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”.
Factory Planet
“They’ll stop, right Daddy ? They won’t come to Corvo or to our house, right Daddy?” I cycled though all the lies I might tell Nelson, my seven year old son, hoping I still might find something believable and comforting. We could see the gargantuan excavation machines, each bigger than the supertankers that used to pass carrying oil across oceans. We stood on the edge of Caldeirão and saw them on neighbouring Flores island not twenty five kilometres across Atlantic. We heard them now too, over the Atlantic roar.
By Humberto Da Silva5 years ago in Futurism
Upon His Retirement
Young Bradley was always fascinated with the self-service checkout at Winn-Dixie. He’d watch, wide-eyed, as Mom brushed a cereal box over the glass, making the beeping sound. BEEP. He didn’t realize then how a checker or two may have lost their jobs because of the machines. As an adult, he concluded that technology sometimes takes people out of the equation, and he developed a feeling of dread regarding where it all was headed. BEEP. BEEP.
By Robert G Shaffer5 years ago in Futurism
The Blind
Inside every building it smelled like elevators. And the outdoors smelled like cherry blossom chapstick. It sounded like a typewriter. All the Braille being punched into or onto anonymous objects. Food was exquisite; and after a few months of touching everything, you develop callus that starts to rob you of the new norm. Makes you feel like you’re going blind all over again. Then you develop this hypersensitivity, and learn to feel through the rough palms. The True Sight it's called. See the new world by how it feels.
By Chandler Olof5 years ago in Futurism
A Locket of Time
I stop to rest in the shadow of a few charred beams, what probably used to be a small family home, but is now little more than a pile of rubble. Sitting down on a larger piece of broken concrete, I take a gulp of the rancid water; the only thing there is to stifle this relentless thirst. Looking down at the filthy plastic bottle in my hand, I smirk at the thought that this battered vessel with the faded letters, C-a -ola, will long outlive me. But that’s nothing unique, everywhere there are mountains upon mountains of deathless plastic, half buried in the soil, waste from peoples who were alive long before The Event finished the work that they started. I pull back the hood that protects my face from the incessant radiation, and wipe the torrent of sweat off my brow. Why does it have to get so hot here? Even in the dead of winter, the relentless heat singes my feet through the half melted soles of my boots.
By Teagan Matthews5 years ago in Futurism
"Other" Love
Smooth, shiny, I couldn't see the locket. But it was etched in my mind’s eye. Paralysis had set in everywhere, but I still felt it dangle. It was still around my neck. I hadn’t slept in days, so dreaming was welcome, and the locket was still with me in this “real” world.
By Jenna Pinkston5 years ago in Futurism
A Couple Of Batteries
At the start of when everything fell apart, there were those who chose to blame anyone and everything. They had to find the villain, and often resorted to violence to get what they wanted, proselytizing a better age in recent past. Others chose to hide, giving up what they could to those they saw as having the power to fix things, and constantly pointing out any criticisms they could find to the injustices they felt. They were overwhelmed and wouldn’t fix anything because they were crippled by their own fear but raised their voices on a constant cycle wanting things to change, for us to keep moving forward.
By Rhett Martens5 years ago in Futurism
Anna’s Locket
Clang! Clang! Clang! Anna felt the bed shake before she registered the Headmaster’s cane pounding on the metal frame. “Get up! You have school!” The young Headmaster said. Most people seemed young, Anna reflected. The elderly were the first to die during the SARS-21 plague.
By Mark Jefferson5 years ago in Futurism
The Cure
The bark of the tree was digging into her back through her thin white cotton shirt. Her heart was thumping so fast she could feel it in her ears, but she tried her best to breath as quietly as possible. Sweat was pulling under her heart shaped locket and dribbling down her forehead. Her jeans had ripped while she was running and her feet were throbbing. She had on her house slippers when they knocked on her door and there was no time to change before she ran out the back door.
By Haley Luna5 years ago in Futurism
Rust Red
Red. A dirty, rust-red stretching as far as the eye can see, the jarring intensity of the sunset deepening its vivid hue. I always likened this earth to dried blood, the sand beneath my boots an open wound. Broome was always an arid place but now the analogy I used for her soil holds a deeper resonance. I still remember the life of this land, the prevailing gums that seemingly survived anything, no drought too long. The dingo and wild dogs that preyed upon my livestock. The silhouette of the eagles marring the sky, their slow circling a reminder that the land took life as much as it gave it. Now it just takes, no giving. With the colours of the bush gone, and the sounds of its inhabitants just as absent, the life I once knew is just that; a memory, and the open wound now a scar.
By Freya Scott5 years ago in Futurism
