Sci Fi
From Darkness Comes
Sweat slicked hair kept stinging her eyes. Hands far too deep in the dust and grime of this experiment, the only option was to endure because attempting to push it back would likely leave her blind. She puffed air from her supple cheeks in an effort to keep focused. Every little detail of this contraption’s wiring had to be perfect. If she failed, the only thing worse than the rip in the universe that could happen was the sheer disappointment of failure.
By Jin Exelixi5 years ago in Fiction
The Unnamed Child
The planet was dying, and Ward Ad1 welcomed it. She longed for it, especially in the evening when consciousness returned to end her drug-induced slumber. She fumbled for the eyedropper next to her bedroll, opened the face shield on her helmet, and winced as the moisture coated the lens of her eyes. Pink tears slid down her cheeks as she sat up and took her first painful breath of the day. The oxygen from her tank pierced her lungs. She sipped stale air, eventually gathering enough strength to sit up, the sharpness of her breathing slowly subsiding. She nudged the lump in the bedroll next to hers and elicited a soft but unmistakably angry grunt. Ward Ma3 cracked her dry, dust-encrusted eyelids open just enough to glare at her bunkmate.
By Erin Benson5 years ago in Fiction
The Thing With Feathers
Hope strained her muscles and pushed the pedals of her bike the last 200 yards to the safety of the shade of the former four-stall car wash. The idea of wasting water for vanity's sake was a ludicrous notion to Hope. Still, her people had put the building to better use. A grow house. It warmed her heart, thinking of all the plants that large of a building could maintain. The solar panels appeared cared for, and the roof was of special greenhouse glass. The air purifier was attached to the side building. The old "Holiday" sign still stood, beckoning long-dead travelers to its doors. Not much for travelers these days. This location was a part of H.O.P.E. Heal Offer Protect and Educate. A last-ditch effort for the survival of life on earth. Their fight was an uphill battle. Some chose a nomad lifestyle, trying to survive however they could instead, often stopping through posts to trade goods, news, and even act as a postal service. Nomads were always a risk, and special precautions were taken with those that had not taken the oath. A nomad could become a scavenger if they grew desperate enough. While H.O.P.E. was against the destruction of any living thing, those that preyed on others were a cancer that could not be tolerated. Even names were safeguarded against strangers. Hope was the name of all that brought it to others.
By Jessica Spates5 years ago in Fiction
De-Unification
We were digging up the potatoes when Maggie-Mae collapsed. She slipped silently to the ground between the neat green rows - I don’t think anyone else saw. I didn’t want to draw attention, so I kept digging as I moved closer to her position, near enough to see she was still breathing. Her soft, gray hair clung damply to her cheeks, and she made a rasping, phlegmy sound with each shallow breath. It was clear she was unfit for work.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
The Patient Who Could Not Recover
A shaft of dusty light vertically suspended the young graduate. A punishing boot of stiff plastic contained ser terrible wound, now clean, but ceaselessly dripping like a hungry critter’s mouth. The young graduate would soon learn why and how Sie arrived in this dank and most sorry of places, but for now the mist kept ser sedated.
By Jayde Kirchert5 years ago in Fiction
The Secret of the Heart-shaped Anomaly
They existed in a perfect reality. All 100,000 Units were meticulously created, trained and guided through their lives by the master. They each lived precisely 10,000 days, serving society in their distinctive functions to maintain perfection in the dome. Outside the dome nothing mattered, as it was not a perfect reality. They were happily sealed off from this disturbing possibility and for centuries it rarely occurred to the Units that there was another reality.
By Scott D. Williams5 years ago in Fiction
The Locket
She kept running. After lifting the amethyst encrusted locket Lana knew she'd get caught. It was late afternoon as the boat shipped out with whole families being seen off by relatives. Running up the plank Lana was stopped by a crewmember. "Pass please." Lana just stomped his foot making the plump mustachioed crewmember begin to hop on one foot like an overweight kangaroo. She was a former street urchin. Flowing strawberry blonde hair and barely visible freckles in green and brown rags. It was painfully obvious that if only by disguise she didn't belong. The ship itself was incredibly plush with intricate and ornate decorations. Even the carpets looked oriental or persian maybe. Why this was on a ship in the ocean Lana had no clue.
By John Lewis Wright5 years ago in Fiction
Out on a Limb
Monica sat motionless in an oak tree as she watched two men pass below. From her vantage point she saw that the men were dragging a deer. She’d seen these two often lately but like most people, they’d not seen her. Most people had formed groups that now lived behind protected walls and rarely ventured out, some like the two arguing over who had to clean the deer, lived off to themselves. These people were not normally a problem, but they could be dangerous.
By Miah Crosby5 years ago in Fiction
The Crypt
‘The Crypt’ The kiss of cold air woke Jago from his restless sleep, his eyes creaked open to the dull light that seeped into his cell. Blinking, Jago wiped the sleep and frosty gunk from the corners of his eyes. Looking up from his awkward foetal position at the figure looming over him, Jago saw a hooded person, wearing a thick, weathered brown coat and worn-out gloves. Was it an uncanny skill and awareness that alerted him to the presence, or simply his unconscious mind warning him of danger, the question was mute as the figure, looming near the doorway, was seemingly the exact match of presence and stature as his friend North. Taking a second to listen closely, Jago focused on this new arrival, feeling for anything awry, he sniffed the air for familiar scents, a few quick glances from head to toe completed his rudimentary assessment. Deciding finally that it was his friend, Jago took his hand of the knife under his pillow as he swung both legs out from under the thermo-blanket that barely covered him. He rubbed the remaining sleep from his tired eyes, and slapped his cheeks with both hands to shake off the lingering grip that was the comfort and warmth of his slab-like cot. When in reality, the sleep he had just had was one of the worst of his life, they all were, every single one. Jago’s room lacked any homeliness or comfort, as there was no comfort down here to speak of, the only wares, or memorabilia he held onto were the knives he honed most waking hours, extra scraps of leather, blankets, some food and a tiny heart-shaped locket that belonged to his daughter. A picture folded up inside, framed a younger version of himself, his wife and their daughter, both of them remained trapped in the locket, and in the sweet ignorance of time.
By Tom Mcmulkin5 years ago in Fiction
