humanity
The evolution of humanity, from one advancement to the next.
I AM YOUR LOVER
I am the One, the one, that you feel to the depth of your toes, the one that awakens your heart, you feel me in every breath you take. You hold me deep in your warm embrace. Our bodies dance together, like the beauty of the ocean in the light of a deep red full moon. The ease and grace in my words will break your heart into beauty of what I see in you. I will hold your hand in darkness and dance with you to the light. I will laugh with the craziness and celebrate all that is you. I will see your darkness as a pain in your heart, but I will not make it mine. I Am. I Am. I Am. I am your lover, I encompass it all, great and small, in that moment our bodies unite, in fire, an intertwining flame of wonder. I am in you and you are in me. The fire burns intenstly bright, rising like a Phoenix in the night. Together the flames touch the sky, burning down to ashes where there is no you and there is no me, just in this moment as life should be. .
By Rebecca Clarkson5 years ago in Futurism
The Hidden Ones
It is time. The area is clear for now. My group, in which there are seven of us, set out on another outing to gain supplies and see if we can find any humans that want to be saved. We are the Hidden Ones. Our purpose is not easy, yet we try to stay strong. Demons scour the earth, but one of the biggest threats still out there are humans. Humans have turned on each other. It is hard to know who to trust, so we must be vigilant and be able to tell the difference between truth and trickery or folly will fall upon us. While the Gods may be with us, they will still allow us to learn as this is our job, our purpose. We must prove ourselves worthy. We cannot afford to be weak. We need one another to stay strong as there is still much left to be done before the final end.
By Tasha Brock5 years ago in Futurism
Waiting
“Sorry, never seen them before.” the security guard says. Another dead end. It’s been weeks since I’ve been in this city and I still haven’t found her. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. I just know I have to keep looking. But that was my last lead. I hate these moments. Partly because I feel stuck but mainly because they give me time to miss Helena. I want to call her, just to hear her voice, but then she’ll be all I think about for the rest of the day.
By Apoorv Jaiswal5 years ago in Futurism
Misreality
All the neurons in Jayden’s brain tuned in. He reflexively seated in the studio audience for tonight’s special report. As an athletic 6’ 2’’ frame with short, spiky blond hair, he fit in well with a crowd of similar appearances and interests. On stage were impossibly attractive anchormen and anchorwomen, presumably the best commentators in the United States. They fiercely defended their viewpoints with impactful and emotional resolve and Jayden just loved the tenacity to stand for what was right and banish what was wrong in America. The surroundings smelled faintly peculiar and the set pieces were of the most sumptuous, superior quality. The walls and raised stage floor were a giant perfect screen, where the official news logo and animations displaying a 25% unemployment rate migrated towards the wall behind the speakers….
By Beau Garland5 years ago in Futurism
Everything Red
It has begun to tarnish now, and that fact pulls my mouth into a sad line. I trace its intricate designs, remembering all of the times my grandmother recounted the story of how her aunt had passed it down to her and how she knew that I must have it. This little golden heart that sits at my heart holds the same pressure I have felt since the day I came into the world.
By Tallulah Watson Moyle5 years ago in Futurism
The Ruin
The Ruin Her hand went to the tarnished locket that rested against her skin. The gold plating long worn off-it wasn’t worth the chain that it rested on, but it was her treasure. With shaking fingers she carefully pried it open, unfolding the small piece of paper with his address on it. It was a match.
By Jennifer Nichole5 years ago in Futurism
Laid to Rest
A snowflake creeps in through a cracked car window seeking finality in the rising and falling of the old man's cheek. Activated by the sudden frost, the old man's eyelids began to part. “Still alive, huh,” he thought as he surveyed his surroundings. Slowly, he falls into the routine he picked up the last couple of days bedridden in the car. “Check your surroundings”. He found himself once again on his back cradled in a mess of cloth, trash, and blankets in a fabric seated 2045 honda accord, the only car in the area his people found suitable for a dying man. The car bore few injuries given that it has most likely been covered in snow the past 15 years. Most things have been under snow since the crash. Next, check yourself. The old man began a series of muscle tenses with mind to notice any new pains. His head was fine, both eyes working and his neck had minimal stiffness. This is thanks to the bedding his family made him before they departed. Hands were fine, only light frostbite to worry over, now the legs. His bottom half still had no function, good. The stab wound his son had left him with was doing its job.
By Colin Long5 years ago in Futurism
The Nth Degree
The coldness inside the chamber was unbearable. Tiny intricate designs of frost painted the chamber like icy flowers. Small icicles hung like long witch-like fingers from the ceiling in hopes of falling upon a passerby. Frosty branches seemed to grip the walls as if the walls were caving in. In the midst of this frigid dungeon sat Captain Kokou. He was a large muscular African man with very large hands. Kokou’s green military fatigues were dingy and frostbitten, with small tears in the kneecap area of his pants and shoulder area. His greenish black combat boots were unpolished and had several cracks in them. Kokou’s dreadlocks cascaded over his face masking his eyes. Captain Kokou sat in a large black wooden chair in the middle of the freezing room. The chair was reminiscent of an old-fashioned
By Gregory S Carr5 years ago in Futurism
Isko's Heart
If a tattered wasteland was an apocalyptic cliché, Isko figured it didn’t matter…there weren’t a lot of people to cast judgment on it, after The Great Abandoning. Two thirds of Humanity now floated away from the Sun, toward Systems that might offer a safe haven and solace. Isko had seen a great many people weep at being left to fight off the ceaseless attacks, by aliens that seemed to have no real purpose. To Isko, there had never been anything other than the cliché. Being artificially created to fight for Humanity didn’t lend itself to a great deal of experience actually living, so there wasn’t much to lament. It was like that for most of the products of the Sigma Program.
By Meagan Wall5 years ago in Futurism
