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”.

Changing Fates
The small bar of gold hit the metal table between us with a clang that skittered along my bones. “A token to express our,” he paused, and I could feel the eyes hidden beneath the shadows of his shawl catalogue the small tin room. “Interest.”
By Brianne Zwambag5 years ago in Futurism
The Great Conjunction
Journal Entry: December 21, 2020 Hey Journal, it's me again. I just stopped by to tell you that 2020 is almost over. I still can’t believe that the world has been living with Covid-19 for almost a year. I never could’ve imagined living through a global pandemic, but here we are. On another note, today is supposed to be a special day in our solar system. According to NASA, Jupiter and Saturn are going to align in the night sky for something called “The Great Conjunction” aka “The Christmas Star.” To be honest, I think “The Christmas Star” sounds cooler. Anyway, the experts at NASA say that this event hasn’t been visible in Earth’s night sky in 800 years! That is so cool and I can't wait to see it tonight! Well, I have to go now because my mom is calling me. I’ll give you an update later. Bye Journal, talk to you later.
By Andre K Davis II5 years ago in Futurism
Orion
I set the $20,000 check on the kitchen counter. I sigh deeply as my wife walks through. She gives me a kiss on the check and asks what the money is for. “My boss gave it to me as a “summer bonus” but told me to take the weekend off?” I knew what he was talking about, I spend most nights and weekends helping the city police.
By John U5 years ago in Futurism
Little Black Book
Little Black Book Vocal Challenge As a long streak of bright white lightning flashed across the night sky, two men in their late twenties early thirties could be seen running side by side through the gates of the warehouse complex. As they rounded the asphalt corner leading down a long line of rusted old cars, and junk. Behind them followed two men in suits, weapons drawn, and pointed in their direction discharging round after round. Nick the young Caucasian man on the left smiled as the bullets narrowly zipped past his head, and his long brown hair whipped in the wind. His best friend Danny, his black flowing hair whipping behind him, looked to his left and saw his best friend since kindergarten smiling, and it made him smile as a round zipped passed his head missing him by the smallest of margins. His Native American heart beat with the exhilaration of the inherit danger they were trying to outpace.
By Nicholas Dalhover5 years ago in Futurism
The Brick House
THE BRICK HOUSE Nobody wants a brick house on their block. I’ve seen them, in the economy neighbourhoods down the hill, looming empty and dark on the otherwise gleaming tiara of a street. My neighbour Milton told me on the day I moved in that our neighbourhood hadn’t had a brick house in three years (the best record in the area, except New Lancaster, of course). B. Corp. keeps community standards high by being rigorous about who can rent in their neighbourhood. It took me years to escape the wait list, but the restless nights on creaking emergency beds were worth it: no brick houses here.
By TJ Rowley5 years ago in Futurism
Tucha Ferrut
Tucha's father pulled the station wagon up to the curb outside 17 E. Windmill street and took his black Moleskine notebook out of his jacket pocket. Tucha had seen his father do this a hundred times in his life, maybe more. He opened the little book and as Tucha stared out the car window towards the house and could hear the lead of his father's mechanical pencil scratching. He was crossing out another name. His father carefully put the notebook and pencil back into his pocket and leaned over Tucha to pull up the door lock and then pointed up towards the house. It had been a beautiful house at some point. Sitting on top of a small hill surrounded now by an overgrown garden. The flowers in that garden didn't realize they had lept past any border or boundaries laid out for them. They had worked together to claim the entire yard as their own. The garden was in bloom. Tucha could smell the roses that were busy shoving over the old wrought iron fence. The heavenly odor was sneaking through the small triangular vent pushed open at the front of the passenger side window. He could smell the roses and the scent of decaying leaves at the same time. Dry Maple leaves, leftover from last fall, lay on top of damp leaves from the fall before that were smoldering now under the rose bushes. The combination of scents reminded Tucha of walking in the woods with his mother. Remembering her now didn't bring the buckets of tears it used to. He was able to think of her fondly without sobbing and that, he thought, was a little bit of a betrayal. He would make a mental note to sing to his mother the next time he was walking in the woods near his house. He would sing to her spirit and he was sure she would hear him from where she lived up in the sky and she would smile.
By Timmy Valentine5 years ago in Futurism
The Unwritten
From an early age writing was kind of my thing. In the fourth grade I had a poem published in a book and that boosted my confidence enough to continue writing. I began keeping a journal for my feelings and a small, black notebook for my craft. It started with poetry but soon I got into short stories and that was where I found what I liked. Being able to create a whole new world with paper and a pencil was such an intriguing idea to me. Imagine my surprise when I realized my words were quite literally creating new worlds.
By Nova B5 years ago in Futurism
Survivor
I wake up cold these days. Things must be getting worse. I wonder if the guy down the street is still alive. Who paints their house blue anyway?
By Adrian Konstant5 years ago in Futurism
A Few More
I have to look insane, right? Some lunatic with a gun talking to the air… with a shackled woman in an abandoned warehouse… all for…
By Benjamin Heider5 years ago in Futurism
The Notebook of Ammon
“I see you found my notebook.” The baritone voice made me jump. I instinctively jerked my hand away from the black notebook I had been reading. “You abandoned it… I… I’m sorry. I looked to see if there was a name, and saw…” What had I seen? An ornate cartouche where the contact information normally went. “…let’s just say, I was intrigued.”
By Ashley Maureena 5 years ago in Futurism
The Arena
By the skin of his teeth, Adrian had escaped his doomed fate. No longer was he bound to trip over all of the shit his father swept beneath the rug. A breeze of freedom powered his strides along the coast; the sand permeated the spaces between his toes as the salty air filled his lungs. He’d never run this fast, not even for track meets in high school, but he knew his life depended on it. He could not and would not let himself fall victim to his bastard father.
By Taylor Tattan5 years ago in Futurism
Changing a Soul
Sitting at the table and sipping his drink, Nephel leaned back in his seat and watched as the house slave came in. She was a very beautiful young thing and he could just imagine dragging his lips across her milky white skin.
By S.Y. Martens5 years ago in Futurism