Sci Fi

The Room at the End of the Hall
For thirteen years, the room at the end of Jane Albrecht’s hallway had remained closed. She dusted the doorknob now and then, polished it the way one polishes a memory: carefully, without daring to open anything. Guests sometimes asked what was inside.
By Dagmar Goeschickabout a month ago in Fiction
The Argument of Elements
The Almanac of Greenhaven Farm didn’t just predict the weather; it held court with it. For generations, the Rowan family had followed its cryptic, poetic advice. Its pages, penned by long-gone hands, said things like, “Sow the south field when the willow weeps gold,” or “A quarrel is coming when the crows fly backwards.” The weather it described was less a system and more a living, temperamental entity.
By Habibullahabout a month ago in Fiction
cutting words
on the white poppy a butterfly’s wing is a keepsake A keepsake? More likely a ransom. The cost of freedom. Basho understood this, the price of cutting loose, of becoming or regaining the self, whatever its toll. His haiku relied on kireji, cutting words, a kind of breathy punctuation conjuring unspoken dimensions of expression.
By majokiabout a month ago in Fiction
Initial Conditions
The fire was burning low. Overhead the stars were a mighty river. Shrieks and howls threatened from the darkness beyond. The clan huddled nearer the flames seeking primitive protection. Talismans hung around their necks. Glittering things. Useless things.
By majokiabout a month ago in Fiction
Chatroom 88AE
Mikhail unpackaged the dead server. It was supposed to be a fun salvage job. Just a weekend distraction to pass the time along. Productively. He had bought the dusty black drive from a University auction, the kind of forgotten tech no one bothered to catalogue. Half the lot was junk; cracked monitors, obsolete GPUs, cables that no modern port recognized. But this drive was different. Heavy. Warm. Even before he plugged it in. Like it had been thinking in its sleep.
By Kristen Keenon Fisherabout a month ago in Fiction
Bleep
Bleep handed me a glowing green present. I took it. “Who are you,” I asked? He adjusted the knob on his belt buckle before speaking telepathically.
By DJ Robbinsabout a month ago in Fiction
The Deeper Problem
“This not a problem,” the lookalike said as it threw the dossier on the desk. “What are you talking about?” Elon asked. “This is a huge problem! We could lose everything that I—that we have worked so hard for.”
By Stephanie Hoogstad2 months ago in Fiction
ECHOES OF MISUNDERSTANDING. AI-Generated.
The late afternoon sun spilled warm orange light across Hoshizora High School, painting the courtyard in long shadows. Students laughed, chattered, and slowly filtered out of the gate, eager to escape another day of classes.
By forhad hossain2 months ago in Fiction
just a second
“Thirty-four thousand one hundred twenty-six…thirty-four thousand one hundred twenty-seven…thirty-four thousand one hundred twenty-eight…thirty-four thousand one hundred twenty-nine…”
By majoki2 months ago in Fiction
Memes, Not Genes
The horseracing industry doesn’t like my type. For that matter, neither does almost any other industry. I’m pretty much despised. Even educators shun my ideas. And that’s particularly painful, because ideas are what I have to offer the world.
By majoki2 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Repaired Sunsets. AI-Generated.
Every evening at precisely 6:21 p.m., the sky above Old Harbour performed the same tired ritual. The sun dipped low, the clouds gathered in a half-hearted formation, and the horizon glowed in a colour that looked incomplete—like an artist who left the canvas unfinished and simply walked away.
By shakir hamid2 months ago in Fiction
A Christmas Glitch. Top Story - December 2025.
The twins were dead. Our hero knew it, and you may imagine that a little something in him unclenched when he saw the news on his screen. Now, at last, he was truly free of them, and the knowledge was like a sigh. Were he a balloon animal, one segment of his torso (or his neck, or one intestinal-esque limb) would have gently unscrewed itself. His heart and lungs lost a little creak that he didn't even know he'd been carrying.
By L.C. Schäfer2 months ago in Fiction