Sci Fi

The Magician
“Hi Jane. I am the Magician.” The mid-50s S7 agent sits opposite me, pudgy fingers splaying out in a showman’s waggle. A sweaty face occludes the interrogation lamp hanging directly opposite my side of the room. Beads of sweat are already appearing on a balding forehead, pushing down towards bushy black eyebrows. Round spectacles and a mustache to match his eyebrows sit above an incongruously pleasant and predatory smile. That is S7 intelligence unit of the New Philadelphia Syndicate – enigmatic and dangerous, but also corrupt and indulgent.
By Tim Carpenter5 years ago in Fiction
The Hunt
The morning of Trysa’s first scavenging journey her father hung a pendant around her neck. It was a seashell that he had found and polished and given to her mother when they were young. Trysa hadn’t seen it since her mother died when she was small. She was an adult now, and the Chieftain had decided that she would be part of this scavenging party.
By Eve Blair5 years ago in Fiction
Eleanor
Eleanor Once the Metatronic Rebirth had been suppressed by the uncompromising will of the Humanist Republic, life took a sour turn for Eleanor.
By D C Bannister5 years ago in Fiction
Shift
The subjects shivered in the sharply lit waiting room, wondering if this cold, steely environment was part of the testing process. Sleepless, stretched to oblivion, the harsh light pierced into their eyelids forcing wakefulness ahead of the impending examination.
By Cait M5 years ago in Fiction
Scavenger
She hated scavenging. Searching through peoples’ abandoned belongings, trying to find anything useful, made her feel dirty. It was her turn though, and the camp was tense. Their gardens were not doing well this year. They needed non-perishables.
By Bethany G5 years ago in Fiction
It's Really Coming Down Out There
As detailed in Local Ordinance No. 127, Mondays through Fridays at six a.m., all eligible devices and receivers turned themselves on and tuned to Newton Farms Township’s mandatory corporate bandwidth.
By Chris Witeof5 years ago in Fiction
Optimization of Production
Quality vs quantity? This cliched squabble transcends worlds and across time. So which is more important?
By elizabeth he5 years ago in Fiction
Bound by Blood
Sweat pooled in my brow as I awoke to excruciating heat; the power outages that had become so common had again caused the air-conditioner to turn off and left me reeling in the stillness of the dry air. We had been assured that the power outages would no longer be an issue with large investments in wind farms and renewable energy. It was strange; the people like my sister Karen had gone from denying climate change to sustainability extraordinaires so quickly that we had to wonder if they knew something they weren’t telling us.
By Angie Morrison5 years ago in Fiction
IRT Seventh Avenue Line
After the bombs, ice is the only constant. Children are born and die of hunger a dozen times before the end of winter. Those who remember the sunshine search for it through slits in insulated windows and the annual opening of the subway doors. They send the oldest up to open the doors—one less mouth to feed if the sacrifice doesn’t make it back to the tunnels.
By Nicole Rizzuto5 years ago in Fiction
Epiphany
“Oh my God. Oh … my … God.” “Are you OK?” “Ohhhhhhhhhhh.” Mary watched Catharine sink into the leather and pull her legs to her chest.
By Jay Campbell5 years ago in Fiction
Beneath A Honeysuckle
"We shouldn't be out here, Solaer." "If a Guardsman catches us, we're dead." "You mean they'll send us for reconditioning."
By S.R.Robertson_Author5 years ago in Fiction
"Shattered Memories of Days Gone"
It’s been three days since the world has been in total discord. And, since everything had gone down, Jack and I have been surviving. Something terrible has happened and we’re still not sure what’s going on. We have been walking around the city for what seems like weeks - in search of a safe place to hide for a few days. We walked through endless, empty neighborhoods, one after the other. These neighborhoods, which were once alive and full of life, memories and people, were now empty and mere shadows of what we once knew - just a few days prior. Occasionally, I would see a mysterious shadow in a window as we walked past the houses, looking out in despair, with what seemed like a slight glimmer of hope. As time goes by, the houses seem to warp as if I was in a dream – a really bad dream. But, I knew we were awake – as no dream has ever been this real.
By Bee5 years ago in Fiction