Sci Fi
Maddy's Necklace
Dragonfly drones are, according to common wisdom, the absolute worst fucking nightmare of our existence. Most will say so because these drones are insanely quiet - you don't really hear anything until they buzz down to mete out punishment on some poor fool who just couldn't take it anymore. So you have to look up in the air constantly like some tourist on their first trip to New York, back when that was a thing. Back when there was a New York.
By Michael Cabajar 5 years ago in Fiction
So Here I Am
Dear diary... Day 571 since the Framework crashed and I am still here pilling away in the basement of house three in this cul-de-sac. I have to be honest, I sort of miss the subtle blue tint that the city gave the distant skyline, but I suppose now I don't have to wear my blue-blockers like I used to. Mom would be so proud, she hated those things and how they covered my eyes. What else, diary? I feel like I'm treating you like my own personal Wilson from that super old movie... Which by the way, I'm not sure if I've apologized yet to the person who owned this diary before me. I think her name was Abigail. Let's start now, Abigail, I'm sorry I stole your diary and began writing in it. But to be fair, you only wrote on three pages and I've practically filled this from cover to cover. Also, excellent choice on the light pink cover, very tasteful.
By Harrison Sissel 5 years ago in Fiction
Finding the Good News.
Magda was walking down the scorching street, looking for her sandal. She had run away from some mutants earlier and lost it here, somewhere. It had rolled in the dust and pebbles as she bolted and clambered up the tree and onto the wall. They could not follow her there, they were too stupid. After they left she eased down from the parapet and looked for the sandal. It was gleather sandal, and while she could probably get another sandal like it easily she just didn’t want to on principle.
By Varvara Vinogradova5 years ago in Fiction
Chloe
Kyle screamed as he pulled the dust-laden sofa away from the wall. ‘Alex,’ he yelled as he recoiled, ‘it’s a cat!’ Amongst the cobwebs in the narrow space was indeed a dead cat, almost flattened by its placement between the wall and the velvety fabric of the modular sofa.
By Simon Hersey5 years ago in Fiction
Fermentation
T oday marks the ten-year anniversary of when General Loch Snow and his totalitarian regime took over M-city. I was thirteen at the time and lived in a normal neighbourhood where kids played in the streets. My mom was an accountant and my dad was a doctor. We were an ordinary family until a motorcade paraded through our town with a fleet of large vans. They rounded up everyone and separated the adults and children. My friends Dexter, Winnie, Vinyl, my dog Hoax, and I secretly rode our bikes to the next city over to play in the creek. We all heard the sirens and bombs go off. A grayish brown smoke filled the air and neighboring towns had to evacuate. We fled to take cover in our secret hideout.
By Sheryl Henderson5 years ago in Fiction
Dull Revolution
It was the summer of 2050. Alexandria sat inside her kitchen slowly eating her tasteless oatmeal and washed it down with some black coffee. She put the dirty dishes in her dishwasher, and walked to her job in the sunglasses factory in Paris. It had originally been a sunglasses factory in the old days to block harmful UV rays, but in the last few years had morphed into something more sinister. The glasses they made now dulled color vision because seeing color was "dangerous." That's what people were told anyway, when they were forced to use them. "It's to keep the peace," said the Grays.
By Gabriela De Francisco5 years ago in Fiction
Plutos Plague
The cafés fittings began to vibrate, cups contents started to ripple, and its occupants barely sat up from their slouches as the metal leviathan thundered through the station, slowing to a stop along the platform the train bellowed its low howl and hundreds of magpies burst forth frightened from their alcoves circling the air on black and white wings “Well” Alexis sighed arms folded against the early morning chill glancing over at the newly arrived train “our coffins here”.
By Riley Seabrook5 years ago in Fiction
The Sunken City
The few who survived the flash sauntered along the barren road in a bleary daze. Exhausted and stupefied, a band of ragged and disheveled youths dragged their footsteps along against the blazing heat. The pack was led by a boy of sixteen. Behind him trudged ten, six boys and four girls, all younger and (more unsure of themselves). It was Luke’s naturally assertive and commanding demeanor that convinced the reluctant children to depart from the ruined town in search of other survivors. The troop of kids were playing within an old bunker when death swept across the land and decimated everything within its path. When the deafening crash thundered across the sky, the children hurried up the ladder, and in vain, pushed against the hatch. The howling wind of a thousand gales pressurized against the vault and trapped the children for four days. When the wind ceased, it was immediately noticeable; it was as if someone were clapping cymbals in their ears without pause for days on end and suddenly relented. In fact, the abrupt quietude filled the air almost as quickly as did the howling, and from their restless sleep did the children awaken and anxiously scramble up the ladder. The open air was clogged with a thick layer of sand and sent the children immediately into fits of coughing. The wind, although distinctly calmer, still blew turbulently. The sky was a terrible haze of deep orange and sanguine streaks, and against the dust, the sun struggled to pierce through. Fine sand particles moving through the turbulent gusts of air scratched at the children’s exposed eyes and effectively blinded them, sending the investigation party back beneath the ground.The sand-beaten children sat rubbing at their irritated eyes, while those who had remained underground waited impatiently for a report.
By Jonah Blue Krell5 years ago in Fiction
