Sci Fi
Deliberations, Chapter Two
“Ah…I sorta think that’s a separate issue, Neet,” Max began tactfully. “Is it, Max?” Amy inquired. “I happen to be with Neetra on this one. Who’s to say what strategies Gala’s prepared to use to undermine us, or to win others to her side? There’s no reason to suppose she’s going to play this the way The Four Heroes are best used to.”
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
TITANS OF SONORA
It was so hot that sweat emanated from the center of Falcón’s brain, presenting upon his brow. The clock on the wall ticked on but told the wrong time. All the windows were open, inviting a breeze to swing through, but it didn’t. Air conditioning wasn’t common in the State of Sonora, Mexico. People got by because they were meant to; because their ancestors lived in those lands, tamed those lands, and cultivated those lands. “And they didn’t need no stinkin’ air conditioning.”
By Grace Turner5 years ago in Fiction
Solid Gone, Chapter One
Towering torches of stone dispelled the subterranean darkness with their relentless fiery glare, while the vast cavern rang to its high-vaulted ceiling with the booming beats of funereal drums. Across the mountainous shale prairie that spanned the distance between one encircling cliff-face and its far-off neighbour, rock-men ranged, sturdy of body and grim of visage. Once there had been millions of this warrior-people and they had ruled the underground land in a mighty empire, but now the paltry thousands assembled in this place were all that was left of them. They had much to look grim about, from the misfortunes of their race to the sorrow that was specific to today.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
the last light
The lights at the top of the hill have been stuck on green for five days, and we know nobody is coming to fix them. They have better things to do, or at least we hope that is the case. A pipe burst at the bottom of the hill, and has started overflowing now, but nothing will change there, either. The broken windows in nearly every house on the street seem to multiply every time the sun rises. You would think that would let in more light; in reality, every day feels so much darker than the last.
By Joanna McLoughlin5 years ago in Fiction
The Prime Beeper
The blue flame burned the green flower with red hairs in the brass bowl to an orange smoking mass. I inhaled the mystic vapors and felt my body relax. I put down the pipe and lighter on the TV tray that was my desk. There was not enough room for the laptop and mouse, but I made it work.
By Mark Stigers 5 years ago in Fiction
Where the Marigolds Grew
Her breath smells like cherry wine, and there are marigolds in her hair. Humans are nostalgic beasts; they'll carry their memories everywhere-- like little flowers growing too fast in foreign climes --nevermind the destruction they wreak. With empty hands you toast to the end of all things, miming the gesture as you clink your glasses in ersatz salud. You gulp and choke on air. The wine ran out hours ago; only dust motes and dirty water remain.
By Elizabeth Noyes5 years ago in Fiction
Christmas Eve, Chapter One
Nottingham had seen many Christmases, from the snow-swirling first one soon after its creation when he who had tyrannically opposed The Four Heroes and their city met his defeat at last, to the bleak and rainy Christmas of the Martian occupation which the townsfolk had celebrated in subterranean caves hiding out from General Banthal’s patrols. Christmas Eve this year was one of dazzling sunshine streaming from a cloudless blue sky, bringing no heat to dispel the crisp frostiness that tingled on faces, fingers and toes, but setting a-sparkle the snow that lay thickly on the streets. Through the gleaming drifts, the chilly air and the golden beams, all the human-and-otherwise populace of Nottingham tramped and laughed and bustled. It was a vast and glorious jostling mass of people, living life in the safe-haven city for mankind as it was supposed to be lived, walking and shopping and eating and drinking and wishing Season’s Greetings to each other with their breath making white clouds that danced on the air before them.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
The Replacements
[Recorded] Bridge Log, USS Feynman, 31 October 2099 The Europa Project has succeeded beyond all expectation. And humanity is now in danger. Twenty years ago, we sent a probe to Europa with a capsule full of nanomite dust. Nanoscale AI, not just cybernetic, but biosynthetic. We had no idea what we did. This message will be sent out on broadband SOS frequency in the hopes of finding human survivors or preparing alien civilizations for what to expect in this star system. This is Jason Cornan, Navigation Officer, USS Feynman, signing off. To my family, I love you.
By Anthony Stauffer5 years ago in Fiction
The Desert Sparrow
Something’s not right. The hums of the Sahrawi winds were unusually tumultuously this morning. Our tattered tent rustled in unison with the desert winds as if to warn us of the calamitous journey that lay before us. If I had known that these parts were going to be so unfruitful, I would have opted from joining 4665 on the mission. He’s always been the optimistic one of our pairing but something about these winds instilled a feeling of uncertainty within the both of us.
By Zephyr Yibir5 years ago in Fiction
Pandemic Danny
Danny sat quietly, a sporadic jerk the only thing punctuating his otherwise silent countenance. His left eye had gone milky white with cataract, his skin was a mottled yellow and sickly, and despite the fair temperature of the room on a fine spring morning, whispery rivulets of sweat snuck their way down his hot brow passed his earlobe until they found a hiding spot under his jaw.
By Made in DNA5 years ago in Fiction
