Sci Fi Fantasy Quotes

Why do you have such faith in me, Aurelia?"  "I've told you a million times that I love you, you make me feel safe and cherished, and you care deeply for our people. Why wouldn't I have faith in you?

Every morning when I wake up, I ask myself, "Why was I born?" Then I answer myself, "You were born to be successful." If you can learn to define your own success and not let others dictate it, you can find      fulfilment.

In the afternoon, they stopped to eat on a rocky outcrop. Perry brushed a kiss on her cheek while she was chewing, and she learned that it was the loveliest thing to be kissed for no reason, even while chewing food. It brightened the woods, and the never sky, and everything.

I feel like the Earth has cracked open and swallowed me into a bottomless abyss.

Let a sleeping dragon lie.

When you call a ghetto a cordon, does it become a village?

Ketal is not hell! It’s the K’tul homeworld. What is the difference?

He shredded my wings with his words.

We Yandar are winged. We don’t succumb to adversity; we fly with it.

While an elderly man in his mid-eighties looks curiously at a porno site, his grandson asks him from afar, “‘What are you reading, grandpa?’” “‘It’s history, my boy.’” “The grandson comes nearer and exclaims, “‘But this is a porno site, grandpa, naked chicks, sex . . . a lot of sex!’” “‘Well, it’s sex for you, my son, but for me it’s history,’ the old man says with a sigh.” All of people in the cabin burst into laughter. “A stale joke, but a cool one,” added William More, the man who just told the joke. The navigator skillfully guided the flying disc among the dense orange-yellow blanket of clouds in the upper atmosphere that they had just entered. Some of the clouds were touched with a brownish hue at the edges. The rest of the pilots gazed curiously and intently outwards while taking their seats. The flying saucer descended slowly, the navigator’s actions exhibiting confidence. He glanced over at the readings on the monitors below the transparent console: Atmosphere: Dense, 370 miles thick, 98.4% nitrogen, 1.4% methane Temperature on the surface: ‒179°C / ‒290°F Density: 1.88 g/cm³ Gravity: 86% of Earth’s Diameter of the cosmic body: 3200 miles / 5150 km.

To insinuate that I would break an oath that I made to the ALMIGHTY for my own personal gain is an insult. An insult to me and an insult to the Order. An insult, worthy of death.

The world is not beautiful. Therefore it is.

People should decide on the books' meanings for themselves. They'll find a story that attacks such things as cruelty, oppression, intolerance, unkindness, narrow-mindedness, and celebrates love, kindness, open-mindedness, tolerance, curiosity, human intelligence.

The truth is, everyone likes to look down on someone. If your favorites are all avant-garde writers who throw in Sanskrit and German, you can look down on everyone. If your favorites are all Oprah Book Club books, you can at least look down on mystery readers. Mystery readers have sci-fi readers. Sci-fi can look down on fantasy. And yes, fantasy readers have their own snobbishness. I’ll bet this, though: in a hundred years, people will be writing a lot more dissertations on Harry Potter than on John Updike. Look, Charles Dickens wrote popular fiction. Shakespeare wrote popular fiction—until he wrote his sonnets, desperate to show the literati of his day that he was real artist. Edgar Allan Poe tied himself in knots because no one realized he was a genius. The core of the problem is how we want to define “literature”. The Latin root simply means “letters”. Those letters are either delivered—they connect with an audience—or they don’t. For some, that audience is a few thousand college professors and some critics. For others, its twenty million women desperate for romance in their lives. Those connections happen because the books successfully communicate something real about the human experience. Sure, there are trashy books that do really well, but that’s because there are trashy facets of humanity. What people value in their books—and thus what they count as literature—really tells you more about them than it does about the book.

We know about the wildlife for God’s sake!” screamed Aideen. “We’re being attacked by a feckin’ pack of chimpanzees right now! Get us out of here!

Everyone on Earth knows there’s no love as strong as a mother’s love. 

Later, I would understand more fully how deep and enduring the love of a mother for her child can be, but at that time, I just knew she felt something coming, something dangerous.

We do not sleep,” said Aya. “These bodies do not require it. All they need is food to provide them with energy. Sleep is not needed.

Even as she fell, her bones lit through her skin, he spun blindly, and drew the sword in a flash that would have made Musashi gasp.

Now I’m not blaming anything on her—I take full responsibility for my own actions— but it was Annette’s betrayal that began my slow spin downward to insanity.  

I know the next year will be trying, but you must keep faith." His eyes bore into mine, and I fear he can see into my very soul.

Continue your search for the truth but remember one thing--all things are possible.

So, you know that group up there in the Planetarium then?’ The pistol continued. ‘Hey they say it’s a small world.’      ‘Are they alright?’ asked Semilla darting forward.      ‘Yeah, they’re all fine, apart from the President he’s rather dead actually, oh and one of the lampposts I’m afraid he copped it too.’      Baz’s beacon flickered with emotion. ‘Which one?’ he asked.      ‘There was only one President as far as I know,’ said the pistol indifferently.

I would have hoped you would have learned by now. No matter, a man who refuses to face his destiny offers himself to the GOD of chance—and chance is a wayward bitch.

You are one, and we are many, We are everywhere and nowhere at the same time. We are the face of justice.

Fear, your fear takes hold of you…I can smell it. You are in my world now, and in my world, darkness is light.

At first, she bucked like a wild stag beneath me, and she tried to scream, but the pillow did a good job of muffling her voice.  Before long, the bucking stopped, and my wife’s corpse, blue without oxygen, appeared below me like a hideous phantom.

Humans are strange. … They value punishment because they think it means their actions are important—that they are important. … it's vanity.

Everyone is so enamored with the puppet; they never notice the man pulling the strings.

The Order? Here inside such a weak soul?” “His spirit is failing, his faith too old." “He cannot be saved." “Few have tried." “He is consumed by the lion." “He is overtaken by pride.

HANG THE LAW AND FUCK THE RULES! Where is your love for others? Where is your compassion? All these warriors want is a chance to serve. Doesn’t their love supersede your rules?

Sometimes they converge. The field is fabricated to bring two forces into conflict quickly making them one: killing.

Boy, you are a hothead, Bane. Your rage makes you an exceptional warrior but quite a boring conversationalist. Good thing I did not keep you for your manners and charm, eh? Now calm down, your spittle is getting all over me, my feet do not require a shower." -Michael, The ArchAngel

The first companies to sell the service of uploading human minds begin operation in 2098. Initial demand is driven by wealthy, elderly individuals. But as economies of scale evolve, the price of uploads comes down dramatically, and it ultimately reaches a point where the masses can afford a mind upload.

She tossed him a small mirror so that he could see the results, and what he saw horrified him.  The boiling concoction left a deep trail of burnt skin that stretched from the crown of his head all the way to his chin – almost like an artificial sluice that burned his flesh to form a large rivulet that ran down the center of his face.

You heard me. A creature from another world, a dark world, lurks the halls of Hellgate, tormenting victims at will. A grotesque, gnarled, twisted creature, with thick iron stakes impaled into its body, whip marks across its chest and back-- the beast got inside my brain.

Meryn shrugged. "That's not my fault, I tried to indoctrinate you into the wonderful world of the gamer geek, but it's like you have some sort sci-fi/fantasy narcolepsy. It's weird. The second I try to show you something you fall asleep.

As they reached the concert grounds in front of the Great Pyramid, Dani was captivated by the magic of the entire scene. A full moon was rising, casting a gentle shine over the entire area. Spotlights shone on Cheops, the Sphinx, Khafre, and Menkaure, and a vast swarm of hundreds of bats swooped above the stage, devouring mosquitoes as if they were protecting the legendary band from harm at this site of ancient power.

Monster? Monster, you say?” He scratched his chest, blood dripping from what seemed to be an old wound. “No, my friend. I have SEEN real monsters. I have faced real darkness, heart beating out of your chest with death all around you. The stench of piss and shit as men empty themselves in their final moments. I have experienced real terror. Terror, a simple man like you, could never fathom

A spell... this is real life, not some magical world - what kind of an alternate reality did I stumble into?

Have you ever thought about why GOD did it? Why tempt such fragile beings in the first place? Did GOD give the race of man free will, knowing that they would use that will to defy him, or to take it a step further since GOD knows all, did he know that Adam and Eve would eat the forbidden fruit, allowing him to cast them out of paradise to toil and suffer for a living.

It must be frustrating for you to not know something, isn’t it?

Near the center of the village, on some of those fallen leaves, are trickles of blood. It isn't until the village square that the carnage is at its peak

The music stops as they walk out of the forest toward the smooth extra-terrestrial spacecraft glistening in the sun on the far side of the meadow. To Atom, the ship feels like a time machine. Steven and Sylvia watch them with deadpan stares as the three astronauts walk with the spectacle of eclectic, colorful characters on feathered horseback following. A breeze picks up and Atom glances back to see stoic faces with vibrant robes and dresses flowing in the wind.

I will continue to write what I love to read, and the fact that it doesn't sell as well as romance or sci-fi or fantasy isn't the point.

Fleshers used to spin fantasies about aliens arriving to ‘conquer’ Earth, to steal their ‘precious’ physical resources, to wipe them out for fear of ‘competition’…as if a species capable of making the journey wouldn’t have had the power, or the wit, or the imagination, to rid itself of obsolete biological imperatives. Conquering the Galaxy is what bacteria with spaceships would do – knowing no better, having no choice.

The orderly brandished a hunting knife from a sheath at his waist and sliced open the prisoner’s throat with it.  Warm blood cascaded out of the prisoner’s throat, some of it spraying the captain’s uniform.  The orderly waited for the prisoner to bleed to death before cutting the head clean off.  Within a few minutes, the muscle that the prisoner built on his body was carved out and thrown on the grill.  After the meat cooled, the orderly put the human steaks in front of the captain for dinner.  As the captain ate each buttery piece, he couldn’t help but compliment the orderly for a job well-done.

A spark is exactly what it means. An igniting of something that spreads, and soon it becomes difficult to contain. The sparks, in this case, represent sin, not just any sin, a major undertaking of evil that spreads and infects life, changing the way humans live forever." " The Everlasting protects man for six of these catastrophes, but once there is a seventh, well… anything goes." "I’m not destroying man; I’m saving man--from themselves.

We are Knights of the Trinity, Angels of the Third Realm of Heaven Warriors of The Almighty Defenders of Righteousness, Truth. And Justice Protectors of the Weak and Downtrodden Guardians of the realms of men. We pledge our spirits, our swords, and our shields in service, Not for glory, not for pride, but for the honor to serve the Most-High May the forces of Darkness tremble in our wake and die at our hands! We are the Chosen Twelve, the Blessed, the Mighty War-riors of the Everlasting Order Hazah! Hazah! Hazah!

Manager Mangione,” Ping said, “algorithmic regulation was to have been a system of governance where more exact data, collected from MEG citizens’ minds via neuralinks, would be used to organize Human life more efficiently as a CORPORATE collective. Except no one to this point in Human existence has been able to identify the mind. The CORPORATE can only receive data from the NET on behaviours which indicate feelings or intentions. I & I cannot . . .

Steven looked at Walter with fear in his eyes and tried to speak, but nothing came out. It was as if the breath was pulled from his lungs all within an instant.

From DW: I got it. “Here's the thing,” I said. "I'm not going to be the government's bitch.

At that time, her core burned relentlessly with passion, desire, and complete disorientation. Their union was officiated by a queen she’d only heard of in folklore, and the people of the valleys reached for her and clamored to see the bride like she was their elixir. All of this only intensified the yearnings pulsing through her body and soul. She remembers one young lady, a commoner really, who pushed in from a crowd, sweaty and pregnant, to grab Lylitte’s hand. She locked eyes with her and saw the fever raging inside; it was in all the people in those days, the shamelessness, and a lust for all things of the new world. It was like a hurricane for life that no one could understand who hadn’t felt it. “Only when we experience true loss are we pulled back into our own dreaming,

That’s exactly the trouble with cockapoos,” observed Monty. “They aren’t natural. They’ve been synthesised, an unnatural splicing of breeds to meet human requirements. Every wolf gene cut out. I can’t stand ’em, ingratiating little buggers, they’ve got the please disease.

I dug through my purse for the Glock. There is was, and I realized I'd never set the safety. I decided to consider this a great example of forethought rather than my being the stupidest gun handler on the planet.

I love sex. I love thinking about it, I love doing it, and I love the feeling I get afterwards.

She slammed an angry fist into the light metal field table. A stack of datapads bounced and fell to the ground. “Damn it! Find me legitimate targets so I can kill them!

I felt sure that [Oyarsa] was what we call "good," but I wasn't sure whether I liked "goodness" so much as I had supposed.

If you are not open to human intimacy, or this topic is forbidden, illegal, or taboo in your time and place, then I would suggest you stop right now.

How could a man so adept at playing these parts not possess some of the same qualities in reality? Is he not a sample of the fabled alpha male?

I already knew it was related to blinding the GODs, those ever present sentinels above that creep me out more than if it was an actual deity watching my every move.

This will be a night of true human sexuality the way it was meant to be expressed.

I cannot go about killing people that do not know me or know of me. I do not kill for pleasure, or on impulse, but for survival and for necessity. That is what the wolf has taught me, and that is the way of all living things.

Sitting at his desk Remy filled out two forms and then played a few games of Tic-Tac-Toe against himself. Playing the “X’s”, he lost a seven game tournament four games to one.

I know your fingertips will love gliding across the silk, from my toes all the way up my thighs, teasing what lies just beyond, before claiming it as yours.

Doug’s entire speech was landing like a series of jabs to my gut, but that last sentence hit me like an actual slap in the face. Doug was truly dead to me. Dead and buried.

But to know a thing and to see it, to experience it, are as different as the moon and the finger pointing to it. Knowledge is not truth, only the apprehension of it. Experience is something else entirely.

I thought about what he was saying. “Old Long Walker talked about this Dire Wolf,” I said. “Is that a man or an animal.” “A little of both, I reckon… and neither.” He got quiet again, sipped his coffee, reading the window glass. The wind screamed and howled beyond it, out in the feral night.

Nyhetene forgifter meg, og jeg merker jeg er sjeleglad for at det kommer en generasjon som er oppfostret på såkalt virkelighetsflukt. For de kommer til å redde ræva til oss alle. De vil ikke vippes av pinnen når problemet blir for stort. De har lest nok dystopier til å vite at regimer kan lyve. Nok fantasy til å vite at enkeltmennesker kan vinne over umulige odds. Nok sci-fi til å vite at framskritt også kan være et skritt tilbake. Og de vet at alle har lik verdi, uansett rase, legning eller religion. Og neste gang noen spør meg hvorfor fantasy er så populært skal jeg svare at det ikke spiller noen rolle, vi skal bare være glad for at det er det. Det er sånne som kommer til å overleve zombieapokalypsen, for å si det sånn.

He sits up, grasps his carbine, and sneaks quietly from the tent. Outside the wind flows briskly through the trees, the shushing sound it makes like an admonition to them all.

Finally, the sound fades and doesn’t return. Tsula sits alone in the quiet and the dark, shivering with such force that she fears her teeth might crack.

Kings and dukes tended to appoint wizards as their principal advisors, a practice that often proved catastrophically wrong.

He’s a lovely guy, but there’s no spark between us whatsoever. It just goes to show, that even with all their fancy assessment tools, the government can’t legislate for chemistry.

The world remembers what we cannot and truth can wait forever.

Over time, it became apparent that no matter who ruled the country of Gundarland, the Godmother ruled the city of Dun Hythe.

It is good practice to never fault someone for their birth name, being that it is always of far greater importance how men speak of you, than the name by which you are addressed.

This is just between you and me, two adults. Trust me.

Forget about robots. There was a new plan. I was going to search the world to find my real human alpha!

The current needs of survival leave little time for luxuries like sentimentality. It is, he figures, a kind of mercy. No time to dwell on what was lost when there is more yet to protect.

Evil occurs because we are insufficient to challenge it. Too weak to stop it at the gates, too blind to see it bubbling within. Were we all angels in our virtue and heroes in our capacity, we might hold all chaos at bay, might stop even the unkindling of the stars. Yet we are but men.

A powerful man to match my own strength, determination, and unquenched sexual appetite! Oh, how do I crave a man that could stand fully beside me, successful, desirable— “Not two steps behind me. Where are you?

Tell us, my dear,” Ansgar said. “What year is it?” “It’s 1536.” “That means . . . we were sealed up for 211 years,” Ansgar replied. “No wonder I need a beer,” Luc said. “That’s a long time to go without a drink.

Penelope decided a crippled-up second lieutenant didn’t have much of a future in the military, as well as no longer fitting her criteria for dashing.  With encouragement from her, Bob Tregonne saw his opportunity and took it. Poor bastard. Last I heard they married and moved to Washington where Bob got a promotion and a new post. My guess, he won’t be the last of the woman’s fools, especially in Washington society. Probably be a long list of husbands and lovers in that bucket.

The mountains she’d viewed in childhood as nurturing have now taken on a menacing quality. Their stippled surfaces—the dark of trees rising from a background of white—give the impression of something more mythic than geological. Leviathans hibernating in the open, ready to stir at any moment and swallow her whole.

I loved him, but he didn't want me anymore. I suffered, and he laughed at my umanity. This desire will be my end.

Never been around dogs much. My mom had a collie when I was a boy, but she was a gentle animal who stayed around the house, mostly. My father, and the men he knew, all had braces of big surly hunting dogs they used for going after wild hogs. The times he took me with him on those hunts, I was more afraid of those dogs than the feral hogs. Think they could sense it. Always felt like they would’ve taken the least opportunity to sink their teeth into me.

You asked if I knew John Forest,” he said heavily. “I knew the person you know as John Forest. I liked him. He was the most gifted fighter pilot I have ever seen. He gave us a miracle—and hope—in those dark days of the First Incursion when we were losing. Here’s to John Forest, or whoever he really was.” Jones raised his glass and took another sip of his whiskey.

Tsula and Abbott spy the cabin in a clearing beyond the trees. It appears almost spectral through the gossamer mist—at first, just a hint of a shape. A blocky shadow rising from the ground.

Harlan chuckles to himself and shakes his head, as though enjoying a joke only he has heard. ‘Now I guess it’s only fair to warn you,’ he says. ‘This is not going to go the way you want it to.

Junior finds what he’s seeking in a swale between two ridges. He glasses down at the elk from a hillside aflame with autumn color. The animal strides through the clearing about five hundred yards due east, dipping its head now and then to nibble on receding grass that soon will disappear for the winter.

Ah yes, now you’re beginning to feel it. It’s so satisfying to see my best efforts coming to fruition. Undoubtedly one of the most gratifying rewards of my profession. It would warm my heart—if I had one.

Long ago he called us ants, Red ants burning in the light of a Silver sun. Destroyed by the greatness of others, losing the battle for our right to exist because we are not special. We did not evolve like them, with powers and strengths beyond our limited imaginations. We stayed the same, stagnant in our own bodies. The world changed around us and we stayed the same.

The same moment the hiker comes upon them, rounding the bend in the trail, Harlan knows the man will die. He takes no pleasure in the thought. So far as Harlan is aware, he has never met the man and has no quarrel with him. This stranger is simply an unexpected contingency. A loose thread that, once noticed, requires snipping.

Toward the back of the small property, Twentymile Creek flows through a ravine two to three feet deep and three times as wide. The waters of the creek, high and vigorous from recent rains, purl noisily around stones bearded with green moss and swatched with lichen. There she finds the body, stretched across the frothing stream.

And what is this whole concept of freedom in the first place? The masses willingly traded that away many years ago for the security and protection of the State. Now they have their simple needs provided for them and are usually content until a few morons try to stir them up.

Not as much as it bothers me that you just grabbed me without even trying to warn me first. If you’re trying to undo ages of prejudice, maybe you should start by acting civil.

Speak peace unto the world and good souls will stand.

Ah, life in medieval times! Yeah, we only have to worry about losing our heads every day.

And it is a strange thing about love... it is that it can take a strength that would seem otherwise insignificant and transform it into a hardly quenchable power.

It wasn't premeditated. It was what needed to be done. So I did it.

I didn't wait for Luck. I tore after it with a truck.

An uncomfortable marriage can not bear the strain of the death of a beloved donkey.

How he must feel his own needs upon him as he sees how the black lingerie enhances every feminine curve that is waiting for him to explore.

Arvex led the others into the light. “Wrecked if I ever dash miners again! This is one royal who won’t wipe their boots on our cousins anymore.” His grin made the carnage seem trivial.

The general’s daughter swept into the room like an angelic visitation. Never seen such a vision of the feminine in my life. It hit me between the eyes like someone pressed a live telegraph wire to the back of my head. She came amongst us boys so coquettish and alight with laughter that we all took on dumbfounded stupidity, not quite knowing what to say or how to act.

I am Bishop Connors of the Snotish Church. Where is the President?” “W . . . hat do you want to see him about?” “I don’t discuss church business with minions. Are you dead?” “I . . . ‘ve been dead for a long time.” “The Snotist Church has vowed to destroy abominations like you.” “Th . . . ank you for sharing that.

Leticia believed in Snotism. Every morning she began the day with a prayer to the Great God, Gundar. Today was no different. While most of the heroes still slept, she recited the prayer, then took out a small vial and spilled a few grains of crushed pepper into her hand. Holding her palm under her nose, she snorted the pepper. A second later, she let go with an explosive sneeze.

Know this much:regret nothing. Each part of your journey is essential to the whole. The moment you are experiencing is as important as your destination. Ninetah,the Daskiny Healer in The Traveler

From the scene arrayed before her now, Tsula knows this new body means something entirely different. The tight bunchings of onlookers in hushed conversation. The watery eyes and mouths covered by fingers. This is how people gather when the dead is one of their own.

Religion played a part in many people’s lives and the largest sect was Snotism. Snotists worshiped Gundar, the god who created the universe with a might sneeze after snorting His favorite recreational drug. Spittle flew through empty space and solidified into suns, planets and comets.

That unbearable taste. It was as though nothing in the world could ever be the same. Nothing was worth doing. Nothing was worth living for. It was… despair. I understood. My enemy had both a name and a taste. Despair.

He tips his cap forward over his face and inhales deeply of the moist air. It seems to Harlan that he can smell the whole of these mountains’ lives in that single breath. The gentle notes of wild herbs and grasses, of seedlings introducing themselves to the world. Also the thick and bittersweet must of leaf litter, felled trees, and decaying animals returning to the soil.

EVIL IN GENERAL, does not sleep, and therefore doesn't see why anyone else should. Crowley likes sleep, it was one of the pleasures of the world. Especially after a heavy meal. He'd slept right through most of the nineteenth century, for example. Not because he needed to, simply because he enjoyed it.

Thank you father, thank you. I know you watched me from above and protected me. I promise I shall serve the Magnarian Confederation with all my body and soul. I shall dedicate myself fully to our confederation, the family that you so loved. And I love it too. I shall protect, love and respect it always. This is my promise and commitment. Thank you

You are looking charming yourself. I’m quite surprised, actually.

But it’s okay… it will all be over soon.

We are born in the shadow of fading memories and fallen dreams, living our days within the decaying bones of an age long gone.

There's ugliness in beauty, but there's also beauty in ugliness... We may be monsters, but we are each other's monster.

And, to be true, an enemy's lair is an enemy's lair, no matter how comfortable or fancy it might appear.

The man fed every carnal fantasy she possessed. He sat her lustful appetites before an array of the finest of delicacies, ordered them to feast, then commanded, “Don’t swallow.

And if you lose the willingness, what do you have?

The death has an only color.

You've never had wok-seared spicy broccoli until you've had takeout trans-temporal wok-seared spicy broccoli delivered by a copy of yourself.

Better to be afraid and prepared, than happy and dead.

Into the darkness with the light of the moon beaming upon me. Bathing in the luminosity of it awakening the demon that is me!

Rome wasn’t just a city—it was a living memory, carved in stone and whispered through fountains.

Raphael painted not just with colour, but with code—each brushstroke concealing a secret yearning to be understood.

The following is intended to be a fun, comedic sci-fi/fantasy novel. Any similarity between the events described and how reality actually works is purely coincidental.

James Heron stepped from the personal transport as Herbert, the family’s outmoded android butler, opened the front door of Scrabo Farm. There were infinitely more efficient and newer model android servants available, but neither James Heron nor his sister Niamh L’Estrange would dream of scrapping the mechanical attendant that had served the family so well, and enlivened their childhood with its fussy care of them both. “Hello, Herbert, is my sister home?” Answering in the slightly mechanical voice that James had liked so much when he was a boy, Herbert said, “She is in her study, Captain. I have alerted her to your arrival.

Victor wrapped his fingers over my hand, pressing his face against my palm. “You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever met. I’m so incredibly proud of you.” “Who knew that one day the word someone would use to describe me is brave. Life is very unpredictable.” I chuckled. “There are many other words I could think of to describe you but I’m not really good at flattery.

It be more a feeling. Something swirls out in the beyond, something unnatural. It’s the reason so few venture to these worlds. The black spaces are a part of it, pieces unraveling pulling apart. We’ve come too far, waited too long to turn back now. Only death awaits us here.

I can feel the last gasps of the day’s warmth on my skin. There is simply no artificial substitute for this. This is real. Why would so many prefer to spend an evening like this plugged into an artificial world or glued to an endless stream of propaganda from the Union feeds.

It’s one thing when black people aren’t discussed in world history. Fortunately, teams of dedicated historians and culture advocates have chipped away at the propaganda often functioning as history for the world’s students to eradicate that glaring error. But when, even in the imaginary future—a space where the mind can stretch beyond the Milky Way to envision routine space travel, cuddly space animals, talking apes, and time machines—people can’t fathom a person of non-Euro descent a hundred years into the future, a cosmic foot has to be put down.

The bag also held an umbrella made of iron and cloth. In effect, the umbrella was a lightning rod. Whenever it rained, Remy’s job was to hold the umbrella over Jerado’s head. So far, Remy had been struck by lightning three times, while Jerado, protected by a spell, remained safe.

Il n’y pas de combinaison de mots pour décrire à quel point je tiens à toi, Savannah Shaw.” “There is no combination of words to describe how much I care for you, Savannah Shaw.” - Jesse Hayes

Because there wasn’t anything else to do, he settled at the kitchen table with a bottle of mead and nearly emptied it. The anesthetic effect he hoped for hadn’t happened, though. At least not yet.

She started life with a number, not a name. Class: S, No. 13295. She has them memorized by rote, though nobody ever calls her that. The Scientists feel foolish addressing her in long, bewildering strings of alphanumerics. They have told her so themselves. To save time, they simply call her “Snow.

Ava motioned to the darkening passage that led from the cave. “This is the first time I’ve set foot on an alien planet. And even though it bears a general similarity to Earth, there are enough differences to make me want to walk around like this all the time.” Widening her eyes, she dropped her jaw until her mouth formed a large O and gaped at the walls around them in exaggerated amazement. Jak’ri laughed. “I’m serious,” she insisted with a grin. “I saw a butterfly today that was the size of a duck!

She was no helpless female – never had been. She was death clothed in a body of female allure and fiercely proud of it. But in sex, she needed the surrender. She craved a man strong enough to take the control out of her hands. I hunger to be dominated, for someone who doesn’t see me as a ball-busting female. She would yield everything to a man masterful enough to command her obedience. But she had never found one strong enough – or discreet enough. It wouldn’t do for the Blue Daggers to know their commander wanted domination during sex. Most of all, she had never found anyone she could trust with her desires who didn’t try to crush her – body and soul. Disappointment had followed disappointment until she had quit looking. To find strength paired with sensitivity, or dominance tempered with love? It didn’t seem to exist.

I have always been a sci-fi and fantasy type of person. I always felt as a child that I belonged in those types of worlds rather than here. Reading them had always been my way of escaping from my shyness as a child.

An old adage warns: If you don't know your history, you will be forever condemned to repeat it. Likewise, if you don't know your science fiction, and heed its warnings, you could condemn the Earth to future catastrophe.

The funny thing about games and fictions is that they have a weird way of bleeding into reality. Whatever else it is, the world that humans experience is animated with narratives, rituals, and roles that organize psychological experience, social relations, and our imaginative grasp of the material cosmos. The world, then, is in many ways a webwork of fictions, or, better yet, of stories. The contemporary urge to “gamify” our social and technological interactions is, in this sense, simply an extension of the existing games of subculture, of folklore, even of belief. This is the secret truth of the history of religions: not that religions are “nothing more” than fictions, crafted out of sociobiological need or wielded by evil priests to control ignorant populations, but that human reality possesses an inherently fictional or fantastic dimension whose “game engine” can — and will — be organized along variously visionary, banal, and sinister lines. Part of our obsession with counterfactual genres like sci-fi or fantasy is not that they offer escape from reality — most of these genres are glum or dystopian a lot of the time anyway — but because, in reflecting the “as if” character of the world, they are actually realer than they appear.

There are moments in time when the axis of the universe shifts, when life as you knew it is irrevocably altered. When the hiss and grind of the gears fell silent, some deeply rooted instinctive part of me knew this was one of those moments.

Afrofuturism is an intersection of imagination, technology, the future, and liberation. “I generally define Afrofuturism as a way of imagining possible futures through a black cultural lens,” says Ingrid LaFleur, an art curator and Afrofuturist.

Let’s go inside before a Sector-hopping horde of hungry flervers smells your fear and zeroes in on us from across the galaxy.” “Don’t make fun of me.” I put my hand over my heart. “I would never.” Tess’s scowl didn’t fool me. The humor in her eyes told the real story. “They’ll eat you first. More muscle.” “If it keeps you alive, I’m happy to sacrifice my biceps.

The anti-aging spell he used every month kept him alive for the most part. Facially, he looked like a forty-five year old; physically, he was a wreck because the spell was defective. All his teeth had fallen out years ago and he now used a set of ill-fitting wooden dentures. He was bald and wore a cheap reddish-blonde wig that often slipped if he turned his head suddenly. It also had a tendency to take flight in a breeze. His knees were creaky and often ached, and his eyesight had deteriorated.

Remy took a chair across from Jerado. A chess board and pieces sat in between them. “Are you sure you remember the moves?” Jerado looked forward to recouping his card game losses. “Y ..es. I . . . I practiced the moves in my office. I . . . I also read a scroll on playing the game.” “Then you won’t object to betting on the outcome of the game?” “N . . . o. H . . . ow much?” “Let’s bet a modest sum. Say, twenty-five silver?” Jerado pushed a stack of silver pennies into the middle. “A . . . ll right.” Remy pushed a similar stack forward. “I’’ll let you have the first move,” Jerado said. Remy moved a pawn forward to start the game. Five moves later, Remy said, “C . . . heckmate,” and scooped up the silver coins. Jerado sat stunned for a few moments. “Rematch.” After Remy won four more games — the last for seven gold pennies — Jerado said through clenched teeth, “That’s enough for tonight, Remy. I’m tired.

In the years that followed, Tsula would find that she could not recall that walk to the edge or the thrust of her legs into the air. Her clearest memory more than twenty years later is of the long, breathless wait as she fell, seemingly forever, and the water swallowing her at last. When she burst from its surface, unhurt, her mind noisy and electric, she grabbed for Jamie and kissed him hard.

It felt like nighttime. It felt like those early-morning hours when inhibitions hide and the surreal gossamer of if-onlys and possibility--so clumsy and fragile by daylight--transform into action. We do things at night we would never dream of doing when the sun is watching.

One day, Remy came across a proposal from Lithgow for a budget increase to re-equip an archer company with newly invented crossbows. Remy modified the requested budget amount by adding two zeroes to it and sent the proposal into Jerado for approval. The sounds of Jerado’s wooden dentures clattering across the desk was most satisfying to Remy. Soon after, Jerado sent Lithgow a strongly worded notice to leave the archers alone.

Gem thought it would be hilarious to shear his brother’s fine hair off while he was sleeping. Ever since then Menai decided he actually preferred the Mohawk. Both had inherited their mother’s Western Continent coloring, a blend of pearly white and sea grass green that set their bold sea-colored eyes off handsomely. And since they had grown old enough to realize this, they had become a pair of pre-pubescent manipulating terrors.

The Troll Patrol was an institution unique to Dun Hythe. Long ago, the city leaders had recognized the need to control and direct the heavy wagon traffic that flowed to and from the port area. They organized a patrol of citizens for this purpose and all went well for a while. No one knows who allowed the first troll to join up, but word immediately spread throughout the troll community that one of their number had a paying job with unlimited donuts. Soon after that, every opening in the patrol attracted dozens of trolls who brazenly persuaded non-trolls to withdraw their applications. Within a few years, trolls had taken over the organization. Trolls proved to be particularly inept at traffic control. A member of the Troll Patrol could station himself in the middle of a deserted intersection and, within minutes, he would create a traffic-snarling mess. To keep the enraged wagon drivers under control, the trolls relied upon truncheons. A whack or two in the head always knocked a driver groggy and made him a lot less noisy.

We won’t let them take us,” he vowed. Ava cupped his face in her hands. “I love you, Jak’ri.” Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against hers in a tender caress. “I love you, too. More with every breath I take.” Desire flared to life as she drew him down for another kiss, this one deeper, hotter, and pulse-poundingly arousing. “Make me forget,” she pleaded, between teasing strokes of her tongue. “Make me forget everything but us and the way I feel when I’m in your arms.

Bast’s ears pricked at this news. Oh yes, this is good, she gloated inwardly. Felicity could be a useful tool if she was close to the Vanguard’s commanding officer. A plan began to form in her mind, an opportunity for some amusement and a chance to take down her target. Too good to miss. She laughed. “Lucky you. I don’t suppose he has any spare seats for us poor sales reps out here scrabbling to earn a living.” Felicity smiled. “I’d ask, but I suspect the answer would be only if I stayed here to free up a seat—and I’m not that self-sacrificial.” She laughed. “See you on the Dock, Yelendi. Mr Cardington, maybe I’ll be able to catch up with you soon. It’s been nice chatting with you both.

Queen Gunnhild waves away the advice with a pale hand. "I can't abide that scourge sneaking around the Chateau, killing everyone that comes within an inch of its evil presence. That building and its surrounds are Nord Property and we are in dire need of an outpost so near the Gray Sea again. It's time to end this, return a presence to a southern territory.

Even in the future, the story begins with once upon a time.

I’m a realist. Optimism and pessimism are both skewed. It’s not hard to balance all the factors. What’s difficult is measuring how much weight to assign to minor details.

Time is freedom.

This just proves how far you and the others are willing to go to keep things hidden.

There’s ugliness in beauty, but there’s also beauty in ugliness’ ‘We may be monsters, but we are each other’s monsters

If someone asked me what one word I'd use to describe my life...without a doubt, it'd be 'complicated.

He was one of those original beings whom the Creator invents in a moment of fantasy, and of whom He immediately breaks the cast.

an unexpected direction.

Anyone who opposes the laws of the nature, at the end falls victim of the nature, soon or later. (Sentence from my book, Tora-Bora mountains)

OK, so the guy is cool, but... I mean own up, this is barking time, this is major lunch, this is stool approaching critical mass, this is... this is... total vocabulary failure!

Men cry not for themselves, but for their comrades.

I don’t know why I told you all those things, but I did. Maybe it was because I’m a drunk, and sometimes drunks like to confess.

Why do I feel like this is our destiny. There must be a reason why we have become our characters.

Books are more honest than the world. If you want to understand people, listen to what they make up.

We create our own Darkness - Rhoma Grace

We fight so the others shall not have to

Their blissfully soft texture calmed me but alerted me at the same time. I couldn't explain the gentle spark of light that dripped off the edges. And of course, the aqua trim felt way too familiar.

Many generations past, before even the Spaniards came, hundreds of years ago, maybe even thousands.” He shrugged, shook his head. “My ancestors lived along the Mississippi. Back then they were known as the Downstream People. Moundbuilders, it’s said. No one knows why they did this, not now, but most tell that the mounds were spiritual, the dwelling places for spirits, good and bad. The spirit of the Shanka’ Tunka is one kind of spirit that stayed there, an evil one. Legend has it he awakens every hundred years or so, roams the land looking for a likely soul to take, someone who ain’t too far from evil himself.

Jerado heard a splash followed by the roar of an explosion. Bits of equipment, glass and wood splattered against the back of the chair. A large chunk of table whizzed past his head and smashed into the cave’s wall. Ears ringing, Jerado sighed and waited for what he knew would happen next. “M . . . master?” “Yes, Remy?” “C. . . Can you sew my hand back on my wrist?” “Remy, Remy, Remy. You know how I hate doing mundane chores.” “B . . . but I can’t clean up the mess with only one hand.” “That is true. All right, fetch a needle and thread and I’ll repair your hand.” “A . . . And I need a new tunic. This one is in tatter

Sometimes I think Earth has got to be the insane asylum of the universe. . . and I'm here by computer error. At sixty-eight, I hope I've gained some wisdom in the past fourteen lustrums and it’s obligatory to speak plain and true about the conclusions I've come to; now that I have been educated to believe by such mentors as Wells, Stapledon, Heinlein, van Vogt, Clarke, Pohl, (S. Fowler) Wright, Orwell, Taine, Temple, Gernsback, Campbell and other seminal influences in scientifiction, I regret the lack of any female writers but only Radclyffe Hall opened my eyes outside sci-fi. I was a secular humanist before I knew the term. I have not believed in God since childhood's end. I believe a belief in any deity is adolescent, shameful and dangerous. How would you feel, surrounded by billions of human beings taking Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the tooth fairy and the stork seriously, and capable of shaming, maiming or murdering in their name? I am embarrassed to live in a world retaining any faith in church, prayer or a celestial creator. I do not believe in Heaven, Hell or a Hereafter; in angels, demons, ghosts, goblins, the Devil, vampires, ghouls, zombies, witches, warlocks, UFOs or other delusions; and in very few mundane individuals--politicians, lawyers, judges, priests, militarists, censors and just plain people. I respect the individual's right to abortion, suicide and euthanasia. I support birth control. I wish to Good that society were rid of smoking, drinking and drugs. My hope for humanity - and I think sensible science fiction has a beneficial influence in this direction - is that one day everyone born will be whole in body and brain, will live a long life free from physical and emotional pain, will participate in a fulfilling way in their contribution to existence, will enjoy true love and friendship, will pity us 20th century barbarians who lived and died in an atrocious, anachronistic atmosphere of arson, rape, robbery, kidnapping, child abuse, insanity, murder, terrorism, war, smog, pollution, starvation and the other negative “norms” of our current civilization. I have devoted my life to amassing over a quarter million pieces of sf and fantasy as a present to posterity and I hope to be remembered as an altruist who would have been an accepted citizen of Utopia.

I look out of the round cabin window and see dozens of lights in the sky, but it’s not twinkling stars, it’s light coming from endless tall, twirling buildings – they look magnificent, glowing bright over the black ocean

They’re into a bit more than assassination,” said the Admiral, aka Mr Brown, “and not all of them are top agents—the ones that use the names of gods and goddesses to identify themselves. Some are called daemons, and they serve as apprentices to the top players. They’ve a large number of people in the mix. Same arrangement. A team of professional killers, safe crackers, explosives—you name it —round each one, and they’re not afraid to sacrifice members for the objective, or to protect the goddess or god heading it. Every time we get close to them we lose people. It’s as if they’re playing with us. We’re pretty sure they’re all very well connected, and some of them indulge in what they call ‘hunting’. Some poor bastard is abducted and dumped somewhere remote without the means to defend himself. Then he or she is hunted by one or more of the Pantheon. They’re psychopaths—but, as I said, they’re very well connected.

Kovit's smile was deeply amused. "You're living in a fantasy world. I eat pain, and that scares people." "Sure it does. But lots of people are scary-- terrorists, fascists, racists. That doesn't mean they're not human, much as some people might wish." Fabricio's eyes met Kovit's. "You're a sentient, thinking being. You choose who you hurt, and if you hurt someone." Fabricio made a frustrated noise. "You're not a fucking avalanche mowing down everything in its path.

Why would I what?” Will asked, wanting another bite of his burger. “Why would you risk your job teaching some stupid fantasy book?” “Because alternative universe literature promotes critical thinking, imagination, empathy, and creative problem solving. Children who are fluent in fiction are more able to interpret nonfiction and are better at understanding things like basic cause and effect, sociology, politics, and the impact of historical events on current events. Many of our technological advances were imagined by science fiction writers before the tech became available to create them, and many of today’s inventors were inspired by science fiction and fantasy to make a world more like the world in the story. Many of today’s political conundrums were anticipated by science fiction writers like Orwell, Huxley, and Heinlein, and sci-fi and fantasy tackle ethical problems in a way that allows people to analyze the problem with some emotional remove, which is important because the high emotions are often what lead to violence. Works like Harry Potter tackle the idea of abuse of power and—” Will stopped himself and swallowed. Everybody at the table, including Kenny, was staring at him in openmouthed surprise. “Anyway,” he said before taking a monster bite of his cooling hamburger on a sudden attack of nerves, “iss goomfer umf.” “It’s good for us,” Kenny translated, sounding a little stunned

Gee, I wonder who you could be referring to?" Owen said. "I mean you," Erebus said. "I just did not wish to be rude." "All you've been is rude." Owen muttered just under a whisper. "Some minds are more capable than others." Erebus smiled at Hugh.

I don't like writing romance in my books because that's the turning point of 90% of YA sci-fi/fantasy books and, quite frankly, it gets annoying after a while. The protagonist has more important things to worry about than boys and whether or not they like her.

For every path that leads to success, there are a million billion paths to failure. The Anchor’s quest is to live her life again and again and again until she finds the one true path. Only then can she shepherd humanity from bloodshed and destruction to peace and harmony.

You keep saying you instead of we.” Jak’ri closed the incinerator. A whoosh sounded. “I’m not coming with you.” She stared up at him. “What?” “I’m staying here. Keep me apprised of everything telepathically as you go. If you run into any trouble, I’ll start blasting things in here, then run and draw their fire.” “Oh, hell no!” she blurted. “We leave together or we don’t leave at all.” “Ava, you have a much higher chance of escaping if I keep them distracted long enough to—” Closing the distance between them, she rose onto her toes, curled her free hand around the nape of his neck, and pressed a fervent kiss to his lips. Startled into silence, he stared down at her. “I’m not going without you, Jak’ri. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself for me. We either escape together or we die together. Those are your two options. Time is ticking. What’s it going to be?

Earlier that day, a typewriter bomb had exploded at a black market skin house over on Eel Street, sending words raining through the cardboard walls of the boudoirs and tattooing copies of the Machinist’s ‘Twelve Terms’ on the bodies of whores and patrons alike. Forty pieces of merch ruined. Their bodies had been obliterated by language, all traces of their sexuality buried beneath a storm of words. There was something horrific about the sight of those who had survived a typewriter attack. Their faces scarred with text, as if they had become hostages to some awful advertisement. A few of the victims took to working the streets around the library where bibliophiles sometimes paid them to satisfy their fantasies amid the desolate hush of the reading rooms and the deserted stacks where the only witnesses to this erotic pantomime of the blank body and its printed partner were other words.

I see sarcastic and obscene visions of angels and demons flirting with the souls of men creating horror and deities in surreal worlds, and writing plays for us to perform; while I am being dragged into the darkness. I want to know who is doing all this… I fell back into that lethargic dream of bottomless pits and deserts hanging from the skies.

The truth is that all time belongs to you, it is yours to do with it as you wish. Time flows freely… Time is freedom. There are those that are bound by time, restricted by it, but that is only because they don’t understand it, they don’t know how to use it. Time is and it isn’t… It can be your greatest enemy or your greatest friend. But it all depends on you.

Yes. I know all about soul-wraiths.” Ramsey frowned. “How did you avoid them in the past?” “Set a perimeter of energized diaman crystal. That will keep them at bay.” Hel smiled without humor. “I have the diaman crystal in my saddle pack. I lack a sexual partner to energize them. I had intended to return with a magistra but a magister will work as well. Care to volunteer?” “Only if I top,” Ramsey snapped. “You’d have to kill me first,” returned Hel. “With pleasure.” Steffania took a breath. Ram cut her off. “No. I don’t share you, Vixen.” Fear of the unknown almost froze Adonia’s tongue, but she was the obvious answer. She could do this, and the opportunity might never present itself again. “I’ll be your partner.

The first thing anybody tells you about this business is to say what makes you unique and different, but I couldn’t and the very idea of it never sat well with me and after much deliberation, I finally realized why. Because, I’m not unique or different–I’m exactly like you and I love that. We each have a unique filter through which we interpret the world, and with this filter in place, I write stories and songs and you might find them surprising or intriguing or confronting, you may relate or you may not. They may make you laugh and sometimes, even cry. You may or may not understand what I’m trying to say and you may not understand me, however, rest assured, once we get past the filters, at our core, we are wonderfully and beautifully, exactly the same.

Remember? We have a rematch. And this time, it’s my turn to shine.” With his goggles on, Sterling got into his stance, keeping an eye on the Professor. “Oh? I didn’t realize that you were so dull.” I put my goggles on and took my stance as well, making sure that Professor Trinkott was within my line of vision. Challenge accepted. “Ha, ha, joke all you want, Alvara. Just don’t come crying to me afterwards.” “I don’t cry when I win.

Some of the hunger in her gaze receded as uncertainty crept in. “What is it?” She bit her lip. “My breasts aren’t what they used to be.” He glanced at her gorgeous breasts, then met her gaze again. “What did they used to be?” She laughed, some of the sudden awkwardness leaving her. “Perkier. Pregnancy and breastfeeding changed them.” He stared at her breasts. “Then thank you, pregnancy and breastfeeding. Because I love your breasts.

Kunal thought of all the sci-fi fantasy books he had read which had similar premises. ‘And, for some absurd reason, I’m the only one who can stop him. I’m the chosen one, right?’ Guru was at a loss for words. Adira snapped, ‘Not you, idiot!’ Kunal stopped in his path. ‘Sure. If not me, then who?’ ‘Burfi,’ Guru said as if that were common knowledge. ‘Burfi? Who’s Burfi?’ Kunal asked. The owl pointed at the dog. ‘You have got to be kidding me!

As Yelendi Dysson watched, an unaccustomed feeling of pride welled up within her. She’d had a small hand in building this magnificent ship, albeit one intended to reduce her effectiveness. “She’s beautiful,” she murmured. Theresa smiled. “Impressive.” She studied the long, lean hull with four great fins extending above, below and on either side of the hull. The weapons emplacements looked almost innocuous at this distance. As they watched, interceptors emerged from the lateral fins and formed a defensive screen that surrounded the ship in the front and on both sides, while others broke away and flew toward the yacht. Timms said, “Looks like the flyboys are going to give us a fly past.” He grinned in anticipation. Yelendi sucked in a breath. “First time I’ve seen her complete like this. She’s beautiful in a rather strange way. Long and sleek—she exudes a sort of quiet menace, and at the same time she has a graceful elegance …

Dragging his lips from hers, he buried his face in her neck. His arms tightened around her almost to the point of pain. Frowning, wanting those lips on hers again, she hugged him back. “Nick?” “You scared the hell out of me today,” he murmured, his deep voice hoarse. Her heart turned over. He would only have such a reaction if he cared about her. How had she not realized that before? “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “Just let me hold you a minute.” Smiling, she snuggled against him.

It was Art3mis. She wore a suit of scaled gunmetal-blue armor that looked more sci-fi than fantasy. Twin blaster pistols were slung low on her hips in quickdraw holsters, and there was a long, curved elvish sword in a scabbard across her back. She wore fingerless Road Warrior–style racing gloves and a pair of classic Ray-Ban shades. Overall, she seemed to be going for a sort of mid-’80s postapocalyptic cyberpunk girl-next-door look. And it was working for me, in a big way. In a word: hot.

Whatever your sexual orientation, whatever your ethnicity, whatever your age or personal experience, it is my hope you will find a hero somewhere here you can relate to, that speaks to the world as you see it. Even better: there is a good chance you will find some heroes who are deeply, fundamentally different from yourself. I don't have much patience with readers who yearn to explore incredible worlds and mind-bending situations but grow cold at the idea of imagining their way into different political ideas, different faiths, a different gender, a different skin, a different life.

Every muscle in his body went rigid. Then he rolled toward her, not stopping until she was on her back and he loomed over her. He shoved a muscled thigh between hers, parting them and making room for himself. Then, his eyes as bright as the damned sun, he ducked his head and claimed her lips, devouring her and stoking the flames until she moaned and arched up against him. YES. This was what she wanted, what she needed. It had been soooooo long since any man had touched her. And Nick wasn’t just any man. He was the one who frequented all of her illicit sexual fantasies. She moaned a protest when his lips left hers and trailed kisses across her cheek to her ear. His warm breath sent more sensual shivers through her before he raised his head and stared down at her.

Why would everyone - in both the movie business and the audience - want to avoid the label "marriage"? Marriage was presumably everybody's business. People were either born into one, born outside of one, living in one, living outside of one, trying to woo someone into one, divorced from one, trying to get divorced from one, reading about one, dreaming about one, or just observing one from afar. For most people, it would be the central event - the biggest decision - of their lives. Marriage was the poor man's trip to Paris and the shopgirl's final goal. At the very least, it was a common touchstone. Unlike a fantasy film or a sci-fi adventure, a marriage story didn't have to be explained or defined. Unlike a western or a gangster plot, it didn't have to find a connection to bring a jolt of emotional recognition to an audience. Marriage was out there, free to be used and presented to people who knew what the deal was.

Before starting work on this book, we had to ask ourselves a question what is science fiction? Seemingly simple, but in reality the answer was hard to formulate. This is the definition we settled upon: Science fiction is a member of a group of fictional genres whose narrative drive depends upon events, technologies, societies, etc. that are impossible, unreal, or that are depicted as occurring at some time in the future, the past or in a world of secondary creation. These attributes vary widely in terms of actuality, likelihood, possibility and in the intent with which they are employed by the creator. The fundamental difference between science fiction and the other "fantastical genres" of fantasy and horror is this: the basis for the fiction is one of rationality. The sciences this rationality generates can be speculative, largely erroneous, or even impossible, but explanations are, nevertheless, generated through a materialistic worldview. The supernatural is not invoked.

The alien concept has been expanded to explain isolation as well, with studies of “the black geek” in literature and an array of self-created modalities that infer a discomfort in one’s own skin. In summer 2012, Emory University’s African-American Studies Collective issued a call for papers for their 2013 conference, titled “Alien Bodies: Race, Space, and Sex in the African Diaspora.” Held February 8 and 9, 2013, the conference examined the alien-as-race idea and looked at transformative tools to empower those who are alienated. It explored how “we begin to understand the ways in which race, space and sex configure ‘the alien’ within spaces allegedly ‘beyond’ markers of difference” and asked, “What are some ways in which the ‘alien from within as well as without’ can be overcome, and how do we make them sustainable?” Afrofuturist academics are looking at alien motifs as a progressive framework to examine how those who are alienated adopt modes of resistance and transformation. Stranger

I paused at the top of the spiral staircase, and soaked in the view. In the daylight, the bookstore took on a new life. Motes of dust danced in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. It looked a lot cozier, as the colored glass window ornaments threw rainbows across the bookshelves and pirouetted across the hardwood floors like flecks of dappled sunlight on sand. Bookcases, filled to the brim, reached up to the ceiling, cluttered with so many colors and kinds of books, short and fat, long and wide, that it almost felt like an assault on the senses. The center of the bookstore was open to the second floor, where tall bookshelves towered so high you had to reach them with ladders. Heavy oak beams supported the roof. Planetariums and glass chimes and other ornaments hung from the rafters, catching the morning's golden light and throwing it across the store. The shelves were made from the same deep oak as the ceiling beams and the banisters on the second floor, signs hanging from the eye-level shelves detailing the different sections of the store: MEMOIR, FANTASY, SCI-FI, ROMANCE, SELF-HELP, NATURE, HOW-TO... This place was beautiful. I wondered, briefly, what it would be like to own a place like this. It was magical. A shop that sold the impossible inked onto soft white paper.