fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
A Simple Exchange
Emerald smoke coiled lazily around the monster in Emmeline's closet. Peeking between trembling fingers, she could see that this monster wore fancy shoes. Unusual, but not unheard of. She took a quiet breath in and risked looking a little higher. She knew better than to look at its eyes - she was seven and a half years old, after all, and this wasn't her first closet monster - but there were no rules against looking at a monster's knees. At least, she hoped not.
By Kelsey Johnson5 years ago in Futurism
The Second Door
The god idly thinks on occasion that it might be next. Though what 'next' means, the god would not be able to say. Exhaling, the god sinks into the pose; the god's body is a cacophony of pain. A quilt work of suffering, angst and despair. People think being a god is easy, that you are omnipotent, that you don't feel pain, that you can do anything. None of that is accurate. The god exhales again, sinks deeper into the pose. The god is forever scanning the sensations in the body. The god exhales once more, relaxing even further into the pose.
By Shawn Ingram5 years ago in Futurism
Pay to Win
Sluggishly crawling on the floor of the narrow alleyway, I sit upright utilising the weathered dumpster for support. The light pitter-patter of the rain provides a soothing atmosphere, a relatively decent distraction from the excruciating pain of the puncture in my lower abdomen. Placing my hand over the wound in hopes that the applied pressure would slow down the bleeding. “Cat” I call out, a small cloud burst happens in front of me and a small cat-like creature appears “Aye sir?” Staring at him silently for a few seconds before asking “How bad is it?” “Unless you pay the price…I’d say about nine-minutes before you die.” In his usually emotionless eyes, I saw a look of not sadness but pity, “How much is it for a full recovery?” “fifteen-thousand.” “And a partial recovery?” “depends how long you want to prolong your time for.”
By Einreb Ortega5 years ago in Futurism
The Book
It was an idyllic summer night. Lilith looked out of the benchseat window of her bedroom in the attic of what used to be her Grandmother's house. The air was warm and sweet, the midnight blue sky was littered with stars and when the moon revealed itself from behind the passing clouds it was full and bright and felt like it was shining just for her. The breeze was cool as it gently caressed her falling tears. She didn't need a mirror to know that she had a black eye, a busted lip and clumps of hair missing. He had viciously beat her again and as usual he had locked her in here to think about what she had done to cause his "outburst".
By Mara Covet5 years ago in Futurism
Pulvis et umbra sumus
“Humans like money, don’t you?” Three years, three years together and those were his last words. Money… Maxime looked at the ceiling fan, he looked at the blades and blankly let his gaze be entertained by the white vanes. He rolled over to the side of the bed and touched the cold marble. Twenty thousand dollars and he was gone. Gone like he arrived. Like a lighting bringing back the day in the night sky he appeared and just like a thunder he disappeared, the echo of his presence reverberating inside Maxime’s memory.
By Elio Ardizzone5 years ago in Futurism
A Conjuring and A Summons
Salamance sits his spectacles on the ridge of his nose, just so. His hair hangs silver and grey to his shoulders, framing an aging square face. A broad-barreled chest like a builder and the burnt, speckled powerful hands of a blacksmith. Gloves of dead, callused skin. His Familiar, Darkwood looks him up and down. A cat enchanted to be the size of a tiger, with fur so impossibly black, the only discernible features are his giant pale green eyes. Even in full sun, no light can penetrate the void of his form. The Familiar looks at Salamance.
By Sophie Chandler5 years ago in Futurism
The Property of Emit
I could hear the train faintly humming closer as I scrambled to find my subway card for the ticket turnstiles. The shrill voice of the announcer increasing my level of anxiety. I shove my card into the machine and hurl my body propelling forward through the silver metal bars that squish my sandwich lunch. "Excuse me!" I mumble, dodging people walking the opposite way, leaping five stairs at a time, only to look up and see the subway doors starting to close as the conductor blows his whistle and a polite, yet very defeating operator voice says "Please stand clear, the doors are now closing." I lunge, eyes wide with desperation as they slam in my face... and everyone inside gives me THAT smirk. Because, well, they’ve been me too.
By Natalie-Monique Le Sueur5 years ago in Futurism
The Cloaked Figure
The sun’s smiling rays spread across a vast field, touching the skin of a young girl resting beneath a willow tree, it’s roots sinking deep into water. Her heavy eyelids began to close as she drifted off to sleep. Dark brown hair spilled across her shoulders in a tangled mess, her breathing beginning to deepen.
By Danielle Aylett5 years ago in Futurism
Black Girl Magic
It was a typical enough, overcast Friday for a late September afternoon in Oakland. Kayla Holmes was doing what she typically did on afternoons when she didn’t have extra-curricular activities or plans with friends, tucking herself up under blankets and curling into the arm of the big red chair to read.
By Grassy Knoll5 years ago in Futurism
