Sci Fi
Cerie
Cerie found herself outside in the wastelands, terrified by what she had just done. She had taken that old move-around machine, the hoover sand traveler, and left the safety of the Cities, speeding across a desert of broken land, stripped of resources hundreds of years before. The move around was ancient. Her family had kept it in running condition for centuries, ever since the reckoning. Everyone in her family knew how to operate a move around. But none had ever driven it. Instead, they did this all because someone long ago said someone would need it someday.
By Sharon Irwin5 years ago in Fiction
Ground Zero
Vercazzi took a deep breath as he looked around the once gleaming buildings of downtown Manhattan. The last five years had taken a toll that only had been imagined in the most elaborate of fantasies. Trees sprouted from the cracks of sidewalks, vines clung to the once polished windows. Every once and awhile a loud crack would be heard and parts of a building would fall down to the ground in a cacophony of noise that was heard by no one.
By James Mazza5 years ago in Fiction
Angel's Heart
Gasping for air, my heart pounds like a boxer working a heavy bag. The cool, night breeze makes me shiver after my dip in the cold, dark sewer. Sewers are the only place they don't monitor. My lungs ache from holding my breath. Feeling a bit dizzy from hypoxia, I strengthen my grip on the rough rebar steps leading up the side of the storm drain. Maybe hypoxia triggers memories, or maybe it's the adrenaline...I don't know. My mind wanders as I remember the way the sunlight gently caressed her hair and face on our day, making her seem more angelic than human. For a moment, I remember everything, the way she always covered her mouth when she smiled, the way she laughed with her eyes and the way she spoke volumes with only a look. Mostly, I remember the way she made me feel. I remember every detail, except one. Something's missing from my mind's eye. I can feel what it is but can't make myself remember. It's like being tongue-tied, knowing what I want to say but being unable to find the right word. I hate this feeling. Am I losing my mind or maybe repressing her memory? My foot slips off the slippery rebar step. Struggling against fatigue and the weight of my wet clothes, I pull myself up the rungs, out of the water and onto the cold ground. No time to rest, I have to move before they find me.
By Stewart Brewer5 years ago in Fiction
Searching with Science
“The paperwork and payment have gone through, thank you. Please step this way. I need to reiterate, Mrs Hutchins, that what you are about to see is not necessarily a true reflection of your husbands past life events or experiences but more so a display of how they were received, through his eye and in his mind. Please do remember that”
By William Andrews5 years ago in Fiction
The Paradox Epiphany
A short story by Shaun Cooper. A Paradoxical Epiphany I've decided to think of a story. If I could hold a pen to paper I would write it down. Or if I could manipulate a typewriter or one of those computers but alas that is not the case so I will just tell myself this over and over until it's like I have memorized a story. Why? Well, lack of much else to do and reflection I suppose.Twenty years ago this was fun. I used to travel all over the world. I can remember standing in the Pope's study at The Vatican, I've stood in The Lincoln Bedroom and watched The commander-in-chief work in The Oval Office. I have even watched The Queen study her own aging body from her private bathroom in Buckingham Palace. These days are not the same. It never occurred to me the importance of human connection. That's not true. I knew, of course, it was important, just I thought it was not so important for me. I feel like I'm losing my mind. It's not just that no human being can see me is the problem. I think that I no longer have any ambition. Why would I? I CAN HAVE ANYTHING I WANT! No that's not true, is it? I want to be seen and heard. I can't ever get that back.When I landed the job at the lab it was… well I guess it was my dream realized. Is it not funny that dreams can turn into nightmares? Twenty fucking years I have been invisible. That is not a metaphor, I am invisible. No one can see me and not like in the movies either. I cannot be heard, I do not eat, I cannot touch or feel anything. I do not sleep. I simply am.It is not with me though that my thoughts are occupied. It's him. It would not be true and right to even consider him a friend I guess. He never knew me, never saw me. Never even knew existed. And yet I loved him dearly. What a shining beacon of a human being. So damn funny So talented. I am getting ahead of myself here.I'm not sure what brought me there, It was during the time I call the great wandering. It was somewhere on the backside of the 80s. I remember it was summer and a lovely evening and I would even venture to say on that particular night was a cool breeze and the smell of the ocean.Of course, maybe I am romanticizing as the truth of course was I could not feel the breeze or smell the ocean but that's how I remember it anyway. It was Venice California and I was simply strolling along as I do and taking in the sights and sounds of the people at that time. There were jugglers, singers, joke tellers, screaming preachers, beautiful girls, and muscle-bound strongmen. Venice Beach in the 80s was quite a sight and what it was then is gone now. Things always change and that makes me sad. On this night though it seemed quiet and peaceful and in the distance, I heard the most beautiful piano music playing. It drew me, It called me. I followed the sound. I approached the source of this enchanting melody. It was coming from the inside of a restaurant. A sign out front read 72 Market Street Oyster Bar and Grill. As I entered this charming place I could see that it was not only I who was enchanted by this music but everyone's eyes were locked on the man at the center of the room under the spotlight and though every table was full of food and drink it all went untouched and people seemed to be transfixed on not only the music but the man himself. This seemed a bit of magic and I decided this is where I shall be for now and just see where this all goes. He played that song for a bit more and I thought to myself here is a genius, what I would not give to make music such as this. He must be some great concert pianist visiting from perhaps England or France I thought. Then just when I thought my heart would swell to a level of emotion that I simply wasn't sure I wanted to feel... he stopped. The room erupted in applause and he smiled, stood, and took a little bow. He said “Oh Thank you very very much” He spoke in an English accent and I am not sure why It surprised me but he was very short, maybe just 5 feet tall or a bit more. I guess it surprised me because something about his presence was so large and commanding. Just then someone shouted, “play the Arthur song!”He said, “what's that?” He smiled “oh these people don’t want to hear the old stuff do you?”Oh please, Dud” someone screamed. Dud… who the hell is this person I thought.The restaurant erupted in applause again and he said “Alright alright keep your trousers on!”Everyone howled with laughter and this struck me as interesting. It just seemed this human being could not help but be funny. I could tell that people simply loved this man and I decided right then and there that I would spend some time around this human being. Then he sat back down and said, “Arthur has a particularly terrific theme” his voice was so friendly and for lack of vocabulary to describe was sweet and pleasing to the ear. He went on, “Very melodious and haunting I think, and it was sung by Christopher Cross who made a rather meteoric rise to fame with his album in America, he won five Grammy awards with a spectacular album, which I love and the rest of the world love and we are very lucky to have him here in the audience tonight”!!!Just then another man stood up and approached the stage during thunderous applause. “Dud” satback down at the piano and this man Christopher took a chair with a microphone. And I'll never forget the lyrics to this song which went like this. “Once in your life, you find her, someone who turns your heart around. Next thing you know your closing down the town. Wake up and it's still with you. Even though you left her way across town. Wondering to yourself, Hey! What have I Found? When you get caught between the moon and New York City, I know it's crazy but it's true. If you get caught between the moon and New York City, The best that you can do, the best that you can do is fall in love.” Now, of course, my words won't be able to capture this moment but it was beautiful and heartwarming and I suppose it affected me deeply. And just then it came to my realization this was the theme song for the film “Arthur” starring Dudley Moore. Oh my lord, this is a movie star I am watching tonight. This talented piano player is in fact, Dudley Moore!!!!!After that night I stayed with Dudley and it was magnificent. He was so witty and funny and kind to everyone he met and I was just in awe of this person who seemed forged out of light and goodness. I traveled with him to interviews such as Oprah and Joan Rivers and movie sets such as Arthur 2 on the Rocks and Crazy People, Like father like Son, and other projects he did.However whatever films and Tv shows he did his passion was always music and the piano...always the piano. That time was so thrilling and amazing. I loved to watch this person work and I admit to being starstruck by the company he kept. He was fantastic and amazing in all these roles and I was flabbergasted to enjoy his talent and wit for those years. Things always change. There came a time I started to notice something about Dudley. He did not seem quite himself. It seemed more difficult for him to grab a thought when in the previous years his brain was razor-sharp. Suddenly that blade had dulled and at first, just occasionally he would lose his balance. I of course felt completely helpless. I could not communicate to him my worry or concern as he could not hear me and he did not know I was even there. He continued to work but it was a growing concern between himself, friends and family, and even those professionals like his agents and managers. Then he was having trouble remembering lines and was fired from a very big motion picture called The Mirror Has Two Faces. They believed that Dudley was drinking and this was the most devastating thing that ever happened to this kind, sweet and talented man. This was the point that Dud realized he was sick. He went to Doctor after Doctorand for a few years could not get a diagnosis. Around this time I watched it become more and more difficult for this genius to play his beloved piano any longer. He braved on so courageously and came to understand that what he was suffering from was called PSP or Progressive
By Shaun Cooper5 years ago in Fiction
The Repository
The white cassette tape crunched, echoing across the silent landscape, she stopped. Ears perked, motionless. The nights were never so dark as they were now and she waited hoping the noise didn’t alert anyone - or anything - out in the darkness. The moon’s position told her half an hour had passed before she felt safe to move again. She bent down and picked up the cracked casing of the cassette and smiled. This was definitely from a bygone day.
By Mary Brown5 years ago in Fiction
Circle of Ruins
The fugitive stood near the edge of the glacier, looking into the distance. Until now, she had managed to stay a step ahead of her pursuers but crossing this part of the Alps on foot had been a mistake. Some distance away a large chunk of glacial ice broke off with a sharp report, sounding almost like the boom of a canon shot. The sun glowed deep red on the western horizon, long rays of orange and gold stabbing through a layer of stratocumulus clouds. Overhead the blue of the sky was deepening into purple and behind her the purple darkening into black. No one had expected the nuclear exchange between East and West to result in decades of spectacular sunsets. Nor had anyone foreseen the cascade of genetic mutations creating powers such as hers in just a few generations. Reaching into her jacket, she pulled something out and glanced at it briefly in her palm before returning it.
By Michael Rinella5 years ago in Fiction
