Sci Fi
Xanadu
Margaret scooped up the brown paper box from her doorstep and tossed it in a pile with the others. It had grown tall, nearly touching the ceiling, but she thought she could stuff a few more up near the top. She figured she knew what was in each and every one of them, and she only wished that they would stop arriving, but her family would not give up, and Margaret had to respect that. There must have been 400 of them stacked, looking like a Mayan pyramid.
By Alex Politis5 years ago in Fiction
as the earth dies
I pointed my pistol in the direction of the voice, hands shaking so much I almost dropped it. I surveyed the shadows around the room, praying it was a ghost and not just me losing my sanity completely. A figure stepped out from behind the door frame, hands in the air showing he was unarmed.
By Lee Garber5 years ago in Fiction
The Fruits of Our Labors.
Deliveries to the palace generally arrived on the four hundred and fiftieth floor, either gently cradled in the arms of drone swarms or, in the case of particularly valuable packages, hand-delivered by couriers in unmarked transport jets. For this reason, the Baker stands on the delivery platform in a heavy thermal coat and oxygen mask, neurotically checking the time on his watch. Of course, he is not required to collect his prize in person. Most workers of his importance would send someone unimportant for collection. But, lifetimes ago, the Baker had always tended to these details himself, and, after many countless iterations, it was unthinkable that anyone else might lead this small ritual in his place. After some time, the thrusters of a reflective black delivery Jet silenced. A small man in unmarked clothes emerged from a hatch with an unmarked steel case. A few minutes later, the Baker was in the service Elevator heading down a hundred floors to the kitchens. Although the entire trip, up and down, had taken less than ten minutes in total, it infuriated the Baker. Each minute was precious. When he had first worked in this building, deliveries had arrived by hyperloop in the basement levels before pressurised vacuum tubes carried them to their destination. It was quick and reliable, but recent civil unrest in the undercity and incidents of missing stock had forced a change in procedure.
By Michael Harrison5 years ago in Fiction
Blinding White and The Taste of Chocolate Cake
Blinding white, like the corners of an eye. I've forgotten what this even looks like. I wake every dawn with a throbbing headache as though I've had one too many drinks. Why the taste and the burn of liquor still lingers in my throat, I may never know.
By Brittney Bistline5 years ago in Fiction
In The Woods
The night sky is filled with a tapestry of stars, as smoke from a campfire rises in attempt to meet those glittering orbs of light. It ultimately fails as it reaches the height of the surrounding trees, and disperses as if it never had existed. The fire crackles and dances on its wooden stage. Little, fluffy clouds on twigs hover over the fire. "Pearl, pay attention! You're burning it," John warns. "Oh," Pearl snaps to and withdraws her marshmallow from a scorched existence. She grabs a piece of chocolate and two graham crackers, and wedges the marshmallow between them to make the sweet sandwich, s'more. "It's still good," she says with her mouth full, after taking a bite. "Don't talk with your mouth full. God, didn't mom and dad teach you any manners," John inquired annoyed. "Jeez, lighten up." Pearl rolls her eyes, "we're out in the wild. Living off the land. Sleeping in the brush. Wrestling with wildlife." "We're not doing any of that. We're camping on safe, tourist campgrounds. With a cooler of food. In a tent. No animals to be seen," John retorts. Pearl looks past John while eating her s'more, "then what's that bird doing there in the tree," she raises her eyebrows and smiles, with chocolate and marshmallow goo covering her teeth. "God, you're disgusting," John looks away as he puts his s'more together. "What? Is there something in my teeth," Pearl laughs. John shakes his head and takes a bite out of his s'more. Pearl looks at him, "you seem a little on edge." "Just wished I decided to go with my boys, instead of you, mom and dad," John confesses. "Okay, that's really... honest of you. Hurtful, but honest," said Pearl. "Sorry, it's sounds really bad, now that I said it out loud," John apologizes. "You think," Pearl quickly responds. "Speaking of mom and dad, where are they? They should've been back from their hike by now. It's already dark," John asks. Pearl looks around, "they probably got a little lost, but they should be fine. They'll be back in no time. Anyways, I'm calling it a night," she yawns. Pearl gets up and stumbles on her way to the tent, "you didn't see that." John chuckles, "I saw everything." "Was that a smile I spotted," Pearl jokingly inquired. "Shut up and go to sleep," John snarkily joked back. "Good night, big bro. It's been a slice," Pearl said. John responded, "good night, Pearl." John realizes that Pearl left him to tidy up the campsite and sighs. He'd stay up a little bit, waiting on their parents to return, but he grows tired and puts the fire out. It's time for him to hit the hay, as well. He hopes they'll be back by the morning. Pearl has trouble sleeping, worrying about their parents, as well. Her jokey demeanor faded in her restlessness, but she attempts to sleep. They'll be okay, she tells herself.
By Adam Franco5 years ago in Fiction
Dinner With An Alien
Tommy Hammond was a 22-year-old artist from Sedona, Arizona. He lived in a contemporary style house with his parents, two older brothers, a younger sister, and his golden retriever named Hawk. He was single, and he had always been so shy around women. Even though he was no longer a virgin, he strongly believed that he could never find the perfect woman – one who would understand him and love his work.
By Leona Valentine5 years ago in Fiction
The Chocolate Cake Varient
Sarah’s silver fork slowly worked its way down through the cake, the top edge slowly being lost into the thick frosting. It almost seemed to swallow the fork as the creamy glaze touched back to itself, seeming to heal, and leaving a tell-tale line as evidence to the fork's trespass. As the fork reached the bottom, and the small triangular piece of cake was pulled away, its soft interior bounced back to its full volume. Sarah excitedly brought the piece to her lips, deliberately unadorned with lipstick as she wanted to make sure there was no chance of anything changing the taste. She slowly pulled the fork from her mouth, and the flavors of the cake came pouring in. The different textures of the chocolate frosting, and the cake melded together in perfect harmony. The cake was moist, soft, and flavorful. The sugar balance to cocoa was ideal. Not too rich, not too bitter, and while no one aspect was overwhelming, the cake itself could be described as perfect. However, it still was not as good as her daughters.
By Pendragon Pete5 years ago in Fiction
