Sci Fi
Rachel
Night, late: A good, black darkness. The moon is hiding, so I slip past the night patrol more easily this time. I duck behind the East line of empty cages, images flashing: the young ones that fought back and paid for it, the old ones that wore out quickly.
By Calvin Marty5 years ago in Fiction
2321
The sweat from Madeline’s brow dripped in perfect rhythm as she studied the holographic map display of what was once the lower levels of the San Antonio Rivercenter mall. The concept of a mall is now foreign to a second-generation retriever. Society has long since enjoyed the enclosed markets and entertainment hubs. The building now holds housing, makeshift clinics, a community of sorts; however, this particular community is hording something that Madeline and her people need desperately; an energy source. The small can sized nuclear batteries were once described as science fiction, yet the need to make them a reality was apparent after the first worldwide power outage in the year 2071. It wasn’t until the power remained off, when the world knew it was too late to change their ways.
By Anthony Diaz5 years ago in Fiction
The Stars Above
Part 1 My life has been a series of misfortunes that started long before my birth. In the 2050s, chemical warfare between countries nearly destroyed our planet. Only a few years later, the last departing shuttle to Mars launched. There were never going to be enough for everyone. These one-way trips were named Missions. To make it aboard required excellence or nobility, neither of which my family had. The Missions held the leaders, scientists, and the rich people of the country. People like the rest of us were left to deal with the consequences. With the environment in jeopardy, chances of survival were slim. Impersonation of passengers was impossible. Each candidate was vigorously screened and hand-picked by government officials. Evidence showed project leaders plotted at the first sign chemical warfare was ruining our planet. News broadcasts boasted of a feat unprecedented in human history, as though hundreds of thousands of civilians weren't suffering. My parents, my sister Jane, and my brother Gregory were all I had. I used to believe we were better off. As if the black hearts of those who left would somehow make our planet sicker than the wastelands ever could.
By Danielle Eckhart5 years ago in Fiction
Heart-Lock Lockets
BaoGang Steel Mill was a harbinger for the death economy that was consuming resources for the tech addictions we were sold on, but no one cared. The thing about mining resources was that it was finite. I knew those jobs were going to be replaced by machines inevitably because human bodies were developing cancers, dying young, and could not handle the harsh work environments of working at a steel mill for more than 4 years. When BaoGang Steel Mill, the world’s #1 steel maker, supplier, distributor, employer reached the point of having mined out all the steel that it could. The rest of the world became desperate and 1st world countries relaxed their environmental impact guidelines so that they could continue to search out and mine for steel, oil, silicone, and other valuable resources. The United States resurrected the factories of Detroit, Michigan and repurposed the whole state to become another BaoGang which forced all who lived there out into other parts of the country. The government’s attempt to give the citizens of Michigan a new lease on life in the form of subsidized rental for 7 generations of families was the only thing on the list of reparations for the former citizens of Michigan. People who owned property had it usurped by the State government first and then ceased by the federal government second. The fortunes of the middle class were robbed and the people who were offended by the government subsidy deal chose the life of a vagabond. The subsidized rental housing market came in the form of pods: 350sq. ft. per family and everyone had a toilet and a kitchen with 2 burners. Since I was alone, I could live somewhat comfortably and being employed by the Steel Mill, I never worried about the cost of rent because as an accommodation of working in the steel mill, I got a free pod so long as I stayed employed there. However, there were other people with families who knew that this way of living was unsustainable. It was no place for children, just workers and the Michigan Steel Mill knew this. As far as MSM was concerned they had no need for families with children because they knew that because of the molten steel floating in the sky, they’d be poisoned and die within 2 years. MSM wanted to fill every single pod up with someone who worked at the steel mill so they could continue to feed the technological addictions that kept everyone feeling good. It was called Heart Lock and it was legal. It was fashionable as well. People wore heart shaped lockets from their favorite companies to display that they were heart-lock users and always kept their heart-lock stash in these lockets. It came in the form of a contact lens; users would lay the lens in their eyeball, and it would dissolve in the eye giving the virtual reality experience. Tech companies catered to the heart lock trend by offering apps that were designed to enhance the experience of heart-lock. MSM didn’t mind if their workers were heart-lock users so long as they didn’t use it during work hours because of a “concern for safety”. I will admit that I enjoy heart-lock and being placed under its influence. I work hard maintaining the equipment that keeps DSM operating and my quality of life isn’t that much better. My job is one of the only places where locking yourself in a claustrophobic closet and lighting a cigarette was safer than being in that environment. DSM offered me a $20,000 signing bonus if I signed a contract that said I would work there for the next four years of my life. I figured with money that big I knew I was going to be risking a lot and trading out a portion of my life in the pursuit of happiness. It’s all good though because all I really needed to make it through was heart-lock. It was always on my grocery list, I’d get it at the Target close to my private domicile along with ramen, milk, eggs, and hummus. Target was offering “career opportunities” to anyone who wanted to apply to that job and they even released a romance movie about working there as if to say “If you work at target, you’re guaranteed to fall in love”. Of course, tech companies stepped in and would offer the virtual reality experience of living the fantasy of that. I’ll admit that I was tempted to get a job there just to have that experience for free but the money at DSM was just too attractive. Although I could technically afford 5 new virtual reality experiences a week, I tried to just consume heart-lock once a week and accompany that with my own collection of VR.
By James Bates5 years ago in Fiction
Commander of Life
My fingers stretch, the skin molding into smooth lines and then back again into spidery wrinkles. Fatigue has settled into the smaller joints near the pinky and so I massage them with extra attention. These hands—I have always said--are the perfect metaphor for myself as a human being.
By Melissa Armeda5 years ago in Fiction
Pariah
The grass is scratchy-soft beneath me, tickling the back of my neck whenever I turn my head. Lying flat beneath the morning sky makes me feel rooted to the ground, like a tree. I squint at the sun to determine how long I've been out. It can't be much past eight.
By Jillian Boehme5 years ago in Fiction
To see the sky
The scientists had predicted a brand new world. The government said it was supposed to be better than the last. Each iteration was worse than the one before. Huge swaths of the world are useless and destroyed. It is because of what the scientists and the government has done, not what us the people have done.
By Benjamin R Cleveland5 years ago in Fiction
Delta Core 2519
Charity jerked herself awake. She was chilled and completely disoriented. She was not in a room, or even a building. She was in the middle of the woods. It was night and there was a chill in the air. Fortunately, there was a full moon so she could make out shadows to at least orient herself to her surroundings. The land around her seemed alive with chirping insects. She sat upon the ground in rocky terrain. Tall trees obscured her ability to see far, but it seemed she was on the side of a hill. She crooked her neck. She could smell something in the distance ... smoke. Something was on fire.
By James Bell5 years ago in Fiction
Toxins
Memories. What are memories? They’re images that play in your head of better times. Or worse times, I guess you could say. But we like to forget about the worst times of our lives right? But what if there was someone that kept reminding you of these times? Or in my case, something. I stare at the heart shaped locket that sparkled in my hand like a diamond. It wasn’t made of diamonds, or anything fancy for the matter. But it was worth more then gold to me. I remember the day it was given to me like it was yesterday, although I don’t really know how many days it had actually been. It was a nice summer day in the middle of June. Me and my little brother were playing Marco Polo in the pool, while mom and dad sat on the porch in their rocking chairs. It was my favorite pastime as a 6 year old. Some of my best memories are laughing with my family, as we splash around in that kiddie pool. But then everything changed in a blink of an eye. I hear mom scream as I look up to see hundreds of rocks hurling our way. No one knew what they were, or why they were here. Just that it was bad. Being 6, I don’t recall much of that day. The screams, the flames that erupted once the rocks hit the earth, and the cars that the military men took us away in, was about it. But I remember one image vividly. My mom saying “I love you baby girl! Forever and always.” As she handed me this necklace. That was the last time I saw her or my dad.
By Lindsey Goertz5 years ago in Fiction
The Pulling Force
His foot splashed in a deep, dark brown puddle as he ran for cover. The torn awning of what used to be an Italian gelateria offered a reprieve from the rain that came down in sheets. Kneeling behind a rusted garbage can, he peered through the shimmering downpour. There was no sign of any movement. He quickly made his move to the building adjacent and dove through what used to be the glass door of a small grocery store. This would serve as his stronghold until the rain ceased. Throwing his canvas backpack onto the thick coat of dirt that replaced the floor, he layed back, pulled the locket out of his pocket and stared at its contents until he fell into an uneasy sleep.
By Evan Clarke5 years ago in Fiction
The Locket's Owner
It was late in the morning already. After stretching and aching, Jack rolls out of bed. “Ouch. Shit,” he whispers to no one in particular. He lifts his shirt, revealing a large home made bandage of duct tape and a pillow case covering his side, just below his ribs. Blood has stained through the middle of the bandage and the excess was beginning to seep through the outside.
By Christopher Stone5 years ago in Fiction
