#scifi short story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sumcringeboi · 10 months

Text

This is the first in a series of short stories taking place in the near future of ~2080, after a great calamity befalls earth, 1 thousand ‘Seedships’ (semi-inspired by an underrated text based mobile game called Seedship, it’s free go get it) are sent in all directions, each housing 1 million colonists frozen in stasis as well as the ingredients to build a new civilisation, the technology aboard the ships is sophisticated but fallible, rushed, prone to error- leading to some successes, but very much more failure. All compounded by a cartoonish about of human suffering told from varying points of view.

So without further a-due;

Lightyears alone -prologue: rouge deconstructors

The date was January 4th, it was seemingly an unremarkable day like any other, it was not this of course but the only people in any sense of panic were astronomers, but it all happened too fast to inform the public, by the time anyone knew what was going on the sky was already blanketed with the leering, ominous view of jet black voidships hanging over our planet.

The mothership was stomach churningly enormous, nearly as big as earth itself, and swarming around it were tens of thousands of support ships, from armoured battleships to tiny ripper drones, all had shown up to the feast.

From the second space unfolded to give way to the invasion fleet, the sky began blaring a message down to us, encoded in binary, translated it read something adjacent to;

“The Cerbrex Collective has claimed this world.

This world will be dismantled and rendered.

All organics on this world will undergo grid amalgamation.

Primitives and pre-sapients hold no right to worlds within pre-established boarders.”

The message repeated on the hour, every hour as drones swarmed the surface, pulling it apart in chunks where it would be hauled up by curriers to the awaiting maw of the mothership.

As desperate, and utterly futile defences took place, the scientists and engineers behind the scenes toiled to answer questions and build the first of the Seedships. It was discovered that the mothership would respond to certain questions beamed back to it in binary;

“Who are the Cerbrex Collective?”

“Fleet designation for automated planetary deconstruction and prospecting fleet #771258332”

“Why have you come here?”

“This planet has been marked for deconstruction- scans indicate: plentiful organics, sodium water oceans, combustible aged organics, radioactive materials, pre-refined minerals, liquid peridotite mantle.”

“What is grid amalgamation?”

“The process of chemically reducing organics in order to harvest electrical charge through cellular breakdown”

“Who are your creators?”

“-(unintelligible)-“

And perhaps the most enlightening of all- “where is your homeworld?”

This prompted a string of coordinates that, when zoomed in on, revealed the dead home of these ancient mining drones. A large planet hangs around a blue star, dimmed by a surrounding Dyson swarm, the planet itself only reveals itself as pale grey blotches briefly visible past the surrounding swarm of ancient technology and asteroid fields of perfectly rectangular chunks of refined planet. ancient automations unknowingly harvesting a random world for a civilisation, long dead. unceremoniously dumping the spoils of there crusade upon a world, long broken.

Beyond weakening morale, the knowledge of our invaders nature did little to effect the war, any hope of diplomacy was dashed by the AIs unfeeling, uncaring, unsympathising logic, we are primitives of course, unable to overcome the perils of space travel, at least according to the date of the machines starmaps, and of course, we hold no right to the planet we evolved on, it being within the ancient borders of buried bones, trapped at the mercy of laws that no mortal being had spoken for perhaps thousands of years, with no chance of appeal.

Every day our planet lost mass our armies lost people, for every thousand men dead a lucky few would perhaps manage to bring down one of the colossal harvesting units, the corpses of these titans would have to be hauled off quick to avoid being recycled by the fleet, but if successful the scientific benefits of such godlike technologies were untold, the AI cores especially, through analysis, it was discovered that these enigmatic creators stopped pinging updates to the automated swarm around 3400 years ago, weaker received radio signals continued for some 700 years after the assumed extension of the creators, suggesting one or more other galactic civilisations perhaps being in play at the time.

The dismantling of the drones and unlocking of the secrets of the AI cores lead to the completion of the seedships and the invention of the PC, the personality construct, it’s purpose was to sit at the helm, making decisions for the frozen colonists mid flight as well as to be a calm voice of reason and understanding to gently guide the colonists in reconstructing civilisation in the best possible way, or at least something resembling that…

And at last the seedships were finalised and 1 billion of us, a good fraction of what was left, we’re corralled like cattle into 1 thousand colossal, city sized ships, 1 million frozen body’s each, scientists, engineers, leaders, fighters, farmers and the every day folk all sealed away in dreamless sleep.

The space on the ships that did not accommodate our icy selves was instead filled with scanners and sensors, a cultural and scientific database containing all of humanity’s knowledge, armour and weapons, deciphered from the drones of course as well as scores of small specialised service drones knows as ‘limpets’, prospector, medic, attack, construction, ect.

And in the bowels of the ship the power centre is housed, far away biological tissue, it’s known as the ‘Blue heart’ due to its blinding glow, and with the salvaged magic of entropy inhibitors, they can make for a near infinite power source for the ship and early colonies, with regular maintenance from the limpets of course.

On the day known as ‘The Rapture’ as our world lay dismantled beneath, 1 billion frozen souls left earth surface for the last time, stretching out into the cosmos like dandelions in the wind, preying to happen upon some fertile soil, on another world in another time.

With the ruins of our once great world behind us and all systems nominal our 1 thousand seedships spread out into random directions and enter transition, the lights wind down as the ship lowers its power usage, by the time it wakes up, the ruins of earth will be long gone and proceed, presumably dumped upon the heaping rectangular asteroid swarm, with all the other innocent worlds that happened upon the fleets warpath.

The fleet of spores, now long in slumber, wait upon there first destination to scan, slowly drifting as time and the universe passes them by

And these are some of there more interesting tales:

(Refer to any of the soon to come short stories)

#sumcringeart #lightyears alone #creative writing #writing scifi #scifi #scifi short story #stories on tumblr #short story #sci fi writing #scifiworld #short fiction

8 notes · View notes

tidalsedge · 1 year

Text

In the deep recesses of your mind you hear a child's laughter, and you are transported back to a forest, the trees tall and dark. You can hear the sound of birds chittering above but leaf cover is so dense the sun barely penetrates. There you are following the pattern on the ground left by the sun. you leap from the darkness into a single beam of light and look up. Making the observation that there is a hole in the canopy of trees that is allowing the sun to break through.

Your fathers voice echoes and you follow it. Suddenly the forest ends and there is a Giant rock face towering in a semi circle around a small pool.

Your father is in the water beckoning. The water of this pool sits in a natural rock basin, algae and sunlight work together to make the water turquoise and warm. You wade in, the sensation of water making you shiver. How clearly the line between wet legs and dry torso seems to you.

That's when you see the black. The turquoise water ends and a cavern opens up going deep underneath the rock face. Like the forest, there is no light down there. Just a deep unknown, you can feel that same unknown in your chest. Tightness.

Your father sits on the edge of the drop, his legs splashing carefree in the blackness. He reaches for you and and that tightness blooms into a scream.

Bring home a piece of the story.

$125

Find the artist on Instagram TheTileTower

#naturalist #science fiction #scifi aesthetic #sculpture #biology #scifi short story #writing scifi #surrealism #ceramics #pottery #clay sculpture #handmade #epic adventures

7 notes · View notes

loressa · 7 months

Text

Alienation:

He's home on time.

It's been years, and I fuck it up of course by blurting out "Why?"

He seems so hurt, so confused. Idiot, I'm an idiot.

Shit, so I start cooking. Make sure to clear out the oven first. It's Julie, I assume, and he's prepping for the fight. I've been trying to avoid it, I knew but I still hoped...

His hands are on my hips.

His lips are on my neck.

The roux is burning and I don't care.

My skin's afire - if you don't sift flour it goes bad and I've gone very bad from lack of sifting and fuck keep up girl.

I ask what he's done.

Again, he seems wounded, hurt, confused and because I'm so incredibly dumb I kiss him to make it better and fuck it's the best kiss of my entire life. It's as if he doesn't know about anything outside of this moment and this kiss and this shine of attention makes me shiver like I can't remember when.

This is not the man I married and I love it and I'm terrified.

I should stop now, I should pretend this is fine, but I don't.

Somehow, I still hope.

He nuzzles my ear and I dream that I was worth changing for.

For a moment, I am, and I feel content. I feel drowsy. The stove is smoking, now, and an alarm begins to whine. His breath washes over me.

I stagger away and it's still him, just further away from the him I remember. I indicate the hallway, lead him to the bed and then slip away - he's asleep almost instantly.

I begin to plan my escape.

#creative writing #writing #scifi concepts #scifi short story

2 notes · View notes

entropywritez · 1 year

Text

SPACELOGARCHIVETEXT:FULL:2232023

(translation: Space Log Archive text: full: March 23 2023)

When an interstellar ship is docked into the Main Ship for repairs, only one human is sent up to keep watch over it. Isolation in the natural world is difficult enough, even more so in the artificial. Even considering this, the human sent up does not cope well with the deafening silence of space.

Warnings - animal and human death alluded to, suicide, brief conversations about religion and superstition. Much of the literal text is abbreviated technobabble, in a similar format to the untranslated title, which may be difficult to read.

Wordcount: 1.8k

Text is under the cut!

INFRMTNREQ#589573851-589573856:8:36AMSENT:

CPT#678234 MLTRPRSNL:ALL

NO LOGGED INFORMATION.

CPT#678234 CVLPRSNL:ALL

1:MAYSIM ABDULLAH;27YRS;OCCU:NONE;RELATIONSHIP:PARTNER;STATUS:DEAD

NO OTHER LOGGED INFORMATION.

CPT#678234 CVLPRSNL:DPND

NO LOGGED INFORMATION.

CPT#678234 PROFILE

RANIAH ABDULLAH;28YRS;OCCU:GNRL;STATUS:UNDT

NO OTHER LOGGED INFORMATION.

CPT#678234 LOGARCH:ALL

LOGTRANSM#1147634:8:46AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES: THIS IS WHAT, MY THIRD TIME BABYSITTING A SHIP? THE NOVELTY’S WORN OFF, BUT IT’S STILL UNNERVING.ANY TIPS FROM MAIN SHIP?

LOGTRANSM#1147634:8:46AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147634:9:14AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES: KEEP YOURSELF BUSY. MAYBE CHECK ALL MAIN SUITS OUTSIDE. POLISH THE WINDOWS.

INSTTRANSM#1147634:9:14AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147635:8:28AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:GAVE ALL THE SUITS A TRY. #9, THAT YOUNGER RECRUIT’S, HAD A COUPLE SURPRISES FOR ME. HIGH SCHOOLERS ARE HIGH SCHOOLERS, I FIGURE. FOLDERED, IN MY LUGGAGE FOR RETURN TO LAND. THE WINDOWS SURE LOOK A LOT SMALLER WHEN I’M INSIDE, NOT POLISHING THEM. EVEN I KNOW NO ONE GETS USED TO LOOKING DOWN AT MAIN SHIP. THE WORD MILLION DOESN’T STICK AS WELL AS LOOKING AT THE FUCKING SCALE. WHO’S ANSWERING THESE TRANSMISSIONS, ANYWAY?

LOGTRANSM#1147635:8:46AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147635:8:52AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:LT. COMMANDER GOLDE-DIAZ OF THE INFORMATION WING SPEAKING. I HOPE I WON’T GET SWITCHED OUT. SURE WOULDN’T HELP WITH BEING UP IN SPACE ALONE, WOULD IT?

INSTTRANSM#1147635:8:52AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147636:10:53AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:WLLCHCK

ADTNNOTES:NO MESSAGE YET RECEIVED. EVERYTHING ALRIGHT, CAPTAIN?

INSTTRANSM#1147636:10:53AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147637:8:17AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:PERFECTLY FINE. POPPED OUT OF BED, DECIDED I’D START READING SOMETHING INSTEAD OF WORKING ALL DAY. LOST TRACK OF TIME.

LOGTRANSM#1147637:8:46AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147637:8:51AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:WLLCHCKRES

ADTNNOTES:GOOD TO HEAR. MAYBE SET AN ALARM TO KEEP TABS ON LOGS. WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN READING, CAPTAIN?

INSTTRANSM#1147637:8:51AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147638:8:32AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:DABBLING IN DIFFERENT CLASSICS. DIDN’T EXACTLY STUDY THEM IN SCHOOL, FIGURED THERE’S NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT.

LOGTRANSM#1147638:8:32AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147638:8:37AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:WATCH YOURSELF, CAPTAIN. SOME OF THOSE CAN GET PRETTY HEAVY.

INSTTRANSM#1147638:8:37AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147639:8:35AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:STARTED CHECKING DEFENSE MACHINERY. NOTHING OF NOTE TO REPORT SO FAR. JESUS, DO OUR OPERATORS LIVE IN THESE THINGS? THEY’RE DISGUSTING.

LOGTRANSM#1147639:8:35AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147639:8:41AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:IN RECENT CASES, THAT WOULD BE A REASONABLE CONCLUSION. SPACE TRAVEL TAKES A WHILE IN OUR WARP VEHICLES. WOULDN’T BE SURPRISED IF SOME OPERATORS SPEND A FEW MONTHS IN THESE THINGS TO REACH THEIR ASSIGNMENTS.

INSTTRANSM#1147639:8:41AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147640:1:47PMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:DEAR GOD. SOME KID TRIED TO BRING THEIR CAT IN WITH THEM IN THE SUIT. ANY PROTOCOL AGAINST SPACE BURIALS?

LOGTRANSM#1147640:1:47PMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147640:2:04PMSENT:

ORDERS:REFRAIN. PRECAU:OBEYPRTCOL PROTOCOL:DEBRISPREV

ADTNNOTES:HAD TO DO SOME RESEARCH. UNFORTUNATELY, YES. TINY MASS CAN DO SOME SURPRISING DAMAGE IN LOW GRAVITY. RECOMMEND SEALING AND STORING IN FREEZER.

INSTTRANSM#1147640:2:04PMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147641:9:17AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:DONE. SEEMS DISRESPECTFUL SOMEHOW, BUT I’M MORE AFRAID OF HULL BURSTS THAN CAT GHOSTS.

LOGTRANSM#1147641:9:17AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147641:9:20AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS, CAPTAIN?

INSTTRANSM#1147641:9:20AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147641:9:22AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:NO, AND I SURE DON’T WANNA BE PROVEN WRONG HERE.

LOGTRANSM#1147641:9:22AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147642:9:16AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:CAN’T GET THAT CAT OFF MY MIND. STARTED TRYING TO GERMINATE SEEDS FROM TOMATOES AT BREAKFAST. WILL UPDATE AS I CONTINUE. NOT ENOUGH PLANTS IN PATROL CITIES.

LOGTRANSM#1147642:9:16AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147642:9:20AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:PLEASE DO. WOULD BE USEFUL INFORMATION FOR IMPROVING OPERATOR MORALE IN THE FUTURE.

INSTTRANSM#1147642:9:20AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147643:8:23AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:ARE YOU A RELIGIOUS PERSON, LT. COMMANDER GOLDE-DIAZ OF THE INFORMATION WING?

LOGTRANSM#1147643:8:23AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147643:825AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:NOT PARTICULARLY. GREW UP CATHOLIC, DECIDED I WASN’T CATHOLIC ONCE I MOVED OUT. YOURSELF?

INSTTRANSM#1147643:8:25AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147643:8:26AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

CASUALLY. I GO TO THE MOSQUE FOR EID, GET MY PRAYERS IN, BUT I’M NOT EXACTLY A PRIEST. TO BE HONEST WITH YOU, DAILY PRAYERS ARE ONE OF THE FEW REASONS I’M EVEN KEEPING TRACK OF THE TIME.

LOGTRANSM#1147643:8:26AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147644:8:48AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:TRIED OUT THE AUTO-TENNIS TODAY. OPERATING A SUIT’S PRETTY TAXING, BUT SOMETIMES YOU JUST NEED SOME GOOD OLD EXERCISE TO KEEP YOUR MIND OFF OF WHATEVER YOU’RE DREADING.

LOGTRANSM#1147644:8:48AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147644:8:50AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:DREADING, CAPTAIN?

INSTTRANSM#1147644:8:50AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147645:8:32AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:BEEN HAVING TROUBLE SLEEPING HERE. I’M TOO USED TO THE CONSTANT PATROL CITY BUSTLE OUTSIDE MY QUARTERS. TONIGHT I’LL TRY PUTTING ON SOMETHING TO DROWN OUT THE RINGING IN MY EARS.

LOGTRANSM#1147645:8:31AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147645:8:53AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:BEAT ME TO THE SUGGESTION. DON’T TAKE ANY SUPPLEMENTS JUST YET. FIGURE YOU JUST NEED TO GET USED TO IT.

INSTTRANSM#1147645:8:53AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147646:10:39AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:GOD, ALREADY A WHOLE WEEK UP HERE. TIME FEELS DIFFERENT WHEN IT’S NOT RATIONED OUT BY ORDERS. EYES ARE STARTING TO HURT FROM THE 24/7 LIGHT.

LOGTRANSM#1147646:10:39AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147646:10:41AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:I COULD SEND YOU SOME ORDERS IF NEEDED, CAPTAIN. START WEARING SUNGLASSES AROUND.

INSTTRANSM#1147646:10:41AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147647:5:33AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:HIT WITH DEBRIS FROM SOME IDIOT KID’S ABANDONED SHIP LAST NIGHT. IT’S FUNNY. EVEN THOUGH IT’S ALL PASSED, I STILL GET THE SENSE OF THUMPING ECHOING ABOVE ME.

LOGTRANSM#1147647:5:33AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147647:8:17AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:UP ALL NIGHT, CAPTAIN?

INSTTRANSM#1147647:8:17AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147647:8:22AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:I SUPPOSE I WAS. KEPT WAKING UP TO THE FEELING OF SOMEONE WAS PULLING MY HAIR. NOT THE WAY TO TREAT A LADY, HM?

LOGTRANSM#1147647:8:22AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147649:8:52AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:CHECKED ON THE CAT BEFORE BREAKFAST. I’VE TAKEN TO CALLING HER SECOND-IN-COMMAND. SURE HOPE SHE APPRECIATES THAT. NO TOMATO SPROUTS YET. EVERYTHING UP HERE’S TOO DEAD, I SUPPOSE.

LOGTRANSM#1147649:8:52AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147649:8:54AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:I’M SURE SHE WOULD.

INSTTRANSM#1147649:8:54AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147650:4:48AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:STAYED UP ALL NIGHT AGAIN. DECIDED TO POWER OFF AND CLEAN THE STEERING THRUSTERS. NEEDED SOMETHING DIFFICULT TO FOCUS ON AS A DISTRACTION.

LOGTRANSM#1147650:4:48AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147650:8:34AMSENT:

ORDERS:NONE PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:NONE

ADTNNOTES:DISTRACTION FROM WHAT?

INSTTRANSM#1147650:8:34AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147651:12:27AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:I CAN STILL FEEL MY PARTNER’S FINGERS RUNNING THROUGH MY HAIR AS I FALL ASLEEP. IT’S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE I’VE HELD HER.

LOGTRANSM#1147651:12:27AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147651:8:23AMSENT:

ORDERS:RESTDAY PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:HLTH374

ADTNNOTES:CAPTAIN, YOU’VE BEEN ORDERED TO TAKE A DAY OFF TO SLEEP AND REST YOUR MIND. MAYBE WRITE HER SOMETHING FOR US TO SEND TO YOUR PARTNER.

INSTTRANSM#1147651:8:23AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147651:8:32AMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:NEGATIVE, LT. CMDR. SHE’S ALREADY HERE, PETTING THE CAT.

LOGTRANSM#1147651:8:32AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147652:9:30AMSENT:

ORDERS:LOGREQUEST PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:MISNGLOG

ADTNNOTES:NONE

INSTTRANSM#1147652:9:30AMRECIEVED. LOGTRANSM#1147652:1:26PMSENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:I KEEP HEARING CHATTING AND A CAT’S PURRING. DIDN’T GET TO SLEEP UNTIL THE WEE HOURS OF THE MORNING. STILL CLEANING AROUND THE SIDE THRUSTERS.

LOGTRANSM#1147652:1:26PMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147652:1:29PMSENT:

ORDERS:RESTDAY PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:HLTH374

ADTNNOTES:I’M CONTINUING THE REQUEST FOR YOU TO DEDICATE A DAY FOR REST AND SLEEP.

INSTTRANSM#1147652:1:29PMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147653:9:30AMSENT:

ORDERS:LOGREQUEST PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:MISNGLOG

ADTNNOTES:NONE

INSTTRANSM#1147653:9:30AMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147654:9:30AMSENT:

ORDERS:LOGREQUEST PRECAU:NONE PROTOCOL:MISNGLOG

ADTNNOTES:CAPTAIN, PLEASE PROVIDE A STATUS REPORT. I TRUST YOUR LAST MISSING LOG WAS DUE TO A REST DAY.

INSTTRANSM#1147654:9:30AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147654:10:42SENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:I’M NOT ALONE ON THIS SHIP, LT. CMDR. I’LL NEVER HAVE TO BE ALONE AGAIN.

LOGTRANSM#1147654:10:42PMRECIEVED.

INSTTRANSM#1147655:7:13AMSENT:

ORDERS:SECRTCHK PRECAU:SHLD;STN;FZE PROTOCOL:UNIDEDOBJ

ADTNNOTES:UNKNOWN STRUCTURE FOUND CLOSE TO LEFT SIDE THRUSTERS. PLEASE BE PREPARED FOR HOSTILES WHILE INVESTIGATING.

INSTTRANSM#1147655:7:13AMRECIEVED.

LOGTRANSM#1147655:8:29SENT:

LIFESUPRT:FUNCTIONAL

MTHRSTRS:FUNCTIONAL

STHRSTRS:DEACTIVATED

INTRTRANSP:FUNCTIONAL

HD/NCYC:FUNCTIONAL

ARTFPERSN:FUNCTIONAL

ADTNNOTES:IT’S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT, LT. CMDR. I WON’T LEAVE ANY FREE-FLOATING DEBRIS.

LOGTRANSM#1147655:8:29PMRECIEVED.

AUTOMNSHIPLOG#3785235:10:22AM:SGNFLOSSLOG

LIFESUPRT:NONE

HMNPRSNL:1 LOSS;CPT#678234;LFLRDNG:FZE BEAM INJURY HEART;LCTN:L14THRSTR

ARTFPERSN:1 LOSS,4 INJR;IRDNG:FZE BEAM REMNANTS AFTER INVESTIGATING HUMNPRSNL LOSS.

MAINSHIP:NONE

MTHRSTRS:NONE

STHRSTRS:L14THRSTR;LFERDNG:FZE BEAM DAMAGE,LSS/IMP/TMP EQUIPMENT.

HD/NCYC:NONE

ADTNNOTES:SHIP NOW UNSUPERVISED. RESTORE HUMAN PERSONNEL.

HMNNOTES:NONE

#full text #short story #science fiction writing #horror writing #scifi story #scifi short story #horror short story #original writing #writblr #writeblr #psychological horror #unreliable narrator #fiction writing #fiction #should I make a taglist? I feel like I should make a taglist.#Entropy's scribbles

6 notes · View notes

lightyearsandbeyond · 2 months

Text

Gods on Mars

1996 was the year. Bill Clinton beat a guy some people thinks owned the fruit company Dole. The cultural phenomenon Harry Potter was published in the UK. NINTENDO 64 CAME OUT!!! Dolly the Sheep met herself. Macarena blessed (ruined?) parties forevermore. I wrote my first short story as a freshman in high school. I had an English teacher that year who read a one page story I wrote and wouldn’t…

View On WordPress

0 notes

rowen-is-somewhere · 6 months

Text

Hello,

I'm Rowen, I'm just someone from somewhere, yet I'm unsure what this planet is or why I'm here. Maybe I'm here for some reason? Who knows what I'm meant to be doing here. Does anyone know what they're really meant to be doing?

All I had on me was my wallet, my clothes which were a pair of black trainers, blue jeans, a white top with a splash of colours on and my long black coat which fell down to my knees. I had a hairband on my wrist in case my dark blue hair got on my nerves and needed to be tied up, but for now I let it rest on my shoulders.

Looking around there wasn't much to see, just a pit of dust, I knew I had to get out of it, but where do I go from here?

Maybe someone is out there to help... maybe.

1 note · View note

supercomposite · 6 months

Text

vimeo

SUICIDE III, the short film I exhibited at DefCon in August, is now up on Vimeo! President Biden announces a new task force of bird-like Federal Augurs, directing them to carry out a shamanistic campaign of counter-hyperstition against the major AI corporations.

0 notes

alpha-m15 · 6 months

Text

The Void-

“How did you get here..?” A voice echoed within the darkness.

“I… I don’t know..” I answered honestly. Having no reason to lie while simultaneously not actually knowing how I got here. I was just sitting in my living room and now… I was floating, in a void.

“You’re a peculiar looking thing… Are you human? Or perhaps a Pleiadian?” The voice asked. Now hearing it speak more, it sounded more masculine but very soft.

“I am a human.” I responded. “Even thought sometimes, I feel like I’m nothing at all..”

Small white specks started to appear in front of me, which confused me considering there was no light anywhere. Only darkness. Only an echo.

The specks of light came together to form a figure, a person. They had no distinct features, they didn’t even have a face, or hair. Just a bright outline of a humanoid creature.

“I see… A human, appearing in a black hole. How strange. Your kind has been trying to figure me out for centuries and yet, you randomly end up here on a whim. How odd.”

My eyes widen. A black hole? How in hell did I end up in a black hole?! I was just in my living room, enjoying being alone.

As I was silently panicking to myself, the being chuckled as they came closer to me. “No need to be panicked, little one.” It said, leaning their face closer to mine. “You have nothing to fear, but I do sense that you have many questions. I may not be able to answer them all, but I can answer most.”

It said as it reached its hands out to me to grab mine, pulling my body along with it as we floated through nothingness.

I bombarding it with questions, about the world, humans, our purpose, my purpose. To which he had told me that the world has no significance. One day, the world existed and soon, it will not, and like it did years before, another world will come, and new beings will form on that one.

It said that humanities purpose is not to suffer or to destroy or survive. Humanities purpose is to experience and love, to live life without fear and hatred, but not to perpetually be happy. To experience all emotions, to be open to all things.

It told me… I was to explore. To understand, and to break myself.

“Break your sense, break your thoughts and your brain. Don’t think rationally. Break your ears, don’t hear the sounds around you, listen to what’s going on inside you, and live life on when you feel, not what you see.”

Our conversation lasted what felt like hours, about creation and the meaning to everything that exists.

And as our conversation came to an end, I began to bid my goodbye.

“I have to leave.. But I hope I can see you again.” It chucked. “You will. When your time runs out, and the flame gets snuffed, you will see me again, and we will talk again.”

That thought made me smile and I leaned forward to hug it. It felt of warmth and… calmness.

“Goodbye, starlight.” It’s words ricocheted in my brain as my vision was invaded with light, and I woke up.

On my couch, laid on my back with a book on my chest, looking up to my ceiling which had been crushed and broken through by a crater.

With the house ablaze and the sky on fire, the sound of ambulances and sirens ringing through the city, I smiled.

Knowing I would be able to see the Void again very soon.

#short story #fiction #female writers #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #scifi short story

1 note · View note

holly-opal · 7 months

Text

Oh. (Starlight Wonder)

Val most favorite hobby is to write stories! To create new narratives and express your emotions, to inspire and convey an idea to show readers around the galaxy! Val was just finished writing the first half of her novel and put it away to start drawing, when she stopped and thought about something.....

She forgot to save it.

#science #scifi #scifiart #scifi series #scifi short story #scifi story #writing

1 note · View note

sumcringeboi · 10 months

Text

Been working on a little sci-fi short story collection thing, (working title is Lightyears Alone) I’ve got the prologue pretty much done that explains the world and why things are the way they are and from there it branches out into a bunch of short story’s that all follow a similar vein.

Basically in the prologue earth is destroyed and we send out 1000 “seedships” into space to hope to happen upon fertile ground to start a new colony and stop humanity from going extinct.

The collection of short story’s themselves follow, sometimes successes of the ships, but mostly a lot of horrifying, brutal and cosmically terrifying failure and suffering.

Whadayall think of that general idea? Is it half decent or should I quit, turn to drugs, go to rehab, relapse, loose custody of my kids and then hang myself from a ceiling fan? Decisions decisions

I was planning on posting the prologue when I’ve got one of the actual ships stories to go along with it but if y’all r curious enough about the world I suppose I can post it :3

#sumcringeart #creative writing #lightyears alone #scifibooks #sci fi writing #stories on tumblr #short fiction #short story #scifi short story

11 notes · View notes

7fragment · 9 months

Text

Some said it was the height of stupidity to travel the reaches of space alone. They would probably be right. I almost made a living roaming the between spaces looking for salvage, and sometimes the long silences got to me. I was far from the only one out cruising. Away from the main space ways where the bigger corpos had control of even salvage ops there were plenty of us. Teams of two or three and the occassional soloer rattling around in tin cans looking for something interesting. I hardly ever saw them mind, but we kept comms open and every now and then someone came into range for a bit. Never for long, but enough to break the silence for a bit.

This run had been quiet. It was late in the cycle for this system, the local solar storms could be nasty and bigger ships couldn't navigate through them. I could manage if I did everything manually. I could, but it was a pain. Still, I'd rather deal with that than try to find money for docking fees for the next couple months. There weren't any regulations against being out right now but there were restrictions on entering deep space.

I reached over to turn on my speaker when the commlink started flashing. I was drifting, most of my nav tools folded away so I could almost manage to lay down and catch some sleep without fucking up my back too badly. The signal was weak, spotty. Because of distance or the next solar storm ramping up I couldn't tell. I only got a few words. Catastrophic. Aid. Emergency. Bits of the script from nearly every pre-recorded sos call. I shut off the speaker and tried to go to sleep. The wreck would still be there after i'd gotten a few hours of much needed rest.

After a few minutes though, I rolled over and pulled myself up to the comm array. If I waited, I might get scooped and this run hadn't exactly been a fruitful harvest so far. I needed at least one good find to even break even. The message was a bit clearer now, if still dropping maybe one word in ten. I listened to the quality, my eyes on the reciever to try and manually triangulate the direction it was coming from. I nearly missed when what I had thought was a prerecorded voice swore. Prerecorded sos beacons couldn't swear, they had a pretty stiff formula to follow in fact.

Tentatively, I tapped the intercom, not quite pressing it yet. I wasn't a rescue vessel. I barely fit in my cabin much less anyone else. I might be able to rig liveable conditions in my cargo bay- maybe. I didn't do rescue, I did clean up.

I pushed the button.

"This is the Kraken, you hear me, over?"

"Oh, hey," the voice said, "Dom owes me a drink he said no one else would be dumb enough to be out here."

"What're your coords? I'm a salvage rig not a rescuer but I've been keeping my ship going on grease and miracles for years now." I couldn't just walk away now I knew someone was out there. Dying stranded in the void was the worst nightmare of anyone who did regular space travel. I wasn't a people person or i'd have a different job, but I wasn't that much of a monster either.

I heard a sound that might have been static, or the person moving their intercom around. Then, "Last reading we were three clicks off the edge of the centauri-six cluster, but we've been drifting for a while now. I might be able to send a ping if I can get it on manual controls."

"Don't bother, my nav's too old for most all p2p. I'm near Prion right now, heading your way." I paused. I wanted to know how much time they had, if I was talking to someone who was already dead. I should have asked. Everyone who traveled deep space knew the protocols. If you got a distress call you got the situation and timeline first to determine if it was even worth your time going for. I had enough fuel to get to them and then the waystation between centauri-six and disteria, probably. If i didn't take on much more cargo. Or passengers.

"What sort of trouble you having?"

It took them a minute to respond. I busied myself setting up my nav arrays and gearing up to ease as much speed out of my little pod as I could. "Engine blew. I think it was... a solar flare."

"Could've been. They're nasty this year."

"What's your name?"

"Kalé."

"I'm Lyndel. So, what has you out in the middle of fucking nowhere?"

"I'm a salvager. Wandering around the void is a good ninety-percent of the job."

"What's the other ten?"

"Five percent haggling with bastard scrap dealers, five percent boredom, and a dash or two of cool stories. What about you?"

"Oh, just a merchant ship with a fucking dumbass captain."

"That sucks." I turned away from the comms to fiddle with the nav relays, coaxing my engines back up to speed. "Can you see a return signal on me?"

"Yeah, I'll let you know if you drift off course too much."

"Thanks. Usually I can triangulate myself fine but usually i'm not in much of a hurry."

"No problem. Just glad I could have someone to talk to. You know."

Something in their tone made my gut lurch. I'd seen the aftermath of too many wrecks to not know what odds we were playing with, but I still didn't want them to just give up and die. "Like hell. We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other in the like four feet of cabin space i've got."

They laughed softly, and I tried to coax a bit more speed from my little ship. I could feel the vibrations of the engines through my seat and knew I was approaching the limit of what she could handle.

"Where're you from, Kalé?"

"What is this, twenty questions?"

"Humor me." They coughed, a wet ugly sound that went right to my gut. Were they hurt? Engine problems could be as painless as they stop working, or a literal explosion.

I pushed away the sense that I was talking to a ghost. If I didn't believe that they would make it who would?

"Taurei- the smallest moon off Sera Decatur. Booked it after my parents died and never looked back."

"Sounds lonely,"

I shrugged, mikdly embarassed when I remembered they couldn't see me. "It was fine. Never been a big fan of people anyway."

We swapped bits and pieces of each other's lives for a while. I told them about my dream of saving up enough to get a home base planetside somewhere like Bruma. They told me about their family back in the Vega system. I told them about the time I managed to lose a raider ship in the Corus asteroid belt.

They still responded, reacting to my only slightly dramatized story, but they didn't reciprocate. The silence on the other end of the comm put ice in my veins.

"Lyn? You still with me?" I did my best to keep the fear from my voice but have no idea if I succeeded or not. I was no actor, nothing even close to a crisis negotiator.

"Yeah," their comm crackled and for a second I thought i'd lost them.

Then I got a ping on my radar. It was fourth hand scrap, and barely functioned at all. It could pick up electrical and nuclear signals within a pretty small radius. Enough to keep me from drifitng into shit while I slept if my also jank as hell anchors failed. That I got a ping meant I was close. Within an hour at this speed, probably.

"Hold on, I think I've got you clocked." I swiveled in my chair, hauling the radar readout closer to the nav screen.

"Sorry Kalé, I--I don't think you're going to make it."

"Like hell. I can see you." I could, just barely, glimpse an odd red light formation in the distance. Standard distress signal, I'd seen it countless times when I found a wreck fresh enough that it still had power.

"Ah, damn." they said something else, too quiet to come through the comm. I was barely listening anyway, focused on timing pulling up to the shattered ship.

The back half was blown off, debris bouncing off my hull as I towed myself in to disembark. My ship shook when it nestled up against the remains of the engine room floor and I did a quick check of my pressure suit before I pulled on my helmet and flung myself out of the ship.

The airlock between the engines and the main cabin was still in tact, and I had to try three different override keys before I could get in. The little bits if tech were one of the msot expensive parts of my job, but all licensed salvagers had the ability to get them for situations just like this- when we were first on the scene and peopel might be- people /were/ alive inside the pressurized zone.

The cycling of the air and hiss of pressurization had never taken so long.

When the cycle finished and the door opened I froze. The wreckage outside had been typical Tuesday sort of stuff. But when the doors opened the first thing I saw was the blood. No bodies, they were probably drifting outside, but so much blood.

I fumbled, trying to unclasp my helmet. It wouldn't unseal though. A dull red alert flashing across my vision when I tried.

A dull rasping sound broke the heavy silence in the cabin. I tripped over something as I lurched forward. The person propped against the main console shifted , and I veered towards them.

"Lyn?"

They didn't move again. I fell to my knees in front of them, reaching. I couldn't bring myself to touch them. I fumbled for the emergency oxygen mask on my belt. I pressed it over Lyn's face. The seal went green to show it was in place. A rattling gasp shook them, and honey colored eyes looked blearily at me.

"You... came."

"Don't waste your breath, we'll have plenty of time to talk when we get back to my ship."

Lyn coughed, the ugly sound that I'd thought was static or interference staining the inside of the mask.

"It's okay, you..." The words died on my lips and I had to swallow a few times so I wouldn't throw up, my brain only just processing what I was looking at. I had never had a chance to save them. Not really.

I stared blindly at the space where their right arm should have been. Was that what I had tripped over?

"I'm sorry," I said. Talking to a corpse. I reached out and pulled the mask from their face, tossing it to the floor. I'd have to get a new one, it wouldn't stand up to cleaning off the blood. Lyn smiled up at me.

I grabbed their suit, as if I could drag them back to life if I tried hard enough. The edges of a name-plate cut into my hand. I wiped off the blood- not mine- to read it.

/Capt. Lyndel J. Morhan/

"Idiot." I whispered. I could almost hear the echoes of their voice 'fucking dumbass captain'. I'd heard the bitterness then but now it made all too much sense.

Fuck.

It was a while before I could manage to move. Even when I did, I set my claim beacon and then just stood there. My job had never felt like anything more than digging though trash. Picking up the detrius of other people's lives. This though, felt like grave robbing.

Instead of looking for valuables, I just started looking. Trying to understand, I think.

I took the blackbox and tucked it into a pocket before I started stripping the ship. I would need to hit that depot to refuel, and if I was going to be paying interstellar fuel prices I'd need all the value I could wring out of this useless fucking tragedy. I usually found a moon or something to drop into for that because it was significantly cheaper.

I left the ship and it's captain to drift and clambered back into my pod. The familiar confines felt off. Emptier, despite being packed to the gills with salvage.

It was nearly three months later, when I was treating myself to a stretch planetside on Gibdo that I finally got up the courage to crack the black box. I'd just got done being interviewed by the ITA about the wreck, pretty standard fare for the first salvage crew to find it. Properly I ought to have handed over the box to them for whatever investigation they'd do. I didn't want to put the contents of that last conversation into the hands of fucking government beauracrats. Talking about it again had made put me in a nostalgic mood I guess.

I didn't want to pull up the logs on my ship, because then everything in it would go into my own blackbox and eventually end up with the ITA anyway when I inevitably broke down or ran out of fuel or got hit by desperate raiders or any of the thousands of ways to die in the void.

I had used some of my money from Lyn's ship to buy myself a standalone transmitter that could read the blackbox discs. I still was in my ship when I booted up the transmitter and tried to comfortably settle the chunky old-fashioned headset it had come with properly. Getting one with a speaker would have defeated the purpose of not just using my ship's comms relay.

I scrolled through the ordinary day to day ship's logs. Maintenance checks, inventory, contacts with ITA and local check points. Boring stuff really. I was only looking at the last trip, so I didn't have too much to wade through before I started getting error messages.

One of the protocols built into every blackbox, every ITA-certified ship, was a trigger for automatic voice recording triggered on certain log entries. Pretty much any major engine error did it, and Lyn's ship had been no exception. The Nightingale, it had been called. Crew of four- Lyn, the pilot Sephicle, the navigator Misa, and Paul-the engineer. They'd been in the middle of running a basic maintenance scan when the first error hit. Fuel cell rupture. One of those things that sometimes just happened and except on ships big and expensive enough to have top tier failsafes, when it happened it was a matter of dying quick or dying slow. Suppose Lyn's crew had mostly been lucky in that.

I had to pause the feed when the first explosions happened- automatically dulled to tolerable levels by the decoder I was listening through. I reminded myself to breathe and hit play.

The screams were the hardest, until the quiet after. A video file opened automatically, and Lyn's face filled the small screen of the transmitter.

"For the official record," they said, pain drawing h

their face tight at the edges. "this is captain Lyndell Morhan, of the Nightingale. Our ship's main emgine blew today at-- I don't know, maybe ten minutes ago. Check the damn logs if you want to know. Took the back half of the ship with it. The cockpit's intact but it doesn't matter. Dead in the water, oxygen tank blown to hell. Guess that doesnt mattter either, got bashed by some debris trying to check for survivors. Fuck. They're all gone-" Lyn's face disappeared and thier voice got muffled, "- fuck." After a few more seconds the video died.

Almost immediately the recording of Lyn's SOS picked up. I skipped through most of that. It just hurt to hear it all again. I saw the text logs scrolling over my screen though. Something unfamiliar caught my eye, and I rewound a bit.

/Unknown A: Don't waste your breath, we'll have plenty of time to talk when we get back to my ship.

Cpt. Morhan: Thanks... for staying with me./

Even when I went back and listened to the recording I couldn't hear their last words. They must've had an implant comm.

Fuck.

#scifi short story #my writing #i kinda want to go somewhere with this #but idk if it needs more #space travel #lost in space #tw character death

0 notes

loressa · 8 months

Text

Light pierced the endless void, a tiny pinprick splintering through darkness to lance down on Rqwrythyzal rather demandingly. Irritated, the somewhat-elder god shifted his weight with an earth-shuddering shrug and pawed at a few dozen of his sleep-grimed eyes with a claw-tipped hand.

"Goway-" he muttered, his tired voice a muted melody of off-key screeches and grunts.

The light brightened as beams of sullen crimson began dancing across the behometh. He rolled over in frustration, his tentacles dragging a leathery patchwork skin quilt over his face to shield his eyes.

"Jus' a few more millenia..."

Faint chanting drifted in from the aether and the red light swelled, long-dark runes flaring to life in bloody gleams. Rqwrythyzal let out a frustrated roar, doing his best to hunch beneath his blanket and pretend that none of this was happening. He had been having a lovely dream about frolicking unicorns.

The chanting got annoyingly louder. The ruddy runes rudely flared insistently. This all was definitely happening.

Sighing, Rqwrythyzal rolled back over, staring into the void in defeat. Light coalesced like bloody mist, spiraling and solidifying as the void began to vomit itself into reality. He hated this part, being shat out from his happy pocket of nothing into the stupid dumb world. He hated the stupid dumb mortals who had summoned him. He hated the stupid dumb mortals who would lock him back up again. He hated this stupid dumb universe, he hated his stupid dumb par-

—

The void collapsed in on itself, his body compressing smaller and smaller to tiny motes of nothing as he roared and writhed and then ceased to exist at all.

—

-stupid dumb parents, he thought petulantly as he popped back into existance, broodingly grabbing several handfuls of cult members and chomping off a few heads. Snacking always helped him think more clearly.

Really, Rqwrythyzal reasoned as he munched, it all came down to them and their stupid dumb aspirations for him. Several of his hands clenched into fists, to the dismay of the few living cultists still grasped within them. He punched at a column, flattenened a few people with one of his tails and then moodily plopped down on top of what might have been the high priest, turning him into a puddle of probably-high-priest jelly.

He sighed and sucked on one gore-encrusted claw. THEY never liked his snacking habit, THEY wanted him to rule this corner of the universe, THEY didn't understand his dreams, THEY never gave him a unicorn-

Rqwrythyzal perked up at that last thought and quickly juggled his hands, finally unearthing a living cultist. "Say, where do you keep unicorns these days?" he chirped in unholy cacaphony, putting on his best set of winning smiles. Teeth glinted from dozens of rows and the poor cultist - never a good student of elder tongue - promptly fainted.

Shrugging, Rqwrythyzal popped the man into one of his mouths. "I'm sure they're around here somewhere." His tummy did a monstrous flip-flop of excitement. Rqwrythyzal loved unicorns. That was another reason he was a disappointment, of course, just one in a litany-

A familiar touch brushed across his mind and the somewhat-elder god suddenly stiffened, spines and barbs reflexively stabbing straight upwards. A cultist bystander, trying to inch past to safety, found himself casually impaled and Rqwrythyzal shook himself for a few moments trying to disloge the man.

"Playing with your food again?" His mother's familiar screeching wail clanged about like discordant bells in his head. She was particularly nasty to talk to when nursing a hangover, Rqwrythyzal recalled.

"Don't bother making excuses," she breezed over his mumbled reply. "You've always been a messy little thing." The thought came across balefully loving and the god felt a bright little spark of happiness bloom in his gut. "I just wanted to tell you that your father and I got bored with this planet AGES ago. We're on a cruise- Xrnqlynrth! Xrnqlynrth, get over here!"

Rqwrythyzal waited patiently for his father's voice. It came in faint and wobbling as the elder god bantered with someone on the other edge of the universe. "Sorry, scuffleboard," his dad finally explained with a sinister cackle. "Trfnit always cheats." His voice warbled out again as he resumed his banter, then swelled once more to fill his head with a hearty growl of: "And we're proud. We're sure you'll do great this time around."

His mother's voice swept back in with briskly efficient gongs and clanks. "We left you a spending hoard in the vault, the keys to the lair are under the blood fountain and there are a few dozen mortals stuffed in the pit for dinner. If you skin anyone in my sitting room, I will skin YOU. We love you, be saaaafe-" Her presence petered out and Rqwrythyzal began to grin. A cultist in the depths of the temple, pinned beneath a column, let out a helpless moan.

A whole eon with the lair to himself - time to throw a party.

#creative writing #scifi writing #horror writing #horror short story #scifi short story #short story #fantasy short story #fantasy #cthulhu #elder gods #demon #demons

2 notes · View notes

tidalsedge · 1 year

Text

Ever since you were a child you discovered peace only in isolation. Picking your way through the rocky beaches and forests of your homeworld. You would keep sketchbooks and collect specimens. Your bedroom walls a kaleidoscope of nature.

“Our little Naturalist” your parents called you fondly.

A truly passionate naturalist was highly sought after back when Earth was full of undiscovered places and an empire financed science in the name of expansion. It is no surprise that you would choose this career. Only it looks a little different from Darwin and the naturalists of the British empire.

Expansion is still the name of the game, but earth is old news. Humanity has taken to Space.

#naturalist #science fiction #scifi aesthetic #sculpture #surrealism #scifi short story #biology #writing scifi #the image are sculptures i made #they are my anchor and inspiration pieces that brought me into my style

1 note · View note

imabiscuitinthousandworlds · 1 year

Text

And they shall burn

What is a god but something greater than us?

We think of natural beings, of life on Earth, in our solar system. And we think of ourselves as the highest form of life.

But gods are living beings. They are greater than us, mightier than us, nearly more than we can comprehend. But gods live. And what lives can die.

And what can die can be killed.

Our gods didn't abandon us. Many wished they had, when it began. Everyone who had ever cursed their god because it never stopped all the suffering, because it left humanity...

Let's say their words came back at them, and they brought death. For the gods are in no way guarding our world.

Did they create the world? Did they create us? Perhaps. There's no certainty about it.

What we know is that they came back. And they came to destroy us.

It began on the remote planets. The contact with our colonies was cut off before they could warn us. Ships didn't return. All we knew was that something was wrong. Something dangerous. Something stronger than everything we had.

In the beginning, we were worried. Worry turned into restlessness. Restlessness turned into fear.

And fear turned into panic or into the desperate wish to survive.

They reached Earth. Maybe they were larger than mountains. Maybe they were larger than our planet. Maybe they were both. But they were here, and they were unstoppable.

It rained fire and ashes. The sun disappeared behind blistering, black clouds. It's been dark for months. Electronics seized to work, and those that didn't blew up. Often, they took entire houses with them. And a burning house took an entire neighbourhood.

Fires were never as fast as since the gods came.

Next, the floods began. The ice broke off, the sea level rose fast. Then the water went back, far, and left nothing behind but dying sea life.

But the ocean came back, and it took many coasts along with it.

When the forests burned to ashes and entire countries were nothing but rubble, there wasn't much left of humanity at all.

A man once told me that the gods had abandoned us. A woman claimed this was God's punishment.

I think neither of them was right. I don't believe that the gods are even aware of our existence, and if they are, they don't spare us a single thought.

The oceans disappeared completely. They left gigantic holes, dry sand, cliffs and death. So much death. The corpses didn't burn like the rest of the world. They lay there, and they stank, and we knew our hope was as dead as our families.

Only a few of us were left. Nobody knows how we found each other within the debris and desperation. Nobody knows why we were still here - how we had escaped the calamities and our own thoughts. But we were still left. We were still alive, as far as one could call us alive. We were human, but what we thought defined us as humans was long withered. Our wish for one last fight, our wish to fight back, our wish for revenge - it was the only thing to keep us going. Just as burning and dark as the land. Just as stinking and rotten as the corpses of the sea. Just as hopeless and doomed as our planet, as our species.

The doomed are unpredictable. We would get our revenge or die. We wouldn't die. Not like this. Not now. Not until we had our revenge and the fire in our hearts finally burned away the last of our humanity, and we'd fade away like everything else; to be forgotten in the emptiness of the universe.

Time died. Maybe it passed, but it didn't pass for us. We rose. One last, desperate, forlorn strike against our gods.

Gods live. Gods can die. Gods can be killed.

We killed them. Perhaps we killed ourselves along with them. There was no life left in us that was worth killing.

I drifted through nothingness. Around me was dark, within me was emptiness. I was neither dead nor alive. I took the dark and void and created a light. A star. It was small in my hand. It burned with life. Small specks of matter and gas circled it.

I closed my fist, and the star died, and became part of the nothingness.

We killed our gods. We killed everything that made us human. We died along with our planet, our families, our solar system, but we didn't stop existing.

There was nothing greater left than us. In this endless nothing, we were everything. What are gods but something greater than the dominant species of a planet?

#short story #writers on tumblr #?#scifi short story #SPACE GODS #tw death #tw genocide #ask to tag #my writing #a biscuit's rambles #if you read this please tell me what you thought im dying to know what others think of this

0 notes