dystopian fiction

Dystopian Fiction, Dystopian Life

Pop Lit Fiction

A NEW SHORT STORY ABOUT A.I.

Dystopian fiction has been around a long time– at least since Mary Shelley’s still timely 1818 novel Frankenstein: The Modern Prometheus. The difference between her world and ours is that we now find ourselves living in a full-on dystopia, in which we’re losing the distinction between what’s real and not-real, human and not-human. It’s likely to become worse, as tech moguls and venture capitalists are investing hundreds of billions of dollars in AI companies and AI devices– ever more dreamed-up money-grab gimmicks to separate the gullible from their bucks. After all, the AI wave needs to be monetized. Someone needs to pay for it. That targeted someone being YOU. Us. All of us.

ON THAT happy note we present a new short story about one such company and consumer: “Ghost In the Machine” by Andie Weber. It’s fiction. Sure it is.

We hope you like it!

C. Ryan: Yeah, now I’m speaking your language. And AfterLife is the hottest new word in profits. This isn’t just your average chatbot, it’s bigger, better, and way more lucrative—and with the projections our finance department has put together, I can assure you this money-making snowball isn’t going to stop rolling anytime soon.

Fiction: Writing of the Mind

Pop Lit Fiction

THE LARGEST TOPIC for any writer– the greatest expanse of territory to cover– is the human mind. BUT WE ALSO live in a time with a dystopian vibe. Combine the two elements and you create fearful possibilities for the reader.

Our newest feature story, “Unraveling” by Tianna Grosch, is a plunge into the depths and memories of the mind– at the same time it’s a commentary on the contemporary age, on a kind of soullessness consuming everyone. Writers and artists seek metaphors for what’s happening. Zombies, pods, androids, robots. Loss of affect. Of emotion, depth, mind. What does it mean? Where are we going? Where have we been?

There’s much to be discovered in this thought-provoking tale by a talented young writer.

The doctors’ infinite, empty eyes peered out above crisp white masks. Masks shrouding the remainder of their faces so the crown of heads surrounding him became nothing more than a sea of irises ranging in color and depth, but never in emotion.

Ward_in_the_Hospital_in_Arles
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(Paintings: “Murnau” by Vassily Kandinsky; “Hospital Ward in Arles” by Vincent van Gogh.)