literature
Science fiction's most popular literary writers from Isaac Asimov to Stephen King and Frank Herbert, and the rising stars of today.
The Titan Chronicles
PROLOGUE In the year 2095 the earth was engulfed in a third world war. A conflict so deadly that late in the year 2099 it ended with the world’s superpowers targeting one another with nuclear weapons of mass destruction. The fallout that ensued was vastly devastating leaving one percent of the earth’s population alive and rendering the ground level uninhabitable.
By Kolten Peña5 years ago in Futurism
The Task
Bristol, 17th May 2090 Perhaps it was the fact that it was the middle of the night, or maybe because only the rich possessed £100 notes, that Lucille pondered upon her new found wealth. Maybe it was a prank; It couldn’t possibly be anything else, she thought. Who would send fifty thousand pounds in £100 notes to an impoverished girl living in isolation? Lucille stared at the large white envelope which sat comfortably on her messy table; the colour a stranger to the dark furniture and un-plastered walls that surrounded her. A small black book that had arrived with the money moments earlier lay to the left of it. Lucille sat back in her armchair, closely analysing what was in front of her, until she spotted one of the pages in the black book had been folded. She reached down and opened it to find a list of written instructions.
By Robyn Howells5 years ago in Futurism
Old Soul, New Soul, Familiar Soul
Bang bang BANG! “Where am I!? HELLO?! Anybody out there?” shuffles around. What the hell is this? A book, Samsara reached for it. Something felt familiar but it was hard to pinpoint what exactly it was. When they opened the book things fell on to their feet. In a confused manner Samsara dropped the book and ran their hands from the top of their chest down to their legs. The left hand got caught on something near the waist and with their thumb bumped a button which triggered a light. They flinched at the sight of it but slowly recognized the object. With it, the objects on the ground became recognizable. Samsara bent down to pick them up. Without hesitation they began reading the words on each object, Name: Samsara, age: 290, one hundred dollars. Simultaneously, Samsara picked up a pair of sunglasses, instinctively put them on their face and read “...estimated time of arrival: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2..” Light spilled into the room and a figure reached for their hand.
By Frida Ramos They/her5 years ago in Futurism
The Dark
The Dark. It's been 469 days. Down where the light never reaches. But up there, on the surface, the sunlight hasn't shone either. We count the days just as we did before, by the hours that pass, but without day and night, time feels different. It feels longer, restless, unending. One day runs into the next and months blend into one another. Without seasons or any change down here, time feels constant. Like we’ve been living in one long nightmare.
By Simone Carpenter5 years ago in Futurism
Little Black Book
Archie walked up the creaky stairs to his stronghold, the attic. Up there he could nod in his rocking chair and smoke his pipe in silent contemplation over daily events and past times gone. The attic had a smell of old oak and above him the timber beams had been overtaken with spiderwebs and dust. Filled with storage boxes that had been left unopened for decades, the place was in a disorganised mess. A workbench stood in a dark corner strewn with different sizes of blown glass creations and half-finished pieces. Opposite, shelves of books and antiquated gadgets and instruments covered an entire wall. Next to his rocking chair was a wooden treasure chest. A vase on top held forlorn tulips that hung, weeping, over the edge. The chest mostly served as a table for his tobacco, pints and papers.
By Patricia Gillberg5 years ago in Futurism
Keeper
A connection to the moon has always been present for sweet Isabell. Her porcelain skin gleams under Luna's light most nights. Her fascination with manifestation and other-worldly ideas has brought her peace and comfort as she journeyed through life. Thirty years in, she finally felt at peace among the stars. A Starseed is what she believed she was. Part of an other-dimensional simulation that could control life's direction and gifts. The power she wielded within felt like a two thousand watt lightbulb; impenetrable and admirable. For the first time in her life, she felt in control, confident, and on the path set out for her. The bedside table within her room housed many treasures. She was a believer in energy and kept only the things that exuded positivity next to her as she dreamt. Among her many treasures was a leather-bound book with a family tree embossed on the front. Inside her innermost thoughts littered the pages in messy cursive that only she could understand. The legibility of each entry was dependent upon her mood. As she revisited these thoughts, the lines and curves that formed the words would bring back a memory of each emotion. A physical item that had the capability of producing a feature film within her mind.
By Sabrina Wiles5 years ago in Futurism
How to avoid a bounty
Kepler made a fine living as an arms dealer. Old Azure connections gave him access to high grade weapons, secret shipping routes, and another bishop or two willing to look the other way for a piece of the action. Kepler always paid extra. A man of his profession lived less than a breath away from trouble and paying extra was a good way to avoid it. Most of the time.
By Romario Ashley5 years ago in Futurism
Voice on the Radio
It was late—but what time it was, I couldn’t be sure. The sun had set, leaving only memories of orange in the deepening blue, and the streetlights flickered on moments ago. The radio, set to some rock station, buzzed and faded out into white noise. I sat up, intending to turn off the radio, when a slow, deliberate voice came through that gave me chills.
By Jessica Rugani5 years ago in Futurism
The Key
I look into the bright blue sky above, not a cloud in sight seen through a broken ceiling. Flashes of a bloody roman bath house with beautiful blue triangular tiles on the wall that dance at the slightest twitch of the eye. Smooth white grouting made of packed sand, smooth granite slabs on the floor kept the house cool in the shade during the summer. All the rooms seem to be looted and disserted. But so strange no bodies in sight just blood splatters. The Year is 502 C.E. The halls of the entire villa lay silent and uncomfortable, home to nothing more than insects and small rodents now. About 4 years ago my entire family had been slain where I stand now, while there was nothing I could do. An army of 2 leagues of Germanic soldiers had descended upon our humble country villa village. I dressed and prepared for war, prepared for victory and triumph, and glory. I was excited to use new spells I had just mastered from my mother’s red grimoire. I descended the stairs ready to hear my commands. And my father and older brother lock me under the false floor in the basement. The false floor has only one exit which leads to our private hunting cabin in the woods. Before he locked the floor, my father said to me “return home for your key on the 3rd blue moon only you can use it” ... The false floor backtracks underground, a 10k cold damp hike. I have done this trek thousands of times alone, even with weights, but never to escape and never with no one on the other side waiting for me... But I stayed and hung to the floor as I listened as my family pulled off their suicide plan and killed everyone who entered our house, including themselves. My father and my brother must have fought off 20 Germanic soldiers each. I could hear the flint of swords clashing together and my brothers grunts, and the enemy soldiers' war cry turn to shrieks as they fought my father. But I know this is just a stall while my mother frantically put together a gas bomb spell which makes the air in the house toxic and non-breathable for humans for 52 moons. A simple spell she conjures into a glass bottle only needing it to be broken to activate. There were a few more parlay attacks to a shield it sounded like and more enemy soldiers screaming “Hilf mir”… Whatever it meant it could not be good but after I heard the glass break.. I heard nothing, just silence. I take a seat next to books packed near the fireplace, thinking about what my father could mean by the key. He left a key for the floor along with $20,000 in the cabin. “How far did he plan ahead?” I think to myself. I wasn't ready to return home and lost track of the moon count. But last night through all the fires in the land I witnessed the 3rd blue moon shining through the endless smog and felt the need to check. But what if I’m wrong and die looking for the key? A mouse scurries chasing after a beetle and catches it just as the beetle starts to fly. The pair land in the sooty books and just as quickly scurries off. I see a light coming from under the book pile and instantly feel adrenaline bubbling, hoping some kindle has not suddenly caught fire from the heat of the day that would surely let anyone know exactly where I am right now, and I have no allies. I frantically dive towards the pile and start tossing books aside left and right. I start to cough due to the soot flying in the air only to see the light disappear when I pick up this Little Black book.
By maybe: maya5 years ago in Futurism
Enough
“98.3° this morning.” The intake nurse’s printer whirled to life and she handed me a half sheet of stickers with my name and medical information barcode on it, as well as a Screened sticker to adhere to my shirt. “Go ahead and take a seat in the waiting room and a nurse will be out to get you shortly."
By Amanda Pilewski5 years ago in Futurism
