fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
The Pyramid
Ellison closed her eyes, held her breath, and let the sun shine upon her. She loved these moments when the smog broke to let the light through. She could almost imagine she wasn’t a Groundling. She could see herself in the Pyramid, breathing filtered air, the sun always on her skin as she would be far above the smog line.
By Elizabeth Sheldon5 years ago in Futurism
Little Black Book
There’s a narrow corridor, with the faint sounds of rumbling and chaos approaching. The quality of wood on the floor and walls is a dead giveaway that this is an old, worn out ship at sea. Statements like “It’s him!” and “It was him the entire time! He’s over here” become gradually louder. A man in decrepit, gothic clothing slams into a wall at the end of the corridor as he turns the corner. He is fumbling down the hallway in exhaustion, as the rough boat crew members close in on him. The white dress shirt underneath his brown vest is badly worn out, and filthy. He sprints to the end of the hall, where the captain’s quarters are located. Busting open the door, the captain turns to him. The man strikes the captain with the last bit of energy he has left, knocking him to the ground. For some reason, he is frantically searching for a writing utensil. “Quill, where’s a quill….come on”, the man says. The messy table is violently cleared of contents, exposing only a quill and ink. The man pulls out a little black notebook. He is shaken, desperately trying to remain composed enough to dip the quill. He begins to write in the journal as fast as he can, while simultaneously looking up at the doorway. The crew is getting close. The man tries to get his thoughts together as writes the finishing touch in his journal. The captain starts to regain consciousness, grunting as he opens and closes his eyes. The man notices, and gets one last dip in the ink before he backs up against the wall. Crew members obliterate the door from vicious entry and see their downed captain loading his gun to shoot his attacker, and they direct their weapons towards the man. During this moment, the man adds his final scratch to the notebook. He quickly looks at the crew with wide eyes, then the captain, then at an object on the floor that causes a slight crack of a smile. It’s a spilled bag of gold coins. He grabs it, and as soon as they open fire on him, he vanishes.
By Mitchell Blackburn5 years ago in Futurism
When in the Desert
A gust of wind wakes me. I raise my head, which hasn’t stopped pounding, off the rather comfortable rock I confided in to comfort me while I rest. Taking a mid-day hike in the Mojave Desert probably isn’t one of my greatest ideas. Though it beats some of my other proclaimed 'great ideas.' Like the time I got drunk and forgot I was lactose intolerant. Was the pint of rocky road worth it? Not exactly. But it was better than believing my girlfriend of two years would commit to doing distance with me while she would backpack Eastern Europe. I guess it would have been a good idea if it hadn’t resulted in her breaking up with me through this tiny black notebook we decided to send back and forth to one another. It was supposed to keep us close while being apart. She said there wouldn’t be a moment in her life that I wouldn’t be a part of, and I suppose she at least saw that promise thhrough. Would I have preferred a phone call? Goodness no. With the words engraved on this page, I at least can see her regret in triple underlining “This is my mistake.” And I wouldn’t have had the same clarity as provided through her extensive use of all caps in sentences like, “I didn’t sleep with her because of YOU, it’s because of ME, what I’M going through.”
By Taylor Zavala5 years ago in Futurism
Blackest of Books
Blackest of Books I woke up, stretching for the most annoying alarm clock you have ever heard. To realize my rooster had broken into my freaking room. Have you ever woke up and grabbed a rooster? It is not something you expect. I screamed, he crowed, and I fell out of my bed. He fluttered out of my window of my room and this is where the story takes a strange turn. Yes, already, don’t judge me. My rooster, his name for record is Kakaw AKA, Shithead, fluttered out and within a moment I heard a horn of a car and heavy braking. Throwing a shirt on I ran outside; I did however forget pants. There I stood with my blue deer boxers and my green shirt. Feathers drifted down onto the blacktop in the early morning sun with the black car sitting still. On the side the car had the word Book in black letters with white outlining. My head instantly went to a black book, but on wheels. Already a strange morning I would say. Moving up the blacked-out windows, the door opened.
By Timmy Joseph5 years ago in Futurism
The Time Capsule
No one wants to handle the dead when they may be contagious. She learned that early on. As the virus spread, her freezers could no longer contain the deceased. No amount of N-95 masks, social distancing and other personal protective equipment could quell the tingle in the throat of her support staff. Most of them quit early on. Too stricken with the stress of catching it. Too worried about those at home they couldn’t bring those types of problems to. She respected their decisions. As an employer, she did all she could for her beauticians, for her facility manager, her fleet manager, and her grounds keepers. She made sure they wouldn’t go under while the country tried to figure out how to move forward. She stayed, of course, because she had no one to go home to anymore—and it was her duty to the dead to lay them to rest with dignity.
By Jessica S. Carter5 years ago in Futurism
The Lighthouse
“Seven… Twelve… Sixteen… Twenty-One… Thirty-Three… Forty-Two.” Came the crackling monotone voice of the announcer through the rusted loudspeaker. One would think I should be ecstatic that my numbers were selected to win $35,000,000. But that number is just for show because after the government takes off 99% of all income and other fees are paid, the winner only gets $20,000. Should be enough for at least a week’s vacation. I will collect it after my shift today, the winners have forty-eight hours to collect their money before they are presumed unable to collect and a repick is made.
By Dwayne Chapman5 years ago in Futurism
The Dreamer Doesn't Wake
No one knows how the world began; there are only guesses, at best, to how this tiny sphere hurtling through the universe managed to span life—generations building and building until there was a populace. And that populace required a reason for being.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Futurism
