literature
Science fiction's most popular literary writers from Isaac Asimov to Stephen King and Frank Herbert, and the rising stars of today.
The Little Black Book
The metal of the ancient car crash graveyard creaked, far above, rhythmic, slow and fading. Laying on the intrusive plants that bled through the cracks in the grey of the road, Vincent quietly shifted in the shallow crawlspace to a slip of daylight that somehow made it through the pileup unhindered. Heeding his heartbeat to steady, he opened up the little black book.
By Holly Morningstar5 years ago in Futurism
Adelia's little black book of revenge
We lost the cops after five blocks. A record for Mikey, our Prius-obsessed getaway driver. Not just inconspicuous but also good for the environment, he liked to boast. Michael Galaphy, everyone—a conservationist and bank robber.
By Keira Wattus5 years ago in Futurism
The Book Keepers
I could hear them bickering in the main library; two opposites both alike in their story telling however separated by different genres. Richard was consumed with dark and mysterious tales, crimes, torture and the truthful side of unhappy endings that make you need to take a break for a breather. Grace his un-companion as I’d like to describe her was the fantasy, the magical thinking, the warm fuzzy feeling you get when you read something delicious and have to put it down to relish in that sensation of happiness. Their argument was about what to do with a story.
By Melissa-Grace Anderson5 years ago in Futurism
Azrael's Song
Angels didn’t get sick days or paid time-off like humans did. But after the last war—it was a doozy, even by the standards of the 20th century—who could blame Azrael for needing to take a few days off for some “me time”? Michael wasn’t happy about it, but he granted the request. He couldn’t remember the last time the angel of death had done anything that didn’t involve some aspect of war, plague, or one of the many disastrous human inventions that peppered the sphere known as earth.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Futurism
Little Black Notebook
Marking a tree with a vertical line for each person that traveled down that trail, I wondered why no one has returned. No one has noticed the shoelace left behind, the cigar put out on the stump, or the half-eaten sandwich left on the picnic table.
By Mary Catherine Watson5 years ago in Futurism
Miracles Happen
Miracles Happen; Sometimes By Chance, Sometimes By Design Dan Gollub He decided to attend a group therapy session at a church. He’d never done it before, but he was at a major crossroads in his life and it would be helpful to express his views and feelings. Everyone in the group was a stranger. He was glad about that. He didn’t want anyone he knew to feel pity for him. When it was his turn to speak, he said, “My name is Carl Etherbridge. It’s an unusual name, and for more reasons than that some of the high school kids bullied me. That doesn’t matter now. The future is all that matters. My future had looked bright and promising. It still does, but less immediately so. I’m in my third year of college. I’m majoring in biology. I have dreams of the great research projects I will carry out. For example, there must be some way of improving the epigenetic status of people who have been through a lot of suffering. But I’m going to have to drop out of school after this semester to work at least two jobs in order to build up my savings. My great future will be deferred.” How did they feel about his fervent belief in his research capabilities? He wondered if he was blushing. “I promise you I will stay on the straight and narrow even when I’m not in school. I won’t do anything which might diminish my brain’s functioning. I don’t use recreational drugs. Nor do I use alcohol. I sometimes attend the Wild Tree Corral nightclub on Saturday nights, and I order a glass or two of tomato juice there. I’m glad to be around people then, and sometimes one of the women there will accept my invitation to dance. If I were in a relationship, I would treat that woman well. She’d have to accept my need to spend long hours studying, and I’d try to make it up to her as best I could. Thanks for listening to me.”
By Dan Gollub5 years ago in Futurism
D.O.M
My vision was hazy, but I could make out figures dancing from afar. I grabbed the control arm of the ship and made every effort to wiggle through the opening created by the crash. My breath became labored while sweat beaded off my forehead. Losing my grip was not an option because my fingers were the only thing holding me up.
By REBELTHEGODDESS TAROT5 years ago in Futurism
Living Metal: Metallic Soul
Chapter 2: A Start of a new day “Remember….a…promise… What promise?” screamed Anna as she woke up in her own bed. Flabbergasted over her dream she lifted up her head from the pillow while hugging herself. With tears streaming off her cheek she was visibly shaken from the nightmare. The warm morning light shone across her bed helped her to check back into reality, “What?” She said to herself with a shaky voice, “I am home.”
By Matthew Harrington5 years ago in Futurism
The Book of All Secrets
The air had a stillness to it, broken only by the haze of dust motes commuting lazily down in the shafts of sunlight from the vaulted windows in the Reading Room. At 4:30 in the afternoon on a hot sumer day, it was as if the whole library was drifting into a heat-induced slumber. The few souls that were diligently still studying or reading had heads bent over books, bodies leant against the stacks and breathing slow and somnambulant.
By Jane Davies5 years ago in Futurism
