Sci Fi
Cherry Blossoms
Ash lined the sidewalk like snow. Cass could remember a time when there was snow. It had been cold and clean and fluttered in the wind, caught on eyelashes and the branches of the trees that lined the driveway. After the snow had been the thaw, where rivulets of clean, cold water had formed snaking lines down the grass like a tree’s roots when it was pulled up, exposing the dark earth clumped into them. After the thaw came spring, the cherry blossoms would bloom down the lane. When the blossoms detached, blowing in the wind to coat the ground like the snow had in piles and drifts down the lane, Cass had always known that’s when it would be time to leave.
By Tessa Miskovsky5 years ago in Fiction
Emergence
I had heard about the Wars. That they were the reason so many people were starving, and the world was burning. This was not my experience though. I had lived my entire life inside the military base where my parents served as high-ranking members of the Global Military echelon. My friends and I were insulated from the world outside, with everything provided for us...food, water, housing, even a Commons where we could play and spend time together. What very little we heard about the outside world as it exists now was easily akin to a scary story told for the thrill and novelty of it. That was, until today. Today, I was ripped from that comfortable chrysalis into the horrible reality of the world outside.
By Rachel Taylor5 years ago in Fiction
The Genius
Martin trundled the old Transit van through the township. There was a rattle above him as the boots of some poor decrepit corpses hung across the street, bounced along the roof of the cabin. He stuck his head out of the window and caught sight of the familiar crest of the Luddi People’s Republic. Martin tutted loudly, and shaking his head pontificated to no-one, “Well, that’s what you get…seceding from the web. What a bunch of cunts.” He spat a great globule of oily spittle out of the window, hacking afterwards, the remnants of the ant mother burrito still churning around his mouth since lunch, soaking into his beard. He wiped his face, rubbing his hand on the leather tactical waistcoat.
By Jonathan Heath5 years ago in Fiction
Video Killed the Radio Star
It was eleven when I climb the stairs to the tiny Montreal apartment my mother shared with my aunt. “I’m not too late?” I ask Obasan. She hesitates, shakes her head no. Not too late. My mother sits by the window, her slim build and erect posture accentuated by her sleeveless summer dress. She turns and smiles.
By Heidi Tabata5 years ago in Fiction
just here to observe
“Dani.” She turned to see the commander leaning out of his office door. “Yes, sir?” She wondered if he was finally going to settle the long-standing debate of her going out into the field. He swiveled his head to invite her inside his office. The door had almost closed before she reached it, but he held it open with his knuckles. His face was turned away from her as she pushed the door in, careful not to smack him in the face.
By Jillian Rivera5 years ago in Fiction
Due South
Day 6811 The Southedge shifted South 3.4 meters. The Northedge shifted South 3.4 meters. I wake up at the Southedge and hack at the frozen ground until it lets loose. My daughter packs the bedrolls. Rollers bring buckets down from the Northedge with hot earth and growth and I pray as they mix under my fingers. I plant my ten seeds, ten sprouts, ten saplings, and ten fruitlings neatly in the thawing ground. I look around to see my sisters doing the same.
By Michael Valdez5 years ago in Fiction
The Real Doctor of The Hanging City
“Guns an’ sex an’ ‘explosions an’ drugs an’ noise…. feckin’ loud noise. That’s how my bloody weekend went. And wing shark testosterin’ can’t forget that shite. Can still feel the feckin` bruise from the needle. That cunt Billy told me it’d be like nothin’ and ‘ere I am cupping my damn balls like they ain’t bloody attached no more. Sorry if you were expecting something different, Doc, but that’s how she wrote it.”
By William Newbigging5 years ago in Fiction
Wilson's Trailhead
The keening whir of a quadcopter sounded in the distance. A sentinel. Maia stood obediently, lifting the back of her wrist to her forehead in a salute that displayed the UV tattoo on her inner arm. The drone approached and scanned her. A green light flashed as her tattoo was confirmed to match her tracking chip.
By Penny Fuller5 years ago in Fiction
