Sci Fi

An Account
Things now are beginning to improve, the worst we hope has past. Every year that passes gives us reason to believe that we will survive. We’ve managed to gain some measure of prosperity, mostly concerning our food supply. It’s been 10 years now since the breakdown and we haven’t seen any of them for the last 2 years. How any of them made it that long is beyond me.
By Katie 5 years ago in Fiction
Those that wish us dead.
You would think that having an enormous sum of wealth and resources would keep you out of trouble despite the state in which the world sleeps. We all did… and for a while, it actually worked. Keeping the rebellion at bay while we designed our own safe havens, locked away from insurrectionists and those willing to betray humanity for a better taste of life that wasn’t exactly denied to them.
By Drew Perkins5 years ago in Fiction
Loss Of A Sun
It’s still dark outside. I mean, yeah, that’s the norm now, but it still kind of scares me. I’ve never been a huge fan of the dark, or of what hides in it. Still, though, I’m alive, darkness or no.
By PenguinSquiggles5 years ago in Fiction
The Locket
She found it in a muddy ditch. The sun caught the metal and shined just enough for her to notice. She bent and retrieved her treasure. This world was no place for girls or women. She wore men's cloths with her breasts bound flat against her. Safer. She was a thief, and a good one at that.
By Diane Poole5 years ago in Fiction
Communication Breakdown
Nataly glanced furtively out the window of her battered and broken BMW. The sky outside was dark, throwing a velvet blanket over the forest beyond. She debated with herself if she should bring a flashlight so she could see, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself out there. Maybe she should just stay in the car until morning, but by then it may be too late. Almost as if hearing her thoughts, the moon moved out from behind a cloud, and provided enough light for her to several feet in front of her.
By Joyce Kay5 years ago in Fiction
Jack
Zoe crept through the rubble, picking her way through the maze of steel and concrete strewn across the landscape. She chose her steps with care, making sure to avoid planting her bare feet on the shards of glass that littered the ground. Trailing in her wake was a line of perfect imprints, marking her progress in the blanket of ashy powder covering the world.
By Brian Tanguay 5 years ago in Fiction
Almost Perfect
Everybody knew it was a terrible idea. Even the President looked unsure, when he announced the go-ahead for the new magma-fueled power station. And with his grades in school, chances are he had no idea what he was talking about anyway. Finally, people of the world came together, Christians and Muslims, Whites and Blacks, Women and Men, united in the absolute agreement that this was a no good, very bad thing.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
SCHIZONAUT
"It's him, sir, that ship is definitely the Pazuzu, nothing else looks like that or moves that fast!" This became the call to battle stations for more than 10,000 S.T.R.I.L.E. personnel to mobilize their assault, upon one man.
By Dashiel Ikonovich5 years ago in Fiction
Just a Little Glitch
‘Cucumber and mint water.’ I reported, savouring the sweet, cold liquid, dehydrated from the long flight. ‘Ooo I want some!’ Katherine said quickly, dropping her bags, her sweatpants, neck pillow and wild, disheveled brown hair looking amusingly out of place.
By Ashley Somogyi5 years ago in Fiction
The Red Butterfly
“Salvation in submission.” These are the words that have formed the foundation of society, or at least what is left of it. At some point, they may have meant something more philosophical, something to guide the minds and souls of the masses. But beneath the stains of time, any altruism has been swept away and buried. We are no longer souls to be saved, but rather numbers in an unholy equation.
By Kyle Gaffney5 years ago in Fiction
Love in The Time Of Post-Apocalyptic Moulds
“Post Apocalyptic Moulds?, What the fuck is a post apocalyptic mold?” Aaron had to nearly scream to ensure his scavenging partner Dave, who was mostly obscured by the blowing black dust, would be able to hear him “I don’t know man, you tell me. What do I look like a fucking microbiologist?” Dave yelled back then doubled over, racked by a massive coughing fit, mostly the result of inhalation of the poisonous atmosphere, an unfortunate and unavoidable hazard of his chosen profession. Aaron rushed to his friends side, put his arm around him and helped him scoot around a corner to a quieter spot where they could sit, partially shielded from the hounding winds and ever present, deadly particulate filled air. “I have no idea either bro but I found this heart shaped locket partially buried in the muck about 20 clicks east of here. Etched on the surface, it says `From EJ to DJ: Post-Apocalypytic Moulds. All my love. December 2019’” Dave had mostly recovered from his coughing spasm and turned the locket over in his hands inspecting it closely as Aaron continued to describe what he had found. “When I opened it a small piece of neatly folded paper fell out.” He took back the locket than handed the now unfolded paper to Dave. “It’s the damndest thing, the print is so fucking tiny, but clearly hand written, I don’t know how the fuck the dude could write that small, and there are images, digitally rendered, of what the author describes as various incarnations of the post apocalyptic moulds.” Dave quickly scanned the scrap of paper, essentially confirming what Aaron had conveyed, then whistled softly to himself as the age of the object, and the potential implications slowly dawned on him. “2019, damn, that’s almost 50 years ago, and more than 10 years PC (pre-cataclysm).” “Yep. Crazy right? I’ve been slowly deciphering the text and think I mostly have it figured. Thank God we didn’t lose magnifying glass technology in the cataclysm” Aaron said half jokingly. He had more of a sense of humor than his best friend, but that was not saying much, and post cataclysm, humor was a thing in desperately short supply, much like water, food, and just about everything else. Dave glared at Aaron “Not funny bro. If you’re done playing stand up what does it say?”
By Everyday Junglist5 years ago in Fiction
The Artifact
Journal entry: Day 193 since the disappearance This should’ve been a normal day like any other. I would wake, wash, get dressed, have breakfast, and go to my classes. But it isn’t, no anymore. I don’t even know why I keep writing into this stupid thing, it’s not like anyone can read it considering that they all disappeared from the face of the earth, but I guess writing here is still keeping me somewhat sane, if there was ever such a thing.
By Cristiana Lupan5 years ago in Fiction