Sci Fi
Hidden Oasis
Life on Earth was altered greatly after the great sickness, I have heard and read of this, but it was before my time. My life has been sad and lonely, the council controls us. They tell us what to do, when, and how to do it, my biggest problem with this is I’m not like everyone else. I hide my differences and push others out of my life even as they ask.
By Heather Stanton5 years ago in Fiction
After the Modification
I never should have believed them, he muttered to himself, his sweaty clothing clinging to his back and legs as he shoveled the debris. At least I think I shouldn’t have trusted them, who can remember? The designers would know. The sun seemed hotter today. Was it always this hot? He couldn’t be sure, the only thing he was sure of was that there was no beauty in the world except for the heart shaped locket.
By Grace McCullar5 years ago in Fiction
Undercurrent
“Grindostater units recommissioned for service on Nereynis,” were the words Psiona finally heaved out. “That’s the one.” As holographic newspaper-clippings went it was a perfunctory two-paragraph job at best, but of all Psiona’s numerous team-mates clustered round her control-desk in the asteroidal headquarters’s monitoring-cave, no humanoid or mini-jeep felt in much of a position to start second-guessing. Ever since their empty-handed return from the Rings of Xandreth, Psiona had applied herself to nothing short of unstinting toil over the galaxy’s media-streams. Carmilla, though she knew from experience how stubborn and determined girls that age could be, had more than once been on the brink of treating Psiona like one of her own little sisters and insisting she stopped taxing herself thus.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
The Fire in our Chests
Hani’s lungs burned. She and her mother had been running for eight blocks now in the acrid Seattle air, through the barely perceptible gray haze, now cresting the hill near Harborview hospital. Her mother, Sagal, shambled behind her, her dark blue peacock-themed baati flowing around her as she moved and tugging at the garbasaar around her shoulders as it slipped loose. Only her head scarf, her shash, stayed in place. Sagal always meticulously wrapped and pinned it in place before she left their musty, dated two-bedroom apartment in the Central District.
By Doug James5 years ago in Fiction
Shaman
A trail of intricate footprints lined the infant snow as the Tibetan sun reached its median point. Through his kaleidoscopic orange goggles, Tenzin Gyatso’s view of the alabaster plateau was disrupted by an ugly, discordant cylinder of brown and grey. “A pair of wings? That looks like a tail... And is that its head?” Tenzin muttered under his breath as if waiting for a response. One resounding pop after another, Tenzin marched through the undisturbed snow-white canvas, towards the preserved cadaver of an Old World God.
By Will Edelson5 years ago in Fiction
The Human Experience
How many days can a person go without chocolate? That is a silly question. There are still a few billion people left in the world. I suppose there are some that are allergic to chocolate and some that just don’t like it. It’s not the unifying common denominator of what makes us human. It’s just a stupid bean. It doesn’t even taste good until they add the cream and sugar. And yet, I am desperate for some chocolate right now. I imagine the silky sweetness on my tongue then gag on the bitterness of my own saliva. My brain won’t drop it even though I haven’t seen chocolate in...eight months...a year?
By Leslie Writes5 years ago in Fiction
Diary of Amnesia
2108, 26th April I stand in this place in a building high in the sky, the town where the dead do not speak, where the ground does not grow, and the sun creates radioactive sunsets. I can see a monster in the distance, the stack, and a coffin buried beneath rubble; sometimes when I wake up at night, I can see a blue glow, and I sometimes think to myself (What was beneath that coffin, why does it spew that blue glow?). This happened long ago, so long ago, and now after the events of the war, the world has descended into darkness. Around my neck is this locket, shaped like a heart, but I cannot remember why I am wearing it? And why can’t I remember the combination, a 4-digit number, but what was it? Perhaps if I sleep tonight, I will wake up tomorrow with the memory of what it was.
By Arthur Caliga 5 years ago in Fiction
