humanity
The evolution of humanity, from one advancement to the next.
Left Behind
I feel myself begin to wake. I claw out of the abyss that is my subconscious and am greeted once again by darkness. How long has it been? I am wasting away, slowly sinking into the dust and dirt that relentlessly gathers around me. I would give anything to move, but the bindings grow tighter and tighter with each passing moment. I fade and they flourish.
By David Charles5 years ago in Futurism
After The Lights Went Out
After the Lights Went Out Frost nipped at the heels of our group as we wondered through the dead grass. It was thawing slowly at the bases of the pyres. A haunting scent of burnt hair filled area. People were beginning to slow again. Night would set in in a few hours. We wouldn’t eat tonight, we hadn’t reached the checkpoint.
By Michelle Prenzler5 years ago in Futurism
Curiosity Killed the Cat
The first thing that hit her was the air. Hot and sticky, she drank it down, like warm honey filling her screaming lungs. Her mother’s laughter wrapped around her like a blanket, and she let her mask fall to the ground unceremoniously. It was a rare sound to hear, and she welcomed it as a promise that she was safe, it was safe to breathe.
By Yolanda Moore5 years ago in Futurism
A Dangerous Crossing
Adelaide unzips her windbreaker a little so she can feel the fresh air on her skin. She is already exhausted, and the most perilous part of the journey is about to begin. The border crossing from Belarus to Ukraine is three kilometres. Not far at all, even in this oppressive heat. Back at home in Sydney, whenever a virus flare-up or a heatwave shuts-down the public transport, she has to walk seven kilometres to work in the morning, and seven back. But at home she isn’t carrying a 30kg backpack, and she isn’t running on no sleep.
By Genevieve Gannon5 years ago in Futurism
To Feel
The noise of desperate shuffling filled the dusty, old chamber before being replaced by the unforgiving sound of flesh smacking flesh: a hard slap to the face. Wet grunts and groans were forced from behind the clenched teeth of two men locked in combat. The battle had shifted to the ground, one man’s hands wrapped decisively around the throat of the other. Bald, and colorless, he cringed as he watched his victim’s face turn red, his eyes bulging in fear. Sweat and spit dripped on the dusty concrete floor, the combatants locked in place, the loser flailing his arms and legs as death approached him.
By Braiden Burton5 years ago in Futurism
Bleeding Heart
Dear Doomsday Dairy, 17/03/2031 Today I went for a walk, the sky was clear of the constricting dense smog that never seemed to go away, and the temperature was blissfully cool, I am glad I went on that walk. I walked past the Hive Mind Station and saw our glorious peacekeepers changing shifts, then I stood in front of the Liberty House and paid thanks to our glorious leaders for keeping us safe from the anarchist faction that wanted to destroy our utopian way of life. I then walked through the park, laying down on the comforting synthetic grass that was mass produced in one of the local factories.
By Phoenix B. A. Rose-Mundy5 years ago in Futurism
Locket
The humidity feels more suffocating than usual as I wipe the dust off the can I found in an old, abandoned cupboard in an equally old and abandoned house. That’s a perfect description for just about everything nowadays. Old and abandoned. This place used to be nice. High ceilings with delicate light fixtures that no longer worked. Solid wood furniture that’s now covered in enough dust to fill the Sahara. It even had central air at one point going by the thermostat on the wall. That would have been nice. I’m so sick of being hot and sticky with sweat.
By Virginia Nightingale5 years ago in Futurism
Someone To Love
“You may take a seat,” the relevant chair was indicated by the pencil tip of the administrator. “I trust you have been stripped of your devices; there are none present in this room. As you can see from these quaint historical artefacts.” She raised the pencil. “Our conversation is for us and us alone.”
By Theo Drane5 years ago in Futurism
A Dateless Unending
A flurry of gray ash flakes floated from her eyelashes to the cracked floor, covering the last centimeter of chestnut she could see. And it felt like 1,200. It had been 1,200. 1,200 blinks since she stood up, disoriented and alone. People say an hour goes by quickly -- that it all goes by quickly. But as she stood there dazed, trying to piece together what had happened, realizing she was alone, her perspective on time had changed. An hour no longer took 60 minutes, it took the agonizing pain of 1,200 time loops where she opened and closed her eyes to the same unmoving devastation.
By Maria Alejandra Mora5 years ago in Futurism
