fact or fiction

Is it science fact or science fiction? Futurism presents both sides to determine the truth.

The Hero's Crucible
“Madeline Lane?” The announcer calls my name, and instantly a shiver of panic goes through my bones. One hundred and eighty others have already been called forward today, and yet none of them were chosen, so I’m optimistic I won’t be one of them either.
By Mycheille Norvell5 years ago in Futurism
The Little Black Book
“Just Cleo?” A woman, nearly five feet tall in her soft pink flats, blinks up at the teller. “Yes, Cleo is my full name. It’s not short for anything.”
By Christena Carollo5 years ago in Futurism
Amaturity
A Lifetime of Therapy “...So, I guess that’s why I have such a deep desire to be closer to people, yet am equally fearful of intimacy and uninhibited self-expression.” Crystal, attempting to mask her exasperation with her genuine empathy and morbid intrigue, sighed. “What?” I, oblivious to her reaction, just repeated myself with my usual unnecessary verbosity. I had gotten a lot of practice over the last two decades, with “professional help”. Never knew how I felt, but I knew how to repeat myself.
By Lady Rachelle Alucard5 years ago in Futurism
A Small Escape
Narrowing my eyes against the midday sun shining through the open curtains, I sighed as I dug through yet another box filled with old photos, and what looked to be drawings from a small child, dated with names. A sad memento from the family that must have lived here. Cute but not helpful to our continued survival.
By Becca Holt5 years ago in Futurism
The Mythical Book
The dripping raindrops outside were the only sounds she could hear, almost as if the very weather were mimicking her own tears as they dribbled down her face. This night had to come eventually; it was inevitable. Now that it was here, though, she felt a twisting inside her body, almost as if her very organs were rearranging to make up for the empty hole that was quickly eroding its way through her.
By Katie Julian5 years ago in Futurism
War of Souls: Shadow of Jealousy
War of Souls: Shadow of Jealousy The Azaleas in Ancilla Priori’s front yard had failed to bloom. Once heavy with vibrant flowers, the bush was now decaying and barren. Running her fingertips across an exposed twig, she used her fingernail to loosen some of the gray fungi that was suffocating the plant. The lichen seemed to have materialized overnight, choking the branches and preventing the plant from flowering. Several hurricanes, severe tropical storms, and endless cloudy skies had left Ancilla wanting a refund from the sunshine state for false advertisement. Feeling defeated, she tossed the lichen aside and headed across the lawn toward her garage.
By Avin5 years ago in Futurism
Accepted
Clinging on a rusted fire escape ladder on a side of a brick apartment building, while staring at the red framed window I was directed to find, ripping the wooden framed window open getting red paint chips all over my hands, ’finally, its open’ I stuck my head in first and looked side to side before stepping in, I realized this apartment has nothing no kitchen, bathroom one big empty room, the only thing I can see is a round green carpet in the center of the room. Pulling out my phone to re-read the e-mail that sent me on this fox hunt.
By Juan E.T. 5 years ago in Futurism
Wish Note
I Jordan Jackson was a studious young man. He always had been. In fact, the day that he graduated middle school, his family took him to Benihana’s to celebrate the fact that he had received honors and top marks in all of his classes. In traditional Benihana’s style, they were seated with another party. It was a daughter, in her 40s perhaps, and her father, well into his 80s at least. The daughter, noticing Jordan’s cap and gown, struck up a conversation, one which began, as most conversations did at that juncture in his life, with the question “what high school are you going to?” This conversation, inevitably, led to the typical follow up discussion of colleges, upon which the father, barely lucid, interjected, recalling some distant yet temporarily present memory. “You know, I had a friend in high school who went to college. He loved school so much, boy I tell ya. In fact, after college, he went on to get his masters degree… and after his masters, he got his PhD! Actually, he ended up getting two PhDs!” The father paused and laughed to himself. He looked at, and yet somehow through, Jordan. “Yeah, he loved school so much, by the time he finished, he didn’t know what to do. So he killed himself” “Dad!” The daughter was so embarrassed at the abrupt and morbid turn that the conversation took that she offered to pay for the entire meal. Jordan liked that memory. He thought about the father’s friend a lot. In fact, it was this exact memory that had just drifted into his thoughts, occluding his focus like a storm cloud interrupting a beautiful vista view.
By Pablo Vasquez5 years ago in Futurism
Dancing with Duality under the Moon
As the sweet, left-handed, man with the perfect penmanship used to say, “perception - it’s 9/10ths of the law”.
By Heather Hiveley5 years ago in Futurism
Talking Colors
“Shall we begin?” A suave voice pierces into the silence. I wish I had a face to the name. A wish I’ve made for as long as I can remember. He’s close enough for me to touch. His warm breath smells like mint. Spearmint. His voice sounds vibrant. Too young to be old. Attractive. I could reach out and maybe run my fingers over a beard or stubble. I don’t. That would be rude and weird. He smells fresh with a hint of cologne.
By Lauren Colgate5 years ago in Futurism
The mystery of the butterfly rings
One day Sam opened his front door to discover a plane box sitting at the door with no writing on it other than the words, “For Sam.” Puzzled and intrigued, Sam immediately took the box inside to open it.
By B. J. C.5 years ago in Futurism
Finding Freedom
I fidgeted with the shackles clasped around my ankles. My skin burned as the metal rubbed against my infected lesions which caused me to suck in a quick breath of air between clenched teeth. I groaned as I stood up off the dirt-encrusted, concrete floor of my cell and hobbled over to the leak in the cell’s ceiling where water trickled down in steady, persistent drops. The cool water alleviated my wounded ankles as it dribbled down onto my skin. In the dim light, a young girl watched me between the gaps of the metal bars. Her nappy hair clung to her head in mats and grime layered her beautiful almond skin. I felt sorrow in my heart as I gazed back into her sunken eyes. She was so young, around ten.
By Brooke Hash5 years ago in Futurism