humanity

The evolution of humanity, from one advancement to the next.

The Life Lesson
Falling in front of a train travelling at 90mph didn’t hurt nearly as much as Sam thought it would. In fact, considering it only happened this morning, Sam had to admit that he felt remarkably chipper about it all things considered.
By David Calvert5 years ago in Futurism
The Lost Epic of Our Core Principles Part 1
The Enigmatic Marginalization of our source to source Inspirations (revealing the beloved within as it is all around both above and below bearing a soul made to flow all throughout the cosmos) The lost epic of our Core Principles, part 1: The never-ending quest for new source material...
By Damien Bettzinger5 years ago in Futurism
Look Up
DAY 1 6:30AM Jacob steadied his hand and lifted the razor to his cheek, staring into the opaque glass as he did. He didn’t see the mirror anymore, though it technically was a mirror. Instead, his practiced eyes searched for the green lines that assessed his strokes, the red ones that assessed his pressure. He hadn’t had a nick or a scratch since it had been installed. Truthfully, he missed sticking the little bits of paper against the congealing blood, like his dad had taught him; but he supposed it was better this way. She’d certainly thought it was.
By Samantha Ortiz5 years ago in Futurism
The Poet
The first. The busiest and most painful day of the month in my line of work. Last Christmas I’d gotten into the arrangement of paying part of my rent after the 20th and never managed to catch up. Many of my tenants did the same, and I never held it against them. In this economy, the struggle to make ends meet is real. To make matters worse, I misplaced my notebook over the weekend. I ended up typing some of my poems and even writing a short story for a contest I heard about, just to get the thoughts out of my head. It’s like I can’t turn my mind off sometimes, even if I want to. I try to live a super clean lifestyle, for the baby. So this was like therapy for us.
By Lindsay Russell5 years ago in Futurism
The Trap and the Little Black Book
Inhale…exhale… Audrey tried to calm the tremors. Her fingers were quivering, frail stems as she wrote yet another draft of the letter. She had shredded the others. A wall of textbooks, empty energy drinks, and unpaid bills surrounded her desk. An eviction notice on top of the pile of bills glowered at her. Her debts gnawed at her peripheral vision as she continued to write:
By Eva F5 years ago in Futurism
Seeing the Forest For the Trees
The city glowed before her eyes as it always did: never any pure darkness, never any complete ease. Of course, stars were something people mostly only read about; it was impossible to ever really glance at any true stars in the thrall of technology that loomed all around her.
By Jenifer Stephens5 years ago in Futurism
Hackable Human
In a 2014 TED talk, Professor Nicholas Negroponte made an outrageous prediction. Knowledge could be ingested rather than learned.
By Viv B5 years ago in Futurism
On the Cusp
November 5th, 9:29 pm. Miami, Florida. Given this challenge's nature, it's easy to assume this information relates to my birthday, but that is not the case. This is the moment my life changed forever. This is the date and time of my young father's unexpected death.
By Bryanna Nunez5 years ago in Futurism
Towards Freedom
The shadow arrived suddenly and stretched, slowly engulfing the city streets. Darkness can do all kinds of things to the human brain and body. It can increase our propensity to lie, to deceive, to make mistakes and even see things that may not be there but as this grey-blue shadow continued its slow sprawl, the community stepped on to the darkened streets and smiled. Days prior the city had been abuzz. Only three sleeps until huge ships arrived. It was rumoured their billowing funnels were the size of small countries, wide enough to block the sea and tall enough to block the sun. Flyers had been printed and plastered in each community enough times to supply each inhabitant with multiple copies. The flyers flickered in the wind commanding attention. The lead lines differed but the block letters at the bottom read the same:
By BHughes5 years ago in Futurism
This Place is Not My Home
He’d searched for meaning in all the right places, but everything had seemingly failed. He thought that trying to find himself through art, meditation, exercise or connection would lead somewhere better than where he’d started. Maybe it was time to start over.
By Julian Ramirez5 years ago in Futurism
The Fourth Panel
Unsure of the next step, he reached into his back pocket pulling out the black leather bound moleskine journal that had become his most prized possession. He felt the smooth warm pages and was delighted to find that he knew what to do all along. He liked the reassurance of consulting the book. He smiled remembering the first time he laid eyes on the contents of the journal.
By Makayla Ray5 years ago in Futurism
The House of Happiness
Your name hurt. It hurt to say. Hurt to think. Hurt to hear. Each syllable slowly unravelled, dragging its nails down my heart of stone until it cracked. The grey rubble fell, bit by bit, until all of the memories, all of the joys, all of the pain, gushed from the cracks, drowning my insides before overflowing through my eyes. I wasn’t supposed to cry. But that book. That damned black book is the last thing I have left of you. And I don’t know how much longer I have left with it. I close the tear-stained pages and press them between the tattered leather cover. Running my fingers along the spine I notice every detail — every indentation, every cavity, every scratch — and savour it for what may be the last time. I lift my head from the indelible journal on the marbled bathroom bench and lock eyes with myself in the dull, elongated mirror in front of me. Everyone always tells me I have your brown eyes and perhaps once upon a time I did. They were like golden pools of honey which absorbed gleams of sunshine and reflected their sweetness back into the souls of anyone you looked at. Passersby would grin and anyone lucky enough to engage in a conversation with you would leave in a sugar coma, so deeply paralysed by happiness and pure contentment. Now my eyes are empty, broken — sheer brown — and, as for yours, I’ll never get to see them again.
By Jordan Allan5 years ago in Futurism