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 Order of the Heart
Chilliwack One and the order of the Heart began with three people meeting at the edge of the barn in a rural area. The end had come much quicker than anyone could have imagined the new virus moved so quickly. It amazed them how society lived through the original pandemic. Still, once Variant "M," also known as "Malum" or "Doom," began to spread, the world fell apart in quick order. Wayne was a school bus driver and former prison guard; his friend Maria was a social worker, and Patrick was a Vice Principal in a high school.
By Bruce Curle `5 years ago in Futurism
Mutation
The subjects of Experiment Three were herded into the common area like lambs to the slaughter. In the middle of the barren room stood the ropes of a ring.The scientists, silent, emaciated and bony, watched the subjects line up in neat rows. Every breath, every shuffle of feet, every nervous growl beat through the air like the sound of drums. The trials were about to begin.
By Emily Wagner 5 years ago in Futurism
Survival of the Fittest
A human being’s exceptional will to live, even in the most dire of circumstances, separates us from every other species on this planet. It is fundamental, foundational, something that we are indeed born with and spend each day on this Earth vehemently fighting for, through any means necessary. Morality, right and wrong, our so-called “complexities”, all that goes flying out the window when we are faced with the potential of our deaths. Because in that moment, when all hope seems lost, and we are left, staring down the barrel of the end of it all, all we can think of is ourselves, how terrified we are of the unknown, and of what comes next. All we can think of is how we don’t want to die. And yet, how strange it is, that we end up being the greatest threat to our own survival. How utterly fitting that we are to be the architects of our own demise.
By Trisha Srigiriraju5 years ago in Futurism
Heat
Heat Rowena is mad because the dog knows something she doesn’t. That’s how Rowena is, powering through idiocy borne of the intense denial of reality she musters every day just to get out of bed. “Come on, Lucy!” She pulls on the leash, attached to a chain, attached to the dog who has lowered her head like a bull ready to charge and adamantly does not come on. “You said you wanted to go for a walk!” And she did, the liar. The first of the three to run up when she heard the leashes jangle as they were pulled from the drawer. Lucy, a heart shaped locket hanging from her collar, (Ben loves her so much) was the most excited, the second being Flower, a congenitally scrawny terrier mix, and Barley, a perennially shedding 80 pound “rez dog,” meaning lab and shepherd and who knows what, who showed up third, head cocked a little, favoring his runny nose and while he was pretty sure he wanted to go, was worried that Rowena, again, would forget how much his left nostril hurts. It’s been running for 2 months now, one of those days with blood. His sinuses can’t handle either the dry air or the intense heat of the Sonoran desert.
By Catherine O'Sullivan5 years ago in Futurism
Compulsion Loop
Yes, I killed Mara Makovsky. But it’s not what you think. I wasn’t stumbling through the shallow soils and cracking clays of Khunale while blood as thick as syrup dripped between my fingers for the hell of it. Fuck, it was 105 degrees out. I looked down at the locket, fondling the heart-shaped copper in my unsullied hand. Despite my best efforts, Mara’s lifeblood had already seeped its way into the intricate engravings -- the ones that were unique to her. Well, to her and Brooks. When the locket’s crevices were full, she’d be gone from this plane. Somewhere better, I prayed.
By Emily Koopman5 years ago in Futurism
Day 55
Day 8 Finding water or anything drinkable is my worst problem. It is gone. Vending machines, grocery stores, and restaurants. All looted. There has been no water pressure in any of the sinks or at the hose bibs I’ve checked. Even liquor stores are empty. My canteen is about three-quarters full.
By Brian Champion5 years ago in Futurism
Love Not Lost
Love not lost The world in this moment by the water is so incredibly quiet. He sits in utter stillness under the welcomed fresh air and conflicting trash around his knees. His eyes feeling heavy for the trip here had been long. They lie halfway closed, as his mind fights to desperately be set free. The world which lay mostly devastated before him, more vigorously felt from his travels. Such misery and plight and so full of sin. Inhaling deeply, a mandatory skill learned in order to rest while he can lie with one eye still open.
By James Venechanos 5 years ago in Futurism
THIS IS YOURS
It was just past sunset and usual hovering of blue lights droned across the dust filled sky. Leaving eerie shadows as the passed over the ground. Hannah and her little brother sat inside the remains of a car. Running all day with little food and water had tuckered them both out. Still slightly panting, she reached into her old backup to retrieve two canteens. Passing one to her brother she warned him sternly “Do not suck it all down. It is all we have left.” Sweat ran down both of their faces only to be absorbed by their tattered clothing.
By Paul Cannon5 years ago in Futurism
The Two Originals
It was six in the evening when I finally began drifting off to sleep. For three and a half years we’ve been on the run hiding in abandoned vehicles, buildings, caves, or any makeshift shelter we could find. It’s just the two of us left, and the exhaustion is overpowering. I can’t even remember the last time I had a full night’s rest, let alone a tasty warm meal. Stale bread and lukewarm water are all that’s sustained us for the last few months, and I can’t bring myself to look in a mirror for fear of what I might see. If my godson’s appearance is any indication, I must look dreadful.
By Kiesha Haughton5 years ago in Futurism
Mialca
Joleon walked up to her, his eyes wet with pain. Mialca appeared to be reaching out to him for help. As if trying to tell him something, but her words were drowned out by the blood quickly filling up her mouth. Jolean looked on painfully as he waited, knowing Mialca would soon fade away. He knelt beside her, lifted her head and stroked her cheek. Mialca, tears filling her eyes, drew her last breath and closed her eyes. Forever. Joleon lay Mialca's head back on the ground, removed the heart-shaped locket from around her neck and walked away.
By Keggercast5 years ago in Futurism
