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”.
Black Sky
The paper was soft, in an unpleasant way. Putrid and damp, eaten through by mould or some other rotting spore, it matched the once green print, now faded into a particularly sickly shade. Qyo was revolted by its silken touch, but there was also something rousing about communing with such a primal relic that money was.
By Kasia Kaczmarek5 years ago in Futurism
Altera
Grayson stands on the crowded train, eyeing his upcoming exit. He overhears a group of classmates speaking about a party being held later on that night. ‘Dude, of course it’s going to be crazy, I heard her older brother is buying some alcohol.’ Grayson re-adjusts his hold on the railing, straining his ears to better hear. ‘Didn’t she invite the whole year level?’ states one of his classmates with an oblivious tone, befitting of someone who had never struggled to make friends. Grayson continues to listen on, knowing he hadn’t been invited to the party. He was fairly sure it stemmed from the fact that he came from a poor family, however, this didn’t bother him; Grayson would rather spend his time reading “The Short History of Nearly Everything”, than be around his classmates any more than he needed to.
By hy-lo creative5 years ago in Futurism
Never Enough Time
I do not know what I expected a time trip to be like, but it was dull compared to the fact that I was about to be in a different time from the one I was born into. We did not have to travel far to get to the connecting wormhole, so there was no hibernation sleep option. I used the time to search agency records, looking up how often people disappeared while traveling. It happened often but they never remained missing long. It was extremely hard to not leave any clue that the agency could not trace. There were a few rare cases and Julia's was one where the trail went cold inexplicably.
By Ryan Smith5 years ago in Futurism
Forgotten
Forgotten By: Julieanna Theng I lower myself to a crouched position behind a fallen piece of a building, hiding from a Bot. It begins to scan the chunk of concrete that I am hiding behind, but does not find me and marches away. I cannot be found, for I am almost to my destination. If I am found, I will be killed.
By julieanna theng5 years ago in Futurism
The Artifact
“Professor! Come here! I think I’ve found something!” The excited tone of Jimmy coming from the speaker overhead shook Professor Wilson from a restless slumber in his tent. This new dig began right after they arrived. It had been going on for months with little to show, other than sunburns on anyone foolish enough to go out during the heat of the day. Most of the digging happened at night, under the harsh light of massive banks of LED lights.
By Trevor LaRene5 years ago in Futurism
Dilapidated Mystery Book
“Hey.” Libraries are always quiet. That’s their typical state of being. But as the hours get later and closing time gets closer, and one by one patrons leave for their final destinations of the night, that quiet takes on an even bigger presence. So big in fact, that even a soft voice from my coworker sounds like an airhorn to my ears, and I jolt sending my cell phone tumbling out of my fingers and thudding against the wellworn, industrial strength carpet that’s sitting under the reference desk on the fifth floor.
By April Piccarreta5 years ago in Futurism
Perpetuity
Boon-Nam stood at the wet market stall staring at his dinner. Takatan (grasshoppers) or Mod daeng (red ants). The greasy vender with a vape in his mouth stared at me impatiently waving his arms over his product. ‘Mod daeng please’ 100 Baht credits he yelled and held up a retina scanner for the credit transfer. A pang of fear shot up my throat, I knew I was running low on creds but apparently, I'm ok and can eat tonight.
By Michael Walters5 years ago in Futurism
MOSH PIT
Accra, Ghana. 2035. I like to think that you and I have something in common. That immortal feeling of not being alone in facing a difficult moment. Being part of the Mosh pit isn’t always a curse, sometimes it’s the only way to avoid breakage. Deep down we know how badly things can turn for us, but we choose to look the other way to cope. Implosion echoes somewhere deep down in my body and rottens a part of me. A part of me I can’t begin to find or touch. It feels like a goddamn unalleviated itch. Everything goes well for three days in a row and I can’t help but be reminded of that nausea.
By Majdouline Msaad5 years ago in Futurism
