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Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Posts

The last party by Zin Shandi

Lady Heera’s presence radiated authority and grace in the matriarchal society of the crystal city. At the bustling core of the civilization, she and her husband, M, laboured tirelessly, seamlessly blending the realms of technology and spirituality. Their endeavours captured the interest of the galactic community, enriching the entire Atlantean civilization. Lady Heera’s sway over the twelve families of Atlantis was unmistakable; her every utterance bore the weight of a sword. Through her actions, she infused her people with the conviction that each possessed a divine spark, underscoring the sanctity of every individual.

 Elohim approached the priest M and lady Heera; he’d avoided for long time. The guilt and shame along his broken promise to limit the cruelty and inhuman experiments on animals by the scientists who are working under his command were out of control. He was more desperate than he’d thought, led him bringing the twelve families together in that day, with all their continuous conflict.

Like a Daughter by Janet Johnson

Emma looked out of the shuttle window tears forming in the corner of her indigo-blue eyes.

“Goodbye Freya and thank you,” she whispered softly to herself, dabbing away the tears.

She took one last look at Mars, the red-brown earth, spiky grasses, and soft, smooth, pebble-like mosses, the only home she’d ever known, as the silver-grey craft deployed upward thrust and briefly hovered over the landing pad before embarking on its flight to Jupiter.

Freya felt uneasy as she drove down the pitted, dirt track, a mist of fine red dust in her wake. She’d been to the yard a few times with Richard, it wasn’t far from town but far enough to feel isolated.  Lyc’s OK when you get to know him, she heard Richard’s voice in her head, trying to reassure her. Sure, he’s rough around the edges and more cyborg than human but he’s put his past behind him since the accident. He’s a model citizen now, pays his taxes and everything. Anyway, you can’t beat his yard for the variety and quality of the scrap he’s got, and his knowledge of cybernetics is second to none based on experimentation on himself. I don’t know any scientist worth his salt who would do that. She could see Richard grin at her distaste. Somehow Lyc and Richard had formed an unlikely friendship over the years, the space pirate, and the government scientist and not a week went by when Richard wouldn’t visit the yard for something or other. Freya preferred to stay at home, yet here she was today. She smiled thinking about what Richard would’ve said if he knew. He would certainly have teased her for it mercilessly. She stopped in front of what looked like a large aircraft hangar, orderly piles of space scrap, grouped by type, to the left and right. Lyc stood at the entrance, a tall, imposing, muscular man, his cybernetically enhanced left eye scanning his visitor. His past was chiselled on his face and a large, jagged scar ran down his right cheek. Knowing he would be wary of strangers and most likely armed, Freya waited until she saw his shoulders relax before getting out of her Mars rover.

Seed by Sandra Lloyd-Lewis v2

Tim stared at Mandy in shock, ‘Pete? Your Personal trainer? How long have you been seeing him?’ he asked, as if the most important thing was the length of time; short equals bad, but a long while equals much worse, as if time, love and betrayal were a maths problem: solve for x, for fuck’s sake, he thought.

‘You know we haven’t been getting on. I told you last year, I couldn’t live like this. I never see you, you’re always at that bloody lab. Pete and me, well… he sees me, Tim, really sees me’. Mandy was standing by her suitcases.

Oh, Pete sees you. I bet he does. Tim was tempted with a sarcastic comeback about her general lack of invisibility and the pec-flexing Pete’s x-ray vision, but his flippant remarks were another thing he knew annoyed her and anyway, he mostly felt shocked and…numb. This had been a while coming, he knew.

‘I’ll come back for the rest, another time’ She moved closer to him. ‘I am sorry. I really am. But I think you’ll realise it’s for the best one day’.

The Fallen Ones (Continued – pt.2) by CJ Burrow

“What?” he whines, rubbing his side “What’d I miss?”

Acara frowns, opening her mouth, then seems to think better of trying to chastise him. “I asked for an update for the Overseer’s report.”

Callista chuckles “You’re kidding…right?” Acara just stares at him blankly. “Huh, you’re actually serious. And you decided to start with me… why exactly? Cause I ain’t got nothin’ to tell you sis.” He narrows his eyes at her, “Which you should know better than anyone.”

“What do you mean? I thought you were helping Auri reshape a few of the climates to better suit her creations.”

“That was 10 cycles ago Acara – 10 cycles. He conjures a small globe and a sphere of light, sending the globe around it in a high-speed imitation of time. Cradling it between his palms he nods his head at it, smiling softly as the miniature world speeds through orbit. Acara glares at him, no doubt seeing his illustration of an obvious fact as insolence. Callista up at her and his smile falls slightly. The spheres disperse. “Do you know how long it takes to run those simulations?”

Pt 2 – The Beach by Caroline Thomas

Everyone is talking at once. Some want to wait out at sea until dark, then go onto the beach. Others want to go along the coast to find an empty place to land. Still others are adamant about landing right away while there are still just a few people on the beach. In the end it is Tarek who will decide, for he is the pilot and the owner of their circular steed. Tarek has stopped hallucinating, but he’s befuddled by lack of sleep, and overwhelmed by the responsibility, on this, his first trip as a smuggler. Also creeping in is the growing realisation that without a compass or the astronomical knowledge of Yara, he may never, after dropping off his human cargo, find his way home. Even if he owned a phone with a navigation device he couldn’t risk using it, for the authorities would track the signal and arrest him for people-smuggling. He falls into panic as he pictures himself in a prison cell being beaten by guards, then is more disturbed by the very real sound of his stomach growling with hunger.

Megan – by Jason Davies-Redgrave

Street upon street of terraced houses are laid out in silent, regimented lines. Rubbish collects in damp corners and under the paint-cracked front doors that open directly onto the drab concrete. Front rooms are permanently barricaded behind cheap curtains. Dead flies lined up before these polyester bulwarks, ranged on the sill like a phalanx of tiny warriors guarding the fortress within.  

Anaemic light pulses at the edge of certain windows. The ghostly flickering of late-night electronic distractions numbing the lost, the lonely and the insomniacs with its bilge of entertainment.

The Dawn of Earth’s Twilight

Chapter 0 – V 2.0

Part I. The resurrection of the Father

Father Ellis Simpson woke to the sound of nothing other than his laboured breathing, a state of quietude which lasted only a few seconds before a soul shattering agony leapt at him like an avenging tiger, invading every muscle, sinew, and bone in his body. He could feel a grand mal tinkering with his cognition right at the edge of his perception and he reflexively glanded Topiramate 11 to suppress it, but had nothing for the pain.

A green light flashed on a panel in front of him. It was so bright he could glimpse it through his tightly closed eyes. Forcing one eye open, he saw it was more than one light. A series of letters in a readout panel read: “Hibo capsule opening in:” The numbers next to the message were counting down in seconds and showed just over two minutes to go.

Tentatively moving one emaciated arm to test the lid of his capsule, Ellis sucked in air tasting of chlorinated faecal droplets as the grinding of unused joints added to his distress. He gagged.

Memento Mori – Jason Davies-Redgrave v1.7

“Everything you will need will be in this box…”

When you first go into space it is the most desolate and strangely beautiful thing you’ll ever see.  There are vast tracts of inky emptiness, pin pricks of light shimmering in the infinite distance but every so often you see something wonderful that sears itself into your consciousness forever.

 Now, I can’t even bring myself to look out of the window at the gaudy lights and boiling gas of the nebula beyond the station: it looks fake, like a bad holo-reproduction. The medical centre is a vast, cold tundra of healing. All the staff are methodical and pleasant enough yet at the same time brash and thoughtlessly noisy. My room is a painfully clinical, porcelain white cell with sharp edged lighting. Even the bed sheets feel hard and unforgiving, scratching against my survivor’s guilt at each slow turn of my tired body.

Like a Daughter

Emma looked out of the shuttle window tears forming in the corner of her indigo-blue eyes.

“Goodbye Freya and thank you,” she whispered softly to herself, dabbing away the tears.

She took one last look at Mars, the red-brown earth, spiky grasses, and soft, smooth, pebble-like mosses, the only home she’d ever known, as the silver-grey craft deployed upward thrust and briefly hovered over the landing pad before embarking on its flight to Jupiter.

Memento Mori

“Everything you will need will be in this box…”

When you first go into space it is the most desolate and strangely beautiful thing you’ll ever see.  There are vast tracts of inky emptiness, pin pricks of light shimmering in the infinite distance but every so often you see something wonderful that sears itself into your consciousness forever.

 Now, I can’t even bring myself to look out of the window at the gaudy lights and boiling gas of the nebula beyond the station: it looks fake, like a bad holo-show. The medical centre is a vast, cold tundra of healing. All the staff are methodical and pleasant enough yet at the same time brash and thoughtlessly noisy. My room is a painfully clinical, porcelain white cell with sharp edged lighting. Even the bed sheets feel hard and unforgiving, scratching against my survivor’s guilt at each slow turn of my tired body.

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