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”.
Red Sands
Red sands, thin sky, dusty hands, tired eyes. The travellers move through the strange landscape; they are weary and home is too far away to bear thinking about without a shadow falling across the soul, so instead they choose to lose themselves in the stark and barren beauty of their surroundings.
By Jackson Howling5 years ago in Futurism
Patching the present cracks
After months of trying, I was finally eligible to time travel. Time travelling is so simple yet so expensive. I had been working my ass off for months just to get a chance. I also had to study the rules of time travelling and I had to pass a strict interview, but I think it was all worth it.
By Hevry Payles5 years ago in Futurism
The Greatest Mission!
It was the beginning of a new world, when two boats mysteriously floated towards each other. From the furthest point at the horizon, one noticed, in the distance, a small shadow which slowly became a boat. His raised sails blew in the wind, and that’s how I made it out alive. Our body and mind were to start the greatest adventure.
By Alice K.S.5 years ago in Futurism
Out of Sight, Out of time
The blurred lights of the pier cast a misty glow as Eliza trembles in the cold teeth of a winter night. She doesn’t want to be here. Her face is so frozen it burns. The exhaust funnels from her lips in thick clouds. She rubs her hands together at fire-starting speed and tucks them beneath the arms of her jacket. Should’ve worn gloves. Gelid water sloshes and chafes the wooden beams of the dock. August—he should’ve been here by now. She hasn’t seen him in months. These sudden disappearances have become commonplace. He only said that he had to go away for a while and to trust him. And then—a call in the middle of the night to meet him here, in this frozen hell. What was so important and secretive that it couldn’t be said over the phone? Why here? Her teeth chatter and click like a wound clock. She looks out into the frigid distance and stomps her foot. This is stupid.
By Kristen Keenon Fisher5 years ago in Futurism
The Bottomless Kingdom
NEON MIDNIGHT MANIA (Radio Static.) “In the beginning, God created man. A bipedal fledgling and accidental stepping stone she formed while trying to recreate herself in all her splendor and perfection. With no immediate use for man, God let the little minions roam amongst the animals and plants and trees of Earth while she continued to toil. Some centuries later, man’s Earth was war-torn. Whole portions of the bountiful planet were destroyed and rendered baron craters. Man, it seemed, had quite the temper. One that despite her most clever inventions, God couldn’t seem to remedy. A deluge and several threats of damnation later, God had lost all hope. Her divine patience worn thin. But, just when the thought of giving up and burning the whole goddamn place to ash seemed the only solution, her fiery hand was stilled by the twinkling of a star. An idea came suddenly to her. A way of giving man the opportunity to understand the preciousness of life and his responsibility to it. She bestowed man with the human form of herself… and the gift of procreation. That’s right–she gave him a penis. And boy did he put it to use. It was god’s hope that through the act of conception man would realize his greater connection to universal order and embody a more tolerant, virtuous nature toward his environment. Hell, at least use his new toy as some sort of¬–de-pressurizer. Another outlet for his raging blood to flow instead of fueling the seek, destroy, conquer, repeat protocol of his brain. Big mistake. Not only did man use his heavenly antenna as nothing more than a personal divining rod, he declared himself supreme, the more fit and level headed of the species and then … He proceeded to strip woman of all her rights.” The female speaker is struck silent by her own words as she ponders the audacity. “As if he just climbed out from the gaping vagina of the woman who birthed him into this world, with his chin high, clicking his tiny little karabiners together, thinking, ‘Ahh, another successful conquest.’ I mean, can you fu¬–"
By Kristen Keenon Fisher5 years ago in Futurism
The Quantum Cartographer
New Kressya - The Lost Aeon “The glorious city of New Kressya lays over these waters as a living tribute in steel and stone. A tribute to those who took the first arduous steps toward the realization of our kingdom and offered their lives in sacrifice.” Aligos’s voice carries over the thousands in attendance as he speaks in front of the Gargotheon surrounded by his army. The broad walls of the entrance ascend like enormous tusks on either side of him. The sky is pale and mirthless. The city is overgrown by its own shadow.
By Kristen Keenon Fisher5 years ago in Futurism
The Roots of Spec: "There Will Come Soft Rains"
There are a lot of people out there who write analyses of speculative fiction, but most of them focus on novels and films - the glamorous side of spec. There's less attention paid to short stories, the workaday side of the field. That's a shame, because spec - and science fiction in particular - has deep roots in short fiction. Even today, if you have dreams of being an author on par with an Asimov or Clarke, you're probably doing a lot of work in short fiction before you get to novels.
By Andrew Johnston5 years ago in Futurism
The Fabulist
~Date Unknown~ There was a corpse lying in the center of the footpath, frozen eyes glaring up through the phantom haze that enveloped the sun, a dead hand pointing to a redeemed sign that read "Madison Encampment" in faltering letters. Even here, at the fringe of stability, this was an unusual sight - the fallen, even those disreputable types who had been slain while committing an act of violence or thievery, were typically buried in haste lest their presence draw scavengers of some sort. This man, though, was allowed to lie exposed in the heat, untouched, without even a handful of dust to conceal his earthly remains. The traveler knelt beside the corpse, studying the remnants of this poor soul at arm's length. His was a brutal death, his emaciated body marred with slashing wounds - struck down either by a true sadist or a terrified amateur. He carried nothing of any particular value, yet he had not been robbed - he still wore his boots, worn nearly through at the heels but still the most useful thing most wanderers would ever possess.
By Andrew Johnston5 years ago in Futurism
