literature

Science fiction's most popular literary writers from Isaac Asimov to Stephen King and Frank Herbert, and the rising stars of today.

Prologue
~Kaiźer~ ~Prologue: A Deadly and Mutable Council~ “With Fire and Ice, is thy Bound! Let not Air, nor Earth release thou till thy time have come.”
By Levi Hyatt5 years ago in Futurism
Overactive Imagination
I had had worse job interviews, and honestly, that was a really sad thought. I wished I could at least comfort myself with the thought some of my others had gone much better. They hadn’t.
By Breanna Harrel5 years ago in Futurism
The Eternal Relevance of Octavia Butler
“So what do you think of that,” the professor’s eyes scanned the room before landing on me, “Arianna? What are your thoughts?”
By Arianna McGough 5 years ago in Futurism
A Librarian's Tale
Andrew was a quiet man who had worked as a librarian for many years. He was married, then divorced, then remarried, with no children of his own. He mostly kept to himself, only really reprimanding students when their volume grew too loud as they spoke about their late night wanderings around campus and beyond. He had taken the job of a local campus librarian four years ago to work closer to home in an attempt to spend more time with his wife. Things weren’t going well.
By Jenny Hynes5 years ago in Futurism
The Loom
It was tucked up against my chest under the layers of shirts and with every step I could feel the soft leather cover against my skin. I tightened the belt around the outside of my coat which acted as a barrier keeping the precious notebook from sliding down away from me.
By Jules5 years ago in Futurism
Signatures
“Shh...I know, it’ll be okay.” Mary gently pushed back the curly hair from Ellie’s face. Mud was dispersed over the knees of Ellie’s leggings and dirt was speckled on her forehead...in her hair...Ellie had taken a pretty big tumble. She wasn’t seriously hurt, thankfully, Mary thought. Just a little shaken up. Mary brushed the dirt from Ellie’s forehead, as she bounced back and forth humming softly. Slowly, her two-year-old got quiet and rested her head on Mary’s shoulder.
By Gabriella Dawson5 years ago in Futurism
Coventry
The weather was unusually warm that morning; the barrel was no longer frozen solid. Usually only the water in the deep inner storage was in liquid form when the sun first rose. Usually the barrel, abandoned at the entrance, was a immovable block of ice. Something was different. Not a lot. Just a little.
By Rebecca Lupton5 years ago in Futurism
Paper
“Nia. Come back to the surface. Over.” “Another minute, I almost have—" “Another minute and you’re free diving, Nia. Just please, come back. Over.”
By Harper D.5 years ago in Futurism
How Curious
Eddie walks with shoulders slumped and uncomfortable in his way too tight red cardigan sweater and tan Docker's pants down the crowded subway corridor.
By Christopher Robertsson5 years ago in Futurism
Tusk Glass
It was Trimalchio Tusk, one of the American Elect who could honestly claim to be 1/10th of a trillionaire, who stood before what a perspicacious passerby would assume was a replica of The Monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. This wondrous spectacle of Hollywood memorabilia, stuck in the white sands of Carmel-by-the-Sea’s beach, featured a small troop of baboons, sheltering within a sliver of shade cast by this sun-transformed sundial scaling 20 feet into the sky.
By Jon C. Hopwood5 years ago in Futurism
Escaping reality
“Everything comes with a price. What is to give light must endure burning”. That was the first line she read on what it seemed to be an ordinary little black book. Little did she know that the book was neither ordinary nor random.
By Nuhy5 years ago in Futurism
The Interminable Life of Emma
There, sat a wise little girl. Wiser beyond her years, little did she know before going into the woods to sit with nature on this beautiful Sunday, spring afternoon. Emma, she who had a sensation and feeling of knowing that her life would simply fall into place. Never questioning and never doubting. Emma, this eleven year old little girl, simply knew she had to stop the chaos around her by being still in her little corner in her neck of the woods. On the ledge of the tree trunk, Emma sat and pondered about her ancestors and how there will one day be a version of herself, long in the future, whom she wishes she could help the next “mini-me” she called in her mind, unknowingly realizing spirit could hear her.
By Alexandra Blight5 years ago in Futurism