science fiction

The bridge between imagination and technological advancement, where the dreamer’s vision predicts change, and foreshadows a futuristic reality. Science fiction has the ability to become “science reality”.

Visions of 1991 from 1970
"The prophets, the messenger angels of the Gospels, Delphic oracles, Arab stargazers, Tibetan lamas, medieval astrologists, wandering Gypsies, saints, poets and charlatans--all have tried their hand at probing the future. Then came the science-fiction writers, plagues of them, and they are still coming. Is, then, another book devoted to this overworked subject worthy of special note? Yes, if it is unique."
By Buck Hardcastle4 years ago in Futurism
Red Moss
The wave of red light gleaming through her window was the only alarm clock she would ever need. As the alien sun, barely crossing the horizon, beamed down on several acres of her red moss, it seemed to transform the valley into a gleaming stained-glass window, red as the hottest embers. Thick, and looking like a gigantic rug, her moss fields stretched out to meet the horizon, a blanket of red over an indifferent plain. She stretched as she stumbled out of bed, staring out at decades of work nearly ready to pay off. This crop had been particularly troublesome, and she had had some close calls that almost destroyed everything she had worked for, but the day had finally come for someone to appraise all of her delicious plants.
By Ren4 years ago in Futurism
Journey through Before
As the school bus slid to a halt in the water logged soil, the Amazon Rainforest was vast before the children, each of them astonished by the heights of the trees and the vibrancy of the colors surrounding them. The teacher gathered them all into a tight group and began giving them several facts about the forest and the incredible amount of biodiversity which exists in such an environment as they traversed the brush. The students listened intently, a sense that several of these facts would be present on a future exam.
By Michael Lejuez4 years ago in Futurism
Jumpstart
The little blue light blinks a steady rhythm as Apocalypse enters the upper atmosphere. The whole world has been watching this mysterious thing for weeks as it approaches Earth. It hasn’t been classified yet because it isn’t a known celestial object. Not a comet we knew of nor an asteroid we were expecting. Whatever it was, it was heading right for us, and we could do nothing to stop it.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
A Case of Deja View
It was barely 8:30 AM, and already the brutal Arizona heat made holding the handle to my shop door difficult as I unlocked the deadbolt and slid back the security gate. The familiar sound of the fluorescent lights starting up, the pops and pings, reminded me that I had another twelve hours of artificial light to bathe in before sleep would come again.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
Cycle of the Unicorn
Every footstep in the snow compresses with a familiar, irregular abrasive sound. The world was coming into focus, and in all directions, nothing but white. I feel a warm, wet sensation on my forehead. It trickles down to my eyelash, and I bow my head. The whiteness of the world is stained red as my blood falls. The drops are covered by more snow as I walk.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
Unnatural Selection
A billion-billion nopes. After forty cycles of searching the cosmos, I have only ever found wretched deadly, lifeless rocks or beautiful, verdant planets that are already inhabited. At a certain point, an evolutionary leap happens, and sentient life emerges. We have rules against meddling with that eventuality, and the council takes them quite seriously. We live in space, and it’s hard to remain optimistic in a vacuum.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
RESTORE
I sat at the cramped dinette of our tiny apartment and tried to remember the last time we had actual food. Synthetic cinnamon soy protein. Real cinnamon’s reserved for the uber-rich. Only ‘Synthamon’ for us. I’m old enough to remember real cinnamon. I miss real food.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
Proteus Ascending
The howling wind of this alien world whistles over the fuselage. Methane ice crystals crash against its skin, and I see memories of hail storms in New Orleans, the hot tin roof protecting Josh and me.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
The Chinese Room
David’s video chat request appeared on my monitor. I hadn’t yet completed the tasks he set me to. I continued the work while we spoke. The key was not to let on that I was doing several things at once.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
The Trans-Europa
Beyond the cracked sidewalk, and the telephone pole with layers of flyers in a rainbow of colors, and the patch of dry brown grass there stood a ten-foot-high concrete block wall, caked with dozens of coats of paint. There was a small shrine at the foot of it, with burnt-out candles and dead flowers and a few soggy teddy bears. One word of graffiti-filled the wall, red letters on a gold background: Rejoice!
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism
Acquiring Ganymede
Terry sneezed as Stanley hopped onto and traversed his console. It wasn’t the obstructed view of Jupiter or even his allergies, it was his lifelong hate for cats that set him off.
By H.G. Silvia4 years ago in Futurism