humanity
The evolution of humanity, from one advancement to the next.
The Book of Possibility
There was once a man who journeyed throughout the world in search of a little black notebook. It was said to contain wisdom beyond man’s wildest dreams. This man’s name was Neon. He was a physicist who spent most of his days in a laboratory or out in nature, trying to figure out the secrets of the universe. As he was growing up, he had heard stories of a mysterious little notebook. The tales he had heard said that this notebook had no author. No one knew the true origins of the book. Some speculated that it may have entered into our dimension through a stargate.
By Tjader Carter5 years ago in Futurism
Just One Name
“Just give us a name.” “We only need one name.” Melissa sat at the kitchen table with her husband Clark. Two members of the Watchful Police sat across from them and watched her with hard eyes as she brushed a strand of chestnut hair from her face. She shot a quick look to Clark. He shot her the same look in return.
By Meche Ayala5 years ago in Futurism
You Bring Light In
Nothing brings as much pleasure as the thought of becoming one with the ocean. To have coral grow from the rot that was once your chest and to be a life source for the life around it such as the fish and underwater plant life. I don't know how exactly, but I'm still alive. My body has decayed and become a home to fish such as the bloodfin tetra and the guppies that eat the remains of my lungs.
By Jennifer G5 years ago in Futurism
The Starchasers
The map to the stars was my trade. You’d see my greasy pamphlets pasted in airports when you’d rent your car or in the revolving stands when you checked into the seedy motels next to the highway. “Come tour with me and the Stars!” This was before we were forced to hide in the ground like worms, scurrying beneath underpasses and bridges, and the stars were special instead of the scourge they have become.
By Cormac O'Reilly5 years ago in Futurism
Home for Breakfast
Ten months ago, I rushed back from school to witness my father’s departure for Mars. The distant steel gantry supporting his rocket is shrouded in steam and illuminated by dazzling arc lights. It’s a perfect evening to watch the countdown outside in our front garden. My mother joins me on the swing chair and leans over to study my drawing.
By Howard Halsall5 years ago in Futurism
Last Night at The Beehive
Ava primps, willing her ebony hair to curl at just the right face-framing angle. She applies a sheer lipstick and steps back to take in the effect. Smoothing out her white sheath dress, she pivots in the mirror. Ava looks as though she’s on her way to a board meeting, not her own bachelorette party. Still, white is bridal, and it contrasts her mocha skin beautifully.
By Bryn Costello5 years ago in Futurism
Note
The day had begun without particular note. A drizzly mist welcomed him when he left his house but had developed into heavy, plump drops. Using reflections from streetlights as a guide in the darkness, Fib tried to stay out of the puddles, but the damp was already in his socks and he knew the chilly clamminess between his toes would now be with him until he got home that evening.
By Patrick Bruce5 years ago in Futurism
Interstellar
“Just because you don’t believe in magic doesn’t mean magic doesn’t believe in you.” I stared in wonder at this statement written in a card I found in my mail box. The card also contained a blank check with my name on it so I knew it was meant for me but I had no clue from whom. The envelope had no return address either. I wasn’t even sure it had gone through the post. There was no stamp. I looked up from the card and looked to my left and right down my street but it was weirdly empty. I put the card back in its envelope and went back inside my home.
By Chynia Norton5 years ago in Futurism
In Days of Hope and Ash
The sky was always light, from the bottom of a hole. Horace climbed out his. The horizon glowed to the west, behind the factory. A black, ashy snow fell. He rubbed his bruised elbows. His had been a tight fit. All around, boys emerged from other holes. A few carried weighted satchels.
By Joel Hathaway5 years ago in Futurism
Simple Stories at the End of the World
The breeze was cool, the gray sky spoke of a calm day, though the exact day was uncertain; society had abandoned the Gregorian calendar the previous year. She rose from her bed; not a sound in the house. The wood paneled walls were musty, and quite old, but a well-kept old. Something that was built to last. The mud room didn’t have mud as much as layers of sand and dry seaweed, all swept into the corners. She had mapped out this location weeks ago. The residents had all abandoned these summer homes, staying in the cities where they could be with family. No one had bothered to lock their doors, and it was now a ghost town of luxury condos.
By Marissa Bea5 years ago in Futurism
