literature
Science fiction's most popular literary writers from Isaac Asimov to Stephen King and Frank Herbert, and the rising stars of today.
Life Unwritten
It had been passed down for generations since what seemed like the dawn of time. Those who protected it were chosen by a select council made up of men and women who were chosen carefully and secretly by someone who was even more careful and secret. That someone was so secret that no one knew who they were either. This Little Black Book. The Holy Grail of recycled paper and leather. This little book designed to look so ordinary it was beautiful. So simple it was refined. And it held secrets to the very human civilization that existed today. Those that knew the Order of Caretakers even existed spent every moment of every day making sure that no one knew that they knew, because everyone knew what happened when someone slipped up. They knew the consequences of exposing the knowledge that this book existed, Well, they didn’t actually know what the consequences were, but they knew they were a secret within a secret, and of course, with that many secrets involved it must be very dire. Something truly horrible and unthinkable. Like pancakes with no maple syrup, pizza with no pineapple, or, and I can hardly think about this, it's so horrible, a Canadian who never ever apologizes. All things that even the most horrible person would admit, go way way too far into uncharted territory. And no one likes uncharted territory because it is, well, so, uncharted. So, according to those who were chosen to remember and to protect this little black book held within its pages the answer to something important. Right?
By Johanna de Boer5 years ago in Futurism
Floating Girl, Sunken Man
After the business of shooting Anne was over, Denys alone was to take care of the witch notes. She had given no instruction on how to safely do it. Indeed, she had denied they carried the touch of the devil at all, which left him blessing a bolt of linen and shearing it into strips. He made mitts of them and fashioned a sling to carry the slippery tan stacks, spurning the touch of their gleaming bodies.
By Mallory Palmer5 years ago in Futurism
Little Black Book
The warm summer evening breeze dances through Mira’s hair. Cracked city sidewalk crunches beneath her thin-soled All-Star sneakers as she weaves through allies around old homes and abandoned warehouses, camera in hand. Catching the sunset illuminating abstract jagged edges of rusted fencing puncturing plumes of iridescent clouds, she pauses and brings the camera up to her eye, leaning at just the right angle and smiling at the soft click of the shutter.
By Megan Plummer5 years ago in Futurism
Relatively real
I stepped into the glassy front lobby of the Boston high rise, looked down at my frumpy street worn shoes, and back up at the gleaming elevator doors. The late afternoon sun effused the vaulted lobby with a warm and scintillating glow. Catching my reflection, I regretted my worn-out cargo pants, but classier options simply were unaffordable.
By Julie Perez5 years ago in Futurism
The Titan Chronicles
PROLOGUE In the year 2095 the earth was engulfed in a third world war. A conflict so deadly that late in the year 2099 it ended with the world’s superpowers targeting one another with nuclear weapons of mass destruction. The fallout that ensued was vastly devastating leaving one percent of the earth’s population alive and rendering the ground level uninhabitable.
By Kolten Peña5 years ago in Futurism
The Task
Bristol, 17th May 2090 Perhaps it was the fact that it was the middle of the night, or maybe because only the rich possessed £100 notes, that Lucille pondered upon her new found wealth. Maybe it was a prank; It couldn’t possibly be anything else, she thought. Who would send fifty thousand pounds in £100 notes to an impoverished girl living in isolation? Lucille stared at the large white envelope which sat comfortably on her messy table; the colour a stranger to the dark furniture and un-plastered walls that surrounded her. A small black book that had arrived with the money moments earlier lay to the left of it. Lucille sat back in her armchair, closely analysing what was in front of her, until she spotted one of the pages in the black book had been folded. She reached down and opened it to find a list of written instructions.
By Robyn Howells5 years ago in Futurism
Old Soul, New Soul, Familiar Soul
Bang bang BANG! “Where am I!? HELLO?! Anybody out there?” shuffles around. What the hell is this? A book, Samsara reached for it. Something felt familiar but it was hard to pinpoint what exactly it was. When they opened the book things fell on to their feet. In a confused manner Samsara dropped the book and ran their hands from the top of their chest down to their legs. The left hand got caught on something near the waist and with their thumb bumped a button which triggered a light. They flinched at the sight of it but slowly recognized the object. With it, the objects on the ground became recognizable. Samsara bent down to pick them up. Without hesitation they began reading the words on each object, Name: Samsara, age: 290, one hundred dollars. Simultaneously, Samsara picked up a pair of sunglasses, instinctively put them on their face and read “...estimated time of arrival: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2..” Light spilled into the room and a figure reached for their hand.
By Frida Ramos They/her5 years ago in Futurism
The Dark
The Dark. It's been 469 days. Down where the light never reaches. But up there, on the surface, the sunlight hasn't shone either. We count the days just as we did before, by the hours that pass, but without day and night, time feels different. It feels longer, restless, unending. One day runs into the next and months blend into one another. Without seasons or any change down here, time feels constant. Like we’ve been living in one long nightmare.
By Simone Carpenter5 years ago in Futurism
Little Black Book
Archie walked up the creaky stairs to his stronghold, the attic. Up there he could nod in his rocking chair and smoke his pipe in silent contemplation over daily events and past times gone. The attic had a smell of old oak and above him the timber beams had been overtaken with spiderwebs and dust. Filled with storage boxes that had been left unopened for decades, the place was in a disorganised mess. A workbench stood in a dark corner strewn with different sizes of blown glass creations and half-finished pieces. Opposite, shelves of books and antiquated gadgets and instruments covered an entire wall. Next to his rocking chair was a wooden treasure chest. A vase on top held forlorn tulips that hung, weeping, over the edge. The chest mostly served as a table for his tobacco, pints and papers.
By Patricia Gillberg5 years ago in Futurism
Keeper
A connection to the moon has always been present for sweet Isabell. Her porcelain skin gleams under Luna's light most nights. Her fascination with manifestation and other-worldly ideas has brought her peace and comfort as she journeyed through life. Thirty years in, she finally felt at peace among the stars. A Starseed is what she believed she was. Part of an other-dimensional simulation that could control life's direction and gifts. The power she wielded within felt like a two thousand watt lightbulb; impenetrable and admirable. For the first time in her life, she felt in control, confident, and on the path set out for her. The bedside table within her room housed many treasures. She was a believer in energy and kept only the things that exuded positivity next to her as she dreamt. Among her many treasures was a leather-bound book with a family tree embossed on the front. Inside her innermost thoughts littered the pages in messy cursive that only she could understand. The legibility of each entry was dependent upon her mood. As she revisited these thoughts, the lines and curves that formed the words would bring back a memory of each emotion. A physical item that had the capability of producing a feature film within her mind.
By Sabrina Wiles5 years ago in Futurism
