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”.
and so the book speaks
You’re telling me I’m suppose to just put that away and look forward to the future with it ?? NO WAY ! Listen I know you’re thinking , I’m not thinking, but really this is just the perfect way to go about it . Spend it . Spend it all . Money ? How much ? Twenty K baby … How did I get my hands on that ? Well let me tell you.
By Valentine Casey5 years ago in Futurism
Chromesthesia
Chromesthesia A conscious being free from form perceived as scattered light is traveling through unknowns. Unwavering from its direction in the journey. In a panic, it skates the outer atmospheres of this blue bubble seeking liberation from its dire predicament. Searing the breath of life under the skin of opposing force in gravity & vacuum. Now Blanketed by dull aesthetics, & the fumes of organic & plastic harmony. It searches for an exit from its non-physical scattered light form. A final means of hiding its consciousness as an escape.
By TERRY HICKMAN5 years ago in Futurism
Tilting the Solar Windmill
Eight o'clock Thursday morning found Beth, Andy and Tom boarding one of Chickadee Aviation’s Chieftains – this one bound for Fairbanks. The weather had warmed to a pleasant ten below and was accompanied by a moderate snowfall the night before. This morning it was clear and promised to remain so for the next few days. Temperatures were expected to rise to above the freezing mark, which would make for slippery highways and a longer and more hazardous trip. Rather than risk injury and to save time they decided it would be prudent to fly instead.
By Doug Caldwell5 years ago in Futurism
Ciao Papà
Part one of three: “Real Old John.” After a failed early career as a theoretical physicist, I opted for a completely non-related job working as the Assistant Director of Activities at a small memory care facility called Ebenezer’s. I have always liked old folks. I think they’re adorable. We have forty-nine residents, three of which are men named John. There’s Young John who is eighty-five, Old John who I think is ninety-four, and now - thanks to me - there’s Real Old John who says he’s one hundred and four years old. When he was found, he had no wallet or ID. I say, “thanks to me” because I’m the one who found him standing on the sidewalk near our house. I was getting home from work one night and there he was, standing there in his brown sweater vest, leaning on a cane and looking pale and lost. I knew almost instinctively that he had dementia. There’s a look in their eyes, like they want to say something... like they want to share their stories, but their brain won’t allow them. The police canvassed the area with no luck and a search of missing persons came up dry. So, Real Old John got his name from being a John Doe. I was even interviewed by the local news about finding him, but no one stepped forward. Eventually, the State placed him at Ebenezer’s where I have pretty much adopted him. I like to think we have a bond. He calls me “Operator” which I don’t understand, but that’s okay. He doesn’t call anyone else “Operator.” He doesn’t have a lot to say, but his cute wrinkly face smiles when I walk into his room. He reminds me a lot of my Grandpa. I often think about Real Old John and that he has no one in his life. No one to care for him. On more than one occasion, I’ve found myself with tears in my eyes. Just - stupid raw emotion. Maybe it’s because I know he’s near the end of his life and I selfishly want more of Real Old John. Maybe because he reminds me of my father.
By Ryan North5 years ago in Futurism
Blank Pages
Isaiah stood at the threshold of an abandoned apartment building. He scanned it with eyes that had remained sharp, despite his advanced age. Tufts of curly hair as gray as the encroaching snow clouds were cropped close to his scalp. He listened and smelled for signs of presence. Apartment buildings were dangerous. Resources were often plentiful, but so were the risks. People tended to hole up in apartment buildings, stockpile their resources and buttress their stronghold. Isaiah would have to be careful. But happening upon this place after traveling for three days with no food or water was a Godsend. Passing by the opportunity wasn’t an option.
By Adam Patrick5 years ago in Futurism
Kathrine Schoening's Journals
Having a dream come true in the same event that struck a primal fear within Kathrine. It was a heady experience that caused massive cognitive dissonance and sent her head spinning. In short, she could barely stand up and her head hurt. A lot.
By B. M. Colville5 years ago in Futurism
Time and Hope
Rory logged off of his computer and stretched his arms above his head. Leaning back as far as his chair would let him, he let out an intense sound as he felt every muscle in his back fill with blood. How long had he been leaning over the keyboard? He surmised one of the downfalls of working from home, during a worldwide pandemic, was having no ergonomics posters anywhere. No constant reminders he was ruining his posture by sitting like an idiot. He reached for his journal, something he had started at the beginning of the pandemic to cope. It was a small, leather bound, black journal. The pages were crisp, but the edges looked worn, and that was exactly why he had picked it.
By Wendy Strickler5 years ago in Futurism
The ARK
Raven sat in front of her computer like she did most nights, the glow of the screen as pale as her skin. She tapped a few keys, like a bird pecking its prey but the results never satisfied her. The young woman sat back with a groan, “Taffy, what are we going to do?”
By Kelsey Reich5 years ago in Futurism
