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”.
Cyberella
As the automated floor-to-ceiling shades draw, exposing the somnolent, dark room to the soft caressing warmth of the Los Angeles sunrise, his cellphone pinged, alerting him to a new email. His eyes flicker, as his mind slowly shifts gears, a small groan escapes his throat as he rolls, semi-consciously right and towards his nightstand, slapping aimlessly around the smooth marble, sloppily searching for the emission of said sound. His palm lands on his cellphone. “Ping” as if reacting to his irritability, it sounds off again. Then, again and again, the rate and intensity picking up, before his fingers find the side button, silencing the anxietal quips. A quick, non-sequential swipe up on the screen, opens the holographic-like Home Screen, at eye level.
By Danielle Holmes5 years ago in Futurism
The Last Glass Of Merlot
The dim light coming from the small nightstand glittered throughout the sleeper berth of Katrielle's eighteen-wheeler. She felt like she had been treading the edges of scalpel blades for weeks driving over highways packed with ice and snow. Earlier in the evening, Jonathan had called and Katrielle had forced herself not to answer. But later that same evening, her mint, green eyes lingered over the time-stamp of the missed call and she wondered if she should call him back. Snap! The sound hit her like whiplash. It felt like an angry woman snapping her fingers.
By Virginia Bradford5 years ago in Futurism
I Will Never Stop Loving You
When you leaned over and whispered in my ear that you loved me, I wished to stay with you forever. The moment was perfect: you were perfect. I’d known I was in love with you since the first day of freshman year when you asked if I could help you kill a bug in your dorm and you had to repeat yourself because I kept getting lost in your eyes as you told me the story of a monster cockroach terrorizing you and your roommate (it was the smallest bug I had ever seen). And from that day forward we were best friends. You dragged me out of bed at eight every morning so I wouldn’t miss my first class like I usually did, sneaking a granola bar in my bag too so I wouldn’t miss breakfast. I bought you red bull and cookies every time you had a test that you waited until the last day to study for. You told me about the time you fixed a bird’s broken wing in sixth grade and how it would come sit on the tree branch outside your room every day after that and how that made you want to be a vet. I told you about how my best friend got charged with grand larceny for stealing some baseball cards he didn’t know were worth five thousand dollars and how that made me want to be a lawyer. We walked back together from the library every weekday night and from the bars every weekend night; I always made sure to walk on the curb side. We would start going back sooner and sooner as we realized there was nobody else we would rather be around (even if you insisted you were simply “more productive” in my room). Eventually my heart would beat so fast every time I was with you that I couldn’t help but feel like I was in danger. My young mind hadn’t yet realized that is the definition of love: a state of danger. And I never felt more in danger when I finally told you how I felt and my face turned red and I could only take shallow breaths. But you made everything better with just four words: “I feel the same.” It was so magical it almost felt fake. It’s been sixty years and it still feels fake that someone like you would like someone like me.
By Shawn Daring5 years ago in Futurism
TimeMixRs
“George, are you going to pull yourself together soon?” George heard Teri’s voice but his head was lying on the ground looking at one of his feet. Somewhere he’d also lost his shoe. Great, he thought. As if it wasn’t bad enough, he was a shambles again. The time dilation kept his parts whole, but the integration once stepping through the wormhole… He was still alive, but in chunks. A pile of parts on the floor was not the impression he wanted to give for their first date. Everything would snap back together like magnetic poles aligning once they got close, but getting them in the right place was the trick.
By Douglas P. Marx5 years ago in Futurism
Confederates
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By David Perlmutter5 years ago in Futurism
Sojourn by N. Harold Donley
The red dust streaked the windshield as the wipers swept across. The sun was low now; its intensity piercing even the mirror sunglasses the driver wore. He adjusted the interior visor but knew, in 20 minutes, 30 tops, it would be glaring into his eyes again.
By N. Harold Donley5 years ago in Futurism
