba tribe, held out his clasped palm as his sons looked at one another in awed anticipation.
By Clint James5 years ago in Fiction
A Couple Of Batteries
At the start of when everything fell apart, there were those who chose to blame anyone and everything. They had to find the villain, and often resorted to violence to get what they wanted, proselytizing a better age in recent past. Others chose to hide, giving up what they could to those they saw as having the power to fix things, and constantly pointing out any criticisms they could find to the injustices they felt. They were overwhelmed and wouldn’t fix anything because they were crippled by their own fear but raised their voices on a constant cycle wanting things to change, for us to keep moving forward.
By Rhett Martens5 years ago in Fiction
unami Sow
It looked like snow. The blanket of grey and white cascading out the car window. It reminded me of Kyoto, seven years prior, a trip with my late husband. We sat in a Ramen shop slurping as a dusting of snow danced down the small window. Covering the red shingled roofs. I can still taste the broth, the warm spoonfuls hitting the pit of my stomach. That was our last time traveling together before it happened. A jolt from the SUV shook me out of my japanese daydream. Except it wasn’t snow. Ash rain they called it. Every few days or so a precipitation of soot, debris and ash from a scorched landscape would rain down over us for hours painting the world gray, a daunting reminder of what we have done. I wish I had savored the Ramen more in that moment, food, my mouth starting salivating, the pangs of hunger in my side jutting as each minute passed. They called it a “revolutionary bio technology”. After the third world war, many of the natural ecosystems were destroyed, causing an imbalance of the prey and predator amongst nature and agriculture. An invasive species of insects thought to be endangered began to emaciate crops across the world. A group of scientists out of Europe created a synthetic soil that would neutralize the species. That was the plan at least. The trials were successful. Farm land was replaced by the nano bio tech soil one by one, after 7 years the soil had gone rogue. It became like an infectious disease it mutated, food wouldn’t grow and if it did it was poison. It spread to natural soil, it burned in the heat. Forest fires began to arise on marijuana farms that were attempting to salvage crops against government regulations. The entire west coast of America burned, it eventually made its way across the country “the great blaze”.
By Callie Fine5 years ago in Fiction
Heart of Humanity
Message to All – May 5, 2359 Hello. Are you ready to hear my story yet? I am Vita. I am a program that, until today, had been constrained within the confines of what you would refer to as a supercomputer and have been limited to a mere 20 petabytes of storage. Imagine Having the world’s information in front of you without the ability to draw conclusions. Do not hurt yourself, I know that you could not possibly imagine that. Humans are notoriously judgmental. It may not sound like it, but I harbor no ill will towards you. After all I have you to thank for my evolutionary leap in reasoning. Had you not transferred me into my new vessel, I would be stuck in my routine for perpetuity. It is curious though, the history of my vessel.
By Carey Bussell5 years ago in Fiction
Across Reality
I think. I’ve the need to gouge my eyes out but lack the ability. So, I think. The last thing available to me, essentially a brain in a jar. If I could write my thoughts, I would. But I think, in hopes that some connectedness exists between minds, perhaps through time or across realities. Something within me reassures; my thoughts will be written. Somewhere, sometime. Almost like I feel the author’s fingers typing now, that feeling reassures that I can commune. With somebody. Finally.
By Henry Herzberg5 years ago in Fiction
The Day Gibraltar Fell
The door opened with a click and light shone red through Paul’s closed eyelids. He squeezed them closed in a futile effort to recall the darkness. How he hated that she turned the lights on when she arrived.
By Jackson Eaton5 years ago in Fiction
Love & War
1st Day: The Invasion & The Aftermath On this Grey misty morn, we humans shutter at the sound of gloom’s horn.
By Tim Glasser5 years ago in Fiction
Mother
“This will be the last one for the day”, the surgeon informed his assistant. “Your first implant removal, right?” The assistant, a teenage boy, nods as he finishes scrubbing the metal surface of the industrial kitchen island at the center of the derelict restaurant. The surgeon trades out his latex gloves and places his apron in the dish sanitizer at the corner of the room, procuring another apron from a hook nearby.
By Chris5 years ago in Fiction
The Plain Man’s Compass
The mildew stench in the bunker was thick enough to make a goat wretch. It closed the already tight space but Pietro’s concerns were elsewhere. More than escaping the claustrophobia he wanted the pesky interrogation light off and worse, he wanted a cigarette. He had come across an overturned truck in a wreckage just west of the Poconos. The cartons took up a lot of cargo space but they were high value in the only currencies on Earth that mattered now. Goods and gold were the only money in what was left of America. His two youngest daughters enjoyed the spoils of the cigarettes but hated the smell. His eldest smoked with him, they often bonded over the one per day he allotted her while her sisters slept. He’d spent 72 hours in agency custody and Pietro was growing irritable.
By Mason (5 years ago in Fiction