literature
Science fiction's most popular literary writers from Isaac Asimov to Stephen King and Frank Herbert, and the rising stars of today.
My Favorite Fantasy Writers
We all have fantasies, right? I like to think so. As the puny kid we fantasized about scaring the bully in school like Sebastian did in "The Never Ending Story" or maybe as a teenage girl we fantasized about The Goblin King taking us to a whole new world like in "Labyrinth". I love fantasies. A good movie or a good book can help when you're running low on imagination. It's a great escape. It doesn't kill brain cells or make you fat. Fantasies are healthy.
By Shanon Angermeyer Norman5 years ago in Futurism
Black fish.
She stood on the sand watching a handful of children rush onto the shore. The water had pulled back a mile or more from where it usually lapped the shore. Kids had already raced out to pluck up the wet shells greedily, using the bottoms of their t-shirts that they stretched out to use as makeshift bags to collect their treasures among the fish that desperately curled their bodies before slapping the sand in a desperate attempt to push themselves back into the water that had abandoned them. A few of the children picked up the flopping fish in their shirts alongside the shells and clams until they had so many that when they ran back the fish were tumbling out from their wet shirts.
By MJ Shanard5 years ago in Futurism
The Barrens
Why here? Chrys wondered as she expertly set the flitcar down beside a ruined building, probably a warehouse at one time. So far from the New City that she could barely see the lighted domes of the corphives from the side window of her car. This was so far out into the Barrens that it might once have been at the edge of the legendary “burbs.”
By Reynolds Jones5 years ago in Futurism
Company Man
On Monday, 0545, Michael Porter received simultaneous alarms from the screen/console in his room and his commcard lying on his bedside table. He tapped the commcard screen then flung the blanket off and padded over to the console. The screen flashed PRIORITY: OCCUPATIONAL again and again. His index finger alternated between staccato taps and graceful swoops on the computer screen. A female head, with copper skin and black hair, delivered the message in an androgyne voice:
By Andrew Dabbs5 years ago in Futurism
The Chosen: aftermath
In the year 2042, a life-altering event took place that shook humankind. This was when more than half the population of Earth were dragged up into the sky in a blinding light and then just disappeared. Without a trace as if God reached down and plucked up these souls and for whatever reason left everyone else. These people were of every color, sex, religion, and from many different countries. Nothing could be proven as to why or how these people were selected. Some were criminals, many were of different faiths, and every color under the sun was represented.
By Dustin Wiggin5 years ago in Futurism
HEROD
HEROD Pilot Background: [1 Year Now = 1 Second ] A technology war broke out around the world after a pandemic. The war ended with a bright light, ending most of humanity. What most of the survivors do not know is, that the light broke a barrier between technology and the spiritual realm. Refugees were blind sighted and forced under a one world martial law.
By Kiara Holmes5 years ago in Futurism
The Last Son of Eden
The last Child of Eden Ramon Bernard I'm so bored here in Eden, Father died long ago and mother soon after. I was alone for a long time. I was born here yet I know many things I shouldn’t. Math, Train, fireworks, Pasta, even ice cream. I know all about those things.
By Ramon Bernard5 years ago in Futurism
Never Gone
Funny thing about the Dixton was that once you caught it, you were branded like cattle. An odd, little blister would develop around your wrist like a bracelet immediately identifying you as infected. As horrifying as the Dixton was for its inevitable doom thrust upon its victims, it also gave some a strange sense of peace. The Dixton was a guaranteed death but you would have time and other than the fear it pierced you with, it offered no real physical symptoms or pain. Essentially, if you could accept your demise, your death could be as peaceful as possible. Accepting death was no one’s first inclination but as years passed, it became “all the rage”. I watched humanity’s religions change overnight to now peddle Dixton as “God’s answer to the pain of death”, I saw therapies for acceptance become something as common as going to the grocery store. After the initial shock and dismay of the first year of Dixton, I started to see humanity accept Dixton as somewhat of a relief. One of the most famous ways of coping with the Dixton was a place called Nevergone.
By Zachary Oser5 years ago in Futurism
One More Wish
After eating some canned peas, I got up and stretched. “Back to work.” Continuing my morning ritual of dabbing Wish on my tongue, I set out for the camp. The stimulant in my system added some pep in my step. Streets were jagged while buildings were either toppled or damaged. The camp entered my line of sight with wanderers walking the streets. I tightened my backpacks’ straps as I entered the crowd. Makeshift stalls dotted the vicinity but mostly around the gated pharmacy.
By Ruben Ramos5 years ago in Futurism
Capturing the wild ones
Well, I should introduce myself first. I am Galvinator, son of Huna and Shloan. I know each and every nook of this planet, that the wild-ones call Surya-the Home. The day I came out of my shell, literally, the first thing I was told was to stay as far away from the wild-ones. They stand on their two feet, and so they have no balance - if you feel them coming your way- run away, hide behind shadows. Their eyes are very weak, they cannot see like us in the dark. And the poor wild-ones can listen only from two minuscule skin-flaps on their head. And the most important point is that they make a lot of noise. Before I continue about my adventure with wild-ones, It is imperative that I introduce you to my friend- partner in all my mischiefs.
By Energyia Singh5 years ago in Futurism
The Enchantress
Winter sliced through the darkness like freezing blades. The beggar, fuelled by purpose, pulled the black cloak around her shivering body as she soldiered on through the woods. All around her, leaves and crimson petals swarmed in a wind that rattled the bare trees and ached her bones. The skin cracked around her knuckles as she felt her way through the dense night, walking slowly on freezing, bloody feet, her arm outstretched before her. Her frost-beaten hand met with a spiked bush that pricked and tore her fingers like vicious teeth. She retracted her bleeding arm and squinted into the blackness. Silver moonlight exhaled from behind heavy clouds illuminating a tree of blood-red roses. Captivated by the beautiful flowers, the beggar reached up and plucked the brightest, most voluptuous rose on the tree. She tucked it safely into her cloak and continued on her way.
By Michael Brennan5 years ago in Futurism
