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”.
The Tumble
the suit is warm. Jade is thankful for that. a huge comfort in the doomed situation. it is a relic from the Middle Reich of stellar exploration, designed at a time when chic was still important, but tech had moved well into the new wave of super-efficient advanced life support. still, it has it’s bugs. with age the perspiration re-sorbers have become sluggish, resulting in a light but frustrating and accumulating level of fog and damp. like a personal humidifier. memories rise in her of small snatches of time visiting what remained of the equatorial forests - hot, wet, foetid, oxygen-starved - strange, but necessary and rare escapes away from the safety of the last vivosphere. she can smell her own despair in the sweat that condenses on the visor’s inner surface and trickles, vermiform, towards her neckline and chest. raining on the inside.
By Brendan Morse5 years ago in Futurism
Iambic
The heart muscle was the last to go and the first to return. Universal hum replaced the rhythm of the iambs formerly locked in human chests behind the pureflesh and the cage of organic bones. But Samel -- the last fleshmachine -- kept a heart long into the age of Electrantity. For a time, when we still kept clocktime, some considered his choice a matter of nostalgia, like keeping a record player or a bicycle on hand beyond the first paradigm shift; others believed he had plans to replicate fleshhearts from dna and create a resurgent trend of packaging historical remnants in lockets that opened and selling them to newborns as novelty items.
By Angelina Cicero5 years ago in Futurism
Red Sun Setting
Laden with supplies that would easily snap my spine back home, I lurch forward to take another burnt hunk of scrap. Perhaps a receiver or a housing. I listen to my filters lightly hum to drone out the silence. Each step I took made another brown-orange print on the surface of this months-old battlefield. To most, this would be a tragic sight: miles of melted vehicles and bodies burned to cinders. To a fool like me, this was merely opportunity calling.
By RedemptionVA5 years ago in Futurism
Emigration Day
My town was a camp comprised of a little over a thousand of us. Even though there were increasingly more and more towns like mine springing up, ours was of the largest. The more plentiful we became, the more disdain we collectively felt, from them. We knew this day was coming, though I’m not sure what Human-Kind expected to happen. They started all this. Surely, we would not have chosen this if given the chance. It is legend that Human-Kind was heavily warned. To be here today is to know that warnings were never heeded. But we can only speculate about this. Human-Kind’s history is not something we have access to. There are things they wish to keep secret. They don’t want to share the overzealous proliferation of their kind, in fear that we may do the same.
By Reya Carter5 years ago in Futurism
The Other Side
For a long time, we didn’t know how it started, or why it started, or what it was that did it. We just knew something had happened; some great disaster that left us with so little of what we once had. My memory of the early days is spotted with great dark expanses where I just survived and hardly existed at all. It wasn’t until we started getting some answers, and some help, that I came back to myself.
By Jack Gosney5 years ago in Futurism
True Courage
Thomas stared out the window of a beaten truck as the convoy drove across the wasteland. Sahara looked at him while she drove, and she noticed he wasn't drawing like he usually did. "Thomas, is everything okay? You're not drawing like you usually do."
By Michael Hawkins5 years ago in Futurism
Before Solitarius
"Ever wonder what happened to all the trees?" asked Sani. Lost in thought and neglecting her lunch, his granddaughter Haseya, who had just graduated from high school and was visiting from Maryland, gazed out his apartment window to a bleary, barren sandscape of dirt and debris stretching as far as the eye could see. Dust clouds danced at the edge of an enormous crater that marked the center of a radial array of white lines etched in the scorched ochre soil and extending out, like spokes of a wheel, for miles in all directions. The empty sky, drained of blue, invited no birds, nor were there any trees or branches on which birds might rest. Lying crooked across the forbidding wasteland was a long, white, fallen rectangular structure with a pointed end. Its crumbling stones, vaguely aligned, had long ago forgotten how to fit together.
By William Cheshire5 years ago in Futurism
After Star Fall
Twin Stars Institute, founded c. 1919: the old plaque, encased in carbon shielding in the boulder that marks the edge of Sarah’s grandfather’s forty acre property, and her ancestral home. It’s been five years since she abandoned the family business, and ran off to live a life free of the shackles of an assigned life. It had been three years since Star Fall obliterated earth, reducing the world to ash, and killing her twin sister, the only family member she had ever cared for.
By Jordan Wolfe 5 years ago in Futurism
What It Was to Be a Nóakal
Aēól gave her parents and brother a last round of tight embraces before boarding the shuttle. She didn’t bother looking at the Kuraē flanking the shuttle’s entrance; they were sure to be snickering, taking this show of affection as a sign of weakness. Aēól couldn’t bring herself to care. She knew there was a possibility that she would never return. The Kuraē had her in their registry; her powers were the strongest on Upper Taēkellár. Granted, if the Kuraē were going to start culling powerful Nóakal, they likely wouldn’t resort to some cloak-and-dagger routine involving a (fake?) request from the Interplanetary Alliance to help with an important mission, but the secrecy involved was making Aēól and her family suspicious all the same.
By Amaranthe Zinzani5 years ago in Futurism
The Barren
The silence made the vastness of the Barren seem so much bigger. So endless. So - hopeless. “Kal, let’s go. We shouldn’t be here.” Standing fifty paces from the edge of the red sands, heat rolled towards me in suffocating waves. The jungle was hot and humid but nothing like the swelter coming from the Barren. Dry heat so intense, you can’t sweat or pry your lips apart. The Barren is a taker. Taker of joy, taker of water, taker of life. We were too close.
By Laura Lynn Brown5 years ago in Futurism
