future
Exploring the future of science today, while looking back on the achievements from yesterday. Science fiction is science future.
Rosie
Pain shot through me as consciousness returned. I tried to get up, a crackle of pain shooting up my spine. A twinge of relief, overshadowed quickly by panic, coursed through me. I needed to be quick. Rosie would know I survived. My luck may have been keen enough to land me on a grimy roof rather than the hood of a car or the spire of a church, but the residents of the Antioch Slum were more than used to the tendency of their upper neighbors to toss their toys when the rich bastards were done playing with them, and knew better than to investigate.
By Ryan Worman5 years ago in Futurism
Letter To Tess
I always listened closely to my mother. I had to sometimes interpret between the lines. I had to know what she wanted to say, but didn’t. I had to read the darkness in her eyes, notice the slight gleam when she talked about my father. I had to see the slight remnant of terror when she talked about ‘the flare’. I had to hear the tinge of regret for not seeing nor appreciating everything she once had, and not acknowledging what she actually had to lose. Life, as she explained to me, was like a utopia, but she didn’t notice then.
By Lisa LaBarr5 years ago in Futurism
The Farm
The smell, Ansel blindly supposed to himself, was always the thing he dreaded most. The thought slipped listlessly in and out, as the twinge of guilt he always felt at such times nagged at him gently. Ansel was earnestly, if not a little gravely, aware of his good fortune. Most of his brother’s and sister’s chores on the farm were a great deal more grim; and that was putting it lightly, he thought glumly. Nonetheless, his job was quite simple, and not entirely unpleasant if he was being completely honest. He was in charge of swatting down the cobwebs from the simple wooden slatted rafters that covered the porch that surrounded a little less than half of the cattle pen. Then he was to wash the windows that did completely surround the slaughterhouse.
By Sara Garrett5 years ago in Futurism
The Unnamed Wanderer
He whistled as he walked, every left step accompanied by the soft thud of a walking stick held in his opposite hand, or was a bow, yes, a bow. He held an unstrung bow, standing at least a head taller than he was. The pleasant tune he whistled echoed off the toppled brick building to his right, and the standing concrete building's columns to his left. What once was grey concrete was now covered with dirt and grime so intensely it produced a faded yellow with green at the base where the building touched the brick walkway. Moss stretched its way along a deep crack toward the roof of the structure. The path was lined with concrete boxes covered in stone veneer, which at one point, held flowers and not grayish soil and dead trees. What used to be a beautiful pedestrian walking mall was now littered with loose bricks from the collapsed building, piles of trash, and small animals like the rabbit running past his path now.
By Walker Powell5 years ago in Futurism
Lights Out
Dawn had broken, the ceiling lights flickered on que. I closed my eyes again and reached up to feel a small bump near my collarbone. The heart locket moved slightly at the touch. My mother shouldn’t have saved it, even if it meant the last piece of humanity to her. It cost her the very life she held dear.
By Lena Burandt5 years ago in Futurism
Little Soldier
The boy and his father were walking along a ridge through the woods. Today, they had enough food. All they were doing was looking for a new shelter. They were always on the move. For the two of them, there was only finding food and a new place to hide.
By Alexander Greco5 years ago in Futurism
The Intersection
It was time to go. Marlin knew this by the way the temperature plummeted, the cold creeping inside his many layers of threadbare clothing. He knew this by the way the whining of the wind through the broken walls of the weather torn house had sharpened, reaching a pitch almost painful to the ears. Gone were the days when Man laughed in the face of nature, safe in their houses, warm and protected from the elements, now they lived and died at the behest of the Earth, fitting retribution for those who had abused it for so long.
By Didy Miller5 years ago in Futurism
Scorched Earth Policy
In one of the Factory Worker districts of Southern Calimart, the reach of the ruling company was being tested. A laborer’s house had been vandalized some time ago, but was only recently reported. The aerial photos showed crude drawings of birds and big-headed people hugging each other. The sale of chalk was prohibited to children in the lower districts, so the local authorities were ready to attach ‘Sale of Illegal Goods’ to the vandalism charge. But no self-respecting official would go near a laborer, so something more creative had to be done.
By Gabriella Pleasant5 years ago in Futurism
Treacherous Heart
With every hastened step towards the Upper City my clothes became heavier, raindrops raced down my face freely as I had long given up trying to wipe them off. I made a quick scan of my surroundings, checking for any sign of white armoured suits or guns. It seems the months of surveillance had paid off as I met no resistance on my way to the small entrance in the shadows of one of the upper city’s shimmering silver towers. One more quick check, a swipe of my stolen key card and I was in.
By Kirsty Macleod5 years ago in Futurism
Static Nothingness
Colors of the Earth faded the second human hearts turned from red beauty pumping life to silver stillness. The flowing river of the body turned into a stiff metallic heart-shaped locket inside, encasing all of the memories of what used to be. Everything turned to grey. Those who used to run the diverse societies are the very reason the world was plagued and overrun by greed. Believing only their routine and outdated structures for countries were the only way and never trying to find a middle opinion caused intricate architecture to fall, leaving rubbles and cracked glass to cover the dirt paths that remain. Traditionals who yearned for power, yet cowered behind their tidy desks, could not adapt to the changing times. Their failures to become kind human beings led to the ultimate nuclear demise of the Earth. The heavy smog clouds our vision along with the thick lens of the gas masks, but our visions were gone long before the cloud of death emerged in the horizon. The future was no longer a dream, here everything dies. No more blue sky, warm yellow sun, or even the old green paper with different numbers that used to be one’s lifeline. The only luxury we can afford now is fear. Hiding, fighting, and running are the only activities that fill up the day, allowing us to escape from time before the clock catches up. Running on the dry, crackling ground produces sounds of static. The dim world of chaotic destruction turning lives into a flickering, yet empty screen. The only channel available to watch and try to connect to is the hovering cloud of death that resembles static nothingness.
By Tate Russell5 years ago in Futurism
