fantasy
Celebrating the fantastical. Let your imagination run wild.
This Is Not Déjà Vu
My earliest carcass didn’t know of time; in that life, it didn’t matter, didn’t exist. Yet, as what I now know was a bee, I existed. In that life, I didn’t bother to distinguish a difference between real or fake. Everything was real, it just was and so were you. You were a flower with pollen softer than that of any other and with nectar that was more than sweet. I rested within you at the base of your filaments. Too soon after leaving your safety, I was attacked, and as a consequence of defending myself, I died. That life, I learned, was just as fragile as that body.
By Troi Speaks8 years ago in Futurism
Blockhead
Blockhead :oR: Leaps Away “The Blockheads that haunt this apartment complex will kill you the worst way, worse than any other ghost,” said Sister Mary Michael (whom Eve Eeny called “Sister Mary Michael Jackson”). “But don’t worry. They’re easy to spot and leave alone.”
By F. Simon Grant8 years ago in Futurism
The Assassin and the Thief
The moon is high, almost in position, by the time I get where I need to be. My target should be walking back into town any moment now. If all goes to plan, this hit should go down without a hitch. I shift in my position slightly, careful not to rustle the branch I rest on too much. The stiffness in my bones has set in now, but I can’t leave my position. I have a mark, I have to carry out the mission.
By Shera Prague8 years ago in Futurism
The Shadow
There are five wagons in our group winding slowly through the forest on a dirt road. Ours is the last in the line of covered wagons, made of old ruined automobile parts. The three of us sit in the bed of our wagon in brooding silence until Amy, the more talkative one of our group, speaks.
By Hunter Wilson8 years ago in Futurism
Death of a Nephilim
I can remember everything so well. It felt so real, I’m sure that it actually happened. It had to. The first thing I remember was me running into a large room that looked like some sort of 1920s ticket booth. It was shielded by a glass wall that stood on top of a long desk and wrapped around the perimeter. The glass had black handprints on it, and some even dragged down the glass. It creeped me out a bit, to be honest. A humongous room that was about the size of a hotel lobby laid outside of it and seemed like it had been abandoned for years. I looked around the small room for something that I couldn’t quite remember what for but that is probably the reason why I came up with nothing. As I began to panic, I started to scan my surroundings once more and came to the realization of one important fact: there wasn't another soul in sight.
By Makayla Winstead8 years ago in Futurism
Prophesy of War
Have you ever wondered what made the world tick? Who was right with their stories of how we were made? As far as I know, no belief was completely wrong, that deities existed for millennia before our planet, and they all played a part in creation. I come from what you may know of as the Greek Gods, but I just know them as family.
By zach mastrogiacomo8 years ago in Futurism
About a Strange Girl
The first time I saw her, I thought I was imagining things. I was taking a walk through a snow covered field, in the dead of winter, on the way to my uncle's cabin. He lived about a mile walk from my home, and it became a routine to make this trip each day during the winter. After a long shift at my parent's bakery, I trudged through the thick snow to reward myself for the day's hard work, by sitting beside my uncle as we warmed our frozen toes by his fireplace. On this particular day, I remember the temperature was below freezing, and the snow was falling heavily. As I reached the final stretch of land before his house, I noticed a young girl, I would guess around my age, walking barefoot toward me. What I remember most distinctly about her, was her striking white hair that matched the color of the falling snow. Of course I noticed her bare feet as well, which should have been frozen to the point of death, given the weather. My first thought besides wondering if I had gone mad, was that the girl was either on some sort of drug, or she was something not of humanity. My second thought, strangely, was that I dearly cared about the girl's well-being, and wanted to make sure she was okay. As I started toward her, she stopped, watching me come forth. I was about ten steps from her, when she smiled in the most curious way, only for a second, before she turned from me and ran in the opposite direction. As much as I was interested in this strange girl, I did not follow her. My feet were so frozen that they'd become numb, and my mind could only think of the warm fire I would enjoy upon reaching my destination. When I finally made it to my uncle's house, he was waiting for me on the porch, presenting to me a hot cup of cocoa and a large woolen shawl to wrap myself in.
By Katie sevin8 years ago in Futurism
Lost in Time
They've started to notice. I have to hand it to them, it was quicker than the last family. Only today, I heard the father muttering that he must be going insane. After all, why would anyone leave car keys on top of a wardrobe? I can't help it, I like the way they jiggle when I shift them around the house. It's not like there's anything else I can do. The boy, Leon, is hardly around, college some place up north, but his sister Emily is my age and still living at home. I like watching Emily and her friends, with their make-overs and dress swapping, but I can never be a part of that. I can't leave the house either, so following her on a day-out into town is out of the question. All my friends grew old and died centuries ago. My family left the house not long after my accident, too many memories I suppose. Mother became so emotional, especially when she came across anything that was once mine, and Father, well, he became a volatile mess of the proud man he was. They tried for months, pretending that everything was fine and that they had grieved for their girl, but it never healed. God above, I took long enough to come to terms with where and what I was. In an eavesdropped conversation, 3 weeks after my funeral, I finally found out how I had died. Turned out that my fiance, Jimmy Fellon, the banker's son, had upturned the cart whilst bringing me home from town. He was running the horse down the embankment to my parent's farm when the wheel snagged, pitching me forward and straight under a galloping horse. I was apparently killed outright, which my unwilling informer pressed would be a comfort to my family. So only 8 months after they buried me, my parents sold up and headed east with my siblings for a new life far from the pain. The people I once knew stopped by a few times when the new family arrived but it got too depressing to see them growing older with each visit, or bringing their own families to the house after church, so I stopped watching.
By Victoria Tunney9 years ago in Futurism
