Sci Fi
Object Lesson
Om was drenched in sweat, and even though the night was hot, they felt a chill run down their spine as the summer wind brushed their skin. The barracks were on the other side of the campus, so they had a long walk ahead of them, time enough to reflect on the events of the day. Off to the west, a plume of black smoke rose from the re-education facility. Eventually, the wind would carry the smoke over the campus, dumping ash onto the fields and buildings. Om shuddered at the thought of what the ash contained. Om’s father had been a traditionalist, bucking the laws of the land and affixing his son with the forbidden pronoun "he." Om’s father was not one of the secret dissidents that had to be ferreted out by Oversight. His counter-culture rhetoric had been front and center, so it was no surprise when Oversight arrested him.
By Mack Devlin5 years ago in Fiction
A Heart for Humankind
Earth, 2285 AD We knew the end was coming. For a while, we just weren’t sure by what mechanism. Nuclear war was a pretty good guess; chemical warfare, climate change, a global pandemic, even supervolcanic eruption had decent odds in their own right. For hundreds of years, the human race did its utmost to put off its inevitable demise. We created bionic tissues to replace the functions of certain, less resilient organs: the pancreas, the heart, the eyes. We worked to enhance—and oftentimes replace—our limbs, our cells, our genes.
By Scarlett Locke5 years ago in Fiction
Frith
Dystopian adjective : relating to or denoting an imagined state or society where there is great suffering or injustice. "the dystopian future of a society bereft of reason" noun : a person who imagines or foresees a state or society where there is great suffering or injustice. "a lot of things those dystopians feared did not come true" -Dictionary Definition
By Leah Harris5 years ago in Fiction
The Chest's Contents
A foreboding noise came from the locked chest. Though ominous, it made a familiar, comforting sound like a long-lost timepiece. Such ancient technology shouldn't be running at present, right? Very few things were running at all anymore, after all. Yet the chest pounded once more, "tick tock, click clock." The owner recalled a fable she heard as a young child, the story of Pandora's box. She remembered the woman who unleashed the demons into the world. She often wondered if that was her ancestor. Old sayings like, "curiosity killed the cat" were found in what was left of old literature books she noticed scattered in crumbles of buildings. She often wondered if those were true literary novels or the crumpled remnants of a note one wrote to their child or partner in hopes of keeping something secret.
By E.L. Martin5 years ago in Fiction
A GIRL UNPOISONED
The concrete tapped rhythmically under my feet with each purposeful stride. Cigarette fumes swirled around me and I pretended not to be offended by their pungent infiltration. I caught myself habitually straightening my jacket and smoothing my hair back. As I walked past a spindly side-walk tree I brush my fingers through its dancing lime-green leaves, appreciating it's bright juxtaposition against the grey backdrop. In front of me, four strangers did the recognizable street-cross that indicated danger. I crossed with them, looking over my shoulder to see a mid-thirties man, wearing a crusty, yellow-stained tracksuit, he was yelling incomprehensibly at a uniformed safety officer. On his neck, a thick locked collar flashed a bright red light indicating the man was in crisis. It appeared crisis presented as rage, agitation and aggression, as he lunged at the safety officer with a dinner knife, halted by the officer’s swift application of a taser. The man fell twitching to the ground as the officer spoke into a black box, calling for a pick-up. I frowned at the familiarity of it. As I rounded the corner towards the café, I passed several more people wearing the collars, eyeing them carefully for the flashing red light. Down a dim alley I turned the key in a grimy doorknob and entered the cafe. I plonked my bag on the stainless-steel bench and tied my apron around my waist. I cleaved open the heavy aluminium roller door and turned on the coffee machine. I took orders and frantically whizzed milk, making a few at a time to keep up with the demand. Diurnal Variation; A term used to describe the natural shifts in energy and mood every 24 hour cycle, usually signposted by morning depression. I sold a cup of temporary relief, and the money came flowing in. The only people making money in this city were those selling a short dose of mitigation from the all-consuming black.
By Ellen Brady5 years ago in Fiction
Love, the Aliens
For everyone left on earth.... Only adults who were wearing heart shaped jewelry, tattoos or clothing with hearts and kids under two years old, were spared. My husband survived because he was wearing his lucky hearts boxers at his weekly poker game. He watched his poker buddies crumble into piles of ash. Talk about stakes being high. I guess, none of them were holding any hearts. So they got “dusted”. Instant incineration. Dusted, sounds nicer than incinerated. But same result.
By Dayna Clark5 years ago in Fiction
The Infinity Café
“... of this before…?” Bernard trailed off, looking confused. Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the dimly lit café as one of the waitresses dropped a handful of plates. She knelt down and began to scrape up the shards in a panic, exposing a silver chain necklace which hung around her neck. There was a moment of silence as the crash resonated around the room before the conversational mumble gradually resumed.
By J. R. Lowe5 years ago in Fiction
