Fictional Worlds

Autonomy is a beautiful thing. 06:00: The time of rising. Not the best time to learn of an asteroid hurtling past Uranus at more than 40 million metres per second. via Pocket

Pursuant to the Presidential Leadership Utilizing Representative Individual Brains in Unified Simulation (PLURIBUS) Act, you are hereby given notice of your selection to serve as this district’s contribution to the collective leadership of the natio…

Is it an invasion if it’s only one alien? Some media did call it so, even if this alien didn’t come with guns a-blazing. Was he even male? No one could tell, but from the start the media defaulted to their perceived gender of an assumed conqueror. v…

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via Pocket

I should kill them all … What? We’re transmitting? Greetings, fellow researchers, wherever you are. Important news! In my laboratory earlier this week. I — Really? Oh, very well. via Pocket

An ephemeral layer of crinkly ice coated the surface of the microphone, falling in glistening flakes as Matilda ran a gloved hand over the mic’s surface. via Pocket

On the M block of Fiction Street, a gust of wind pushed a hardback dangerously close to the curb. Bibliobot Eight-Ef rolled after it and extended its grasper, but another gust caused the robot to wobble and the book to dance away. via Pocket

Bryant bit his lip as three-Michelin-starred chef Jean Christophe assessed the evening’s final plate. The pinkish meat, coarsely butchered, sat in a pool of steaming liquid. Chef bent over and wafted the aroma, catching himself before he recoiled. “…

What apocalypse am I creating today? I feed two blank sheets of onionskin, carbon paper sandwiched between, through my typewriter’s platen. I stop a moment, remembering this joke. This guy gets on a bus, it starts, but I don’t write that. via Pocket

I sat at Roy and Emmy’s kitchen table, three cups of coffee between us, and mentally cursed my editor. Alien sighting. That’s what he’d said with a twinkle in his eye. That story’s all yours, kid. I choked on my coffee. “Karda —? Wait. via Pocket

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Grave robbery. If you think it’s a relic of gothic novels, think again. Now that the first generation of body-modified tech-bros and computer-implanted one-percenters sleep under tombstones, there’s a ton of gear in the ground. via Pocket

As May walked back through the time zones of her company town for the last time, she stared at the hands of her watch. She could feel her mind adjusting to its tiny motions, its auto-syncing movements slowing down as she passed through each border. …

The two thieves stood before the giant vault, fresh out of ideas. “Well?” Braygin prodded, “what do you think?” Tesca shrugged. “I think the Regent’s not going to be pleased.” via Pocket