Sci Fi
Maps in Fantasy
Maps in Fantasy I have built several worlds since I began writing as a teenager, and at some point in the worldbuilding process, I tend to have a conversation about maps with my dad. He believes that fantasy authors are obsessed with maps. Not without reason. Most fantasy books come with a map of the world at the front. One I have seen but cannot now remember the title of had the wonderful idea of printing the map at the back of the book in such a way as to allow the map to be visible while reading it. To be entirely fair to my dad, this conversation usually happens when I am asking him for help in making my maps seem more realistic, a task I think he finds pointless when it comes to a fantasy world.
By Claire Stephen-Walker4 years ago in Fiction
Different type of light
You have always been fascinated with green light and you have no idea why. It started when you were little. You had to have anything that had a green light on it. When you where 11 your family took a trip to Alaska to see the Aura Borealis. It was so beautiful. The green lights that moved. You never wanted to leave. You stayed a week longer in Alaska then you planned. You stayed up ever night watching the lights. When you got home your dad made a device that would replica the lights for you. You cut it on every night.
By Jeremy White4 years ago in Fiction
Belle Chance
The green stalk slowly sprang back upright. Although dented somewhat, it had survived the onslaught of the soldier’s boot. The soldier deliberately made slow progress towards the mangled wire fence, so as to not to register as movement from the distant automatic motion detectors sited along the roads. Stopping, she lazily looked behind herself and saw a trail of slowly rising grass behind, leading down to the river now partially hidden by the early morning fog amongst the trees.
By Ian Hambly4 years ago in Fiction
The Hunter
Looking through the scope of his high-powered rifle, he moved not a muscle. His prey, one of the larger beasts he had witnessed since finding himself alone in this strange new land, was covered in a coarse, brown fur. The thing stood upon hind legs, waving four other limbs about, seemingly conducting an invisible (and silent) orchestra. He knew that it hadn’t seen him, it couldn’t possibly have; his training as a sniper had been extensive. He knew how to appear as a stone, or a branch of a tree, blending into whatever terrain he found himself.
By Dave Rowlands4 years ago in Fiction
Cosmic Observer
Travelling into the featureless ellipsoid that is the Messier 89 galaxy we are called, as if sirens on algae laden rocks serenade and lure. We find ourselves mesmerized by the spinning elegance of its two resident blackholes. These supermassive lovers live in that finite equilibrium that we all know. That state of being that to most would seem everlasting. This binary system with its rippling waves of gravity can be heard by all that are listening and, just one is.
By Wade Villani4 years ago in Fiction
The Beekeeper
They ask me where the slipperfin serpents are born. I tell them I don’t know. They say they fall from stars, on tiny comets, deep into the sea. They say they bubble up through cracks above the ceiling vaults of hell. I tell them I don’t worry about where slipperfins come from. I worry about the waxwater.
By Danny Carlon4 years ago in Fiction
Mr. Friendly
Iain’s bunk was three of eight, room 297 on the eighty-first deck of the great ship, The Patroller. There were four beds on each side of the room with enough space for two crewpersons to stand shoulder to shoulder between them. A sink and toilet occupied the far wall. The rooms were practical, not intended for privacy.
By Christina Blanchette4 years ago in Fiction
