Sci Fi
The City We Live In
The simple syntax of the question ‘How are you?’ expresses complex semantics. If true, you would then be under the impression that the answer to such a general question would be elusive, muddled down by the hopeless attempt to authentically express oneself through the use of a third party we call language. Despite all this abstraction, the answer to man's question was simple; Roger didn’t know. Yet, he had no way of saying such a thing. Everyone was okay; no one felt anything different. No one could ever begin to feel such an emotion without a quick fix of Imperium, and so, the varied meaning the word should elicit was lost in his response,
By Joshua Ahlers4 years ago in Fiction
The City We Live In
The simple syntax of the question ‘How are you?’ expresses complex semantics. If true, you would then be under the impression that the answer to such a general question would be elusive, muddled down by the hopeless attempt to authentically express oneself through the use of a third party we call language. Despite all this abstraction, the answer to man's question was simple; Roger didn’t know. Yet, he had no way of saying such a thing. Everyone was okay; no one felt anything different. No one could ever begin to feel such an emotion without a quick fix of Imperium, and so, the varied meaning the word should elicit was lost in his response,
By Joshua Ahlers4 years ago in Fiction
The Deeper Awakening
His Present The room lit up as the dark setting adjusted to the morning, the natural light from the window flooded in, slowly piercing the shut eyes of the person fast asleep. The curtains lifted and made way for the sunlight to come inside the high-rise apartment that was elevated higher than Mount Everest from sea level. This apartment was built in the new age utopian city of Avalon, which stood firm at an elevation more than even four times that of Mount Everest from sea level. This was the only way the civilians would be protected from destructive radiation, dust, and tropical viruses that ran abundantly in the hell they once called Earth. Avalon was the haven only a few among the human race were able to escape to, created by noble and brilliant minds who wanted to preserve the Earth to its former glory but were hindered by the greed of the rest of the humans who destroyed the Earth. Their savior Dr. Arthemius Musk was the pioneering inventor and Dr. Lancellian Wilkes was the architect for this modern utopia. The Avalonian forefathers' joint efforts saved the good in the human race and hence their legends were spread everywhere. Avalon was founded on the principles of equality to curb the greed that eventually took down the former paradise called “Earth”. The people lived in the Avalon to serve ‘The Renaissance’. The children or adults alike are well versed with the principle of service upon which this city was built.
By Anindita Alstriem4 years ago in Fiction
Bench
I was young enough to fear what was in the shadows, but old enough to pretend like I didn't. So as I walked the street alone I held my chin high and wore a confident smirk. The night was beautiful but unassuming. The fallen leaves littered the wet pavement like confetti after a parade. The moon was high in the clear sky and the only sound was the echo of my heels on the empty street. It was just me and the unknown.
By Meagan Dion4 years ago in Fiction
Excerpt: The Unborns
Excerpt: The Unborns by Taayler Gray It often escapes me, the purpose of it all, as I’m lost in wonder and fondness of her. The stillness I’ve mastered alongside dancing leaves has sharpened over the days, as has the wind. She’s habitual, leaving none to the imagination. Moving only my eyes as I watch, the rest of me observes my surroundings. Tightening my grip around the branch, I swing to the ground and start towards her door. “It is time,” I whispered to myself. My steps, indistinguishable from the passing motors, lead me along. I stood immovable. Flashes of imagery of her gazing at the nothingness that was laid in front of us. Curiously, though, I didn’t ask what she saw. I reached for the nob, but hearing her footsteps moving closer to the door, I knocked instead. She opened it. Tilting her head slightly to the side, she gave a gentle smile and asked how she could help me. If only she knew, I thought. For a moment, my eyes felt deceitful, but they dilated as I captured her in my memory forever. A permanence she was unaware of. I reached my hand out and she met it before I could cross the border of her home. “I’m Eryn,” I responded. I had imagined this moment for decades. Leaving me questioning, what is time and how has she not moved with it?
By Taayler Gray4 years ago in Fiction
Die-ers Remorse
My mind is a prison and these times alone where no one occupies the chair by my bed are like my yard time. As I lay dying…. Hahaha yeah no if this is meant to be my memoir my last scream into the void I should probably keep it authentic. This bed, this room, these four walls and the contents inside of them are my existence and the single window right beside me is my entire world. A view of the road and the backyard though it was my world it played out like a movie unreal and unrelated to me even when familiar faces appeared playing in the yard or walking past. The end had come quietly at first not with the drama or theatrical flare I had liked to put on as humor for those I loved. Certainly perhaps there was fear at first for the briefest of moments, anger? Definitely I raged inside the cell in my head, shook the bars and demanded an appeal to a trial I felt I hadn’t even been present for. Although mostly what I felt was guilt, regret not for myself but regrets about those I would soon be leaving behind. Would the little bit of my spirit I put into things be enough to sustain them or would the nostalgia be crippling like the death grip songs from my past had on my chest I could only hope that they were stronger than me and could live for more than the past when your future is stolen and the present feels like this it’s hard not to escape to the past the feelings of health and youth while fleeting offer a bit of comfort I found I often lost myself to rambling in these final days but writing my thoughts down like this on this small journal did a bit to relieve the turmoil to beat the dead prison metaphor again the diagnosis of terminal felt like a death row sentence and I would die believing I was innocent to the end though I knew my crime was negligence a false sense of immortality a sort of hedonistic pursuit of things that kept me content and made life worth living it had snitched on me to the universe and declared my time up though while ironic that’s why I couldn’t grant myself the hypocrisy of regret. It was funny how I could feel my time growing short I had always worked well under pressure procrastination pushing me to each deadlines doorstep perhaps these hastily written words would be my magnum opus it’s not like I’d get another shot either way if nothing else they contained a raw purity none of my previous works held even in talks of loves or passions nothing quite inspires like death, death does not allow one to be coy or meek at least not those who wish to die well and yet here I sit my sword a pen and no hill to die on simply conjuring obstacles and demons to face to give meaning to a life of relatively dull thrills it had gotten harder to write my hands felt like stone when it got to be too much I’d lay back and stare out across the horizon imagining I could see the future but for me the horizon seemed impossibly close with a fast approaching sunset and night was coming cold and fast i tugged close the blankets and bid it come I had little left worth saying and I was impossibly tired so I breathed out my breath shaking hands with the night before departing for whatever waited on the other side
By Nathan Baxter4 years ago in Fiction
Glad to Have Met You
To anyone who happened by, she was just a boot, stuck in the mud of the river bank. A remnant of a past struggle and an improvised exit strategy. To the eleven year old girl, struggling to make friends in a little, podunk town though, that boot was a forgotten secret, an ancient spiritual envoy that gave Aziza the powers of a long-forgotten goddess. Naturally, she had to try it on. She prudently rinsed it out in the river and made sure to look inside for frogs and bugs, before attempting to don it. Quite fortuitously, it was exactly big enough that she could keep her shoe on, while wearing the newfound boot of power. Besides... It looked like it might rain soon, so a rubber boot might come in handy.
By Alexander Kovack4 years ago in Fiction
Osiris
“Is he really dead?” Emory passes me a scalpel, a silver bone in the light of the great celestial pearl. They begin suturing the large gash down the middle of the spring torso, removing the tubing and clamps as they work their way down the body. Naked in the moonlight, its every feature is discernible, the strokes of Pygmalion evident in every gliding ripple of muscle and smooth curvature of flesh. Its lips even still bear the crimson holly of youth, those meltwater irises rivaling the stars in their glistening alertness. And so, Alfred Douglas remains Ganymede even in death.
By Avery G Garcia4 years ago in Fiction
A Gun, Again
Isaac paced through the movie theatre rows, clenching his jaw repeatedly while waiting for the phone. While other Uncaptured ones had to live in abandoned homes or gas stations, he and his love were lucky enough to have a whole deserted movie theater to themselves. The paint was once vibrant, but now only mold and rust provide any color. Cardboard and popcorn seeds from nearly sixty years ago gave the place a rotten smell. Still, it was the perfect hideout for their lifestyle of looting long-gone pharmacies. At least the ones that haven’t been hit yet. Some shops had solid security; usually a platoon of lower-ranking authorities of the New Way. Isaac favored this high-risk robberies, not attempted by the rest of the Uncaptured. It was always worth it either way for whatever gold mine of medication stashed away.
By Daniel Klim4 years ago in Fiction
