Fantasy and science fiction are not mere escapism. They are the lifeblood of human storytelling, the mythic mirrors we hold up to reality. Through them, we see truth refracted in ways we’d never accept if stated plainly. The best of these stories—Tolkien’s epics, Bradbury’s warnings, Howard’s savage individualism, and Lovecraft’s existential dread—do more than entertain. They force us to confront who we are.

And yet, modern fantasy and sci-fi are being strangled to death—not by oversight, not by lack of imagination, but by absurdity.

The Power of Myth and the War Against It

Since the dawn of storytelling, we have cloaked truth in legend. The Lord of the Rings wrestles with mortality and the corrupting weight of power. Star Trek used the cosmos to discuss race, war, and human nature. The Twilight Zone stripped away pretense and forced people to see the horror lurking beneath polite society (The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street still hits like a gut punch today).

These stories are necessary. They teach us courage, justice, discipline, and the real cost of evil.

Science fiction, in particular, has functioned as a prophecy machine—warning us of futures we might still avoid. Orwell foresaw our surveillance state. Bradbury predicted our self-imposed intellectual suicide. Even Asimov’s robot ethics are more relevant today than ever.

These stories matter.

And that’s exactly why modern culture is hell-bent on destroying them.

The Plague of Absurdism

Absurdism is the cancer eating fantasy and sci-fi from the inside out. Not absurdity in the artistic sense—not surrealism, not the occasional weird flourish—but the nihilistic poison that says nothing matters, nothing is real, and everything is a joke.

We see it everywhere.

Dungeons & Dragons used to be a crucible of courage, a game of real stakes and hard choices where characters had to earn their legend. Now? It's a theme park ride through a quirky cartoon world where failure is impossible, death is off the table, and actions have no lasting consequences.

The players are bored. They know, deep down, that this is a farce.

It’s not just D&D. It’s modern gaming culture as a whole. Absurdism has drained everything of consequence. The villains are sympathetic, the heroes are unworthy, and the stakes are non-existent. We are drowning in irony, post-irony, and meta-commentary, all of which exist to avoid sincerity—because sincerity is dangerous. Sincerity demands something of you.

And let’s be clear: the death of sincerity is not an accident.

This obsession with absurdity, irony, and "everything is just for fun" is a defense mechanism—a way for the weak to avoid facing the hard truths of life. Because if you admit that fantasy and sci-fi should have weight, then you must also admit that your choices in the real world matter too.

And that terrifies people.

The Game is Worth the Risk

I remember a time when players would stalk their GMs, begging for another session. When we lived and breathed adventure, when missing a game felt like missing a chapter of history. Not because the DM was a literary genius, but because the world had meaning.

People don’t beg for meaningless things.

Now, I hear the same tired complaints: “No one can find time to play anymore.”

Bullshit.

Players make time when the game matters. They show up when the stakes are real. But why would they fight to play in a world where their choices mean nothing?

The new D&D culture—where every character is a god, every fight is balanced, and every villain is just misunderstood—breeds apathy. There is no fear. No danger. No adventure. It’s all cheap, weightless nonsense, a participation trophy in the form of a campaign.

And people wonder why they leave the table empty.

Earn It, or Lose It All

Here’s the hard truth:

Fantasy and sci-fi must be about something. A game must have stakes.

When you strip that away—when you remove danger, fear, and the struggle for meaning—you aren’t left with "a fun, whimsical world." You are left with nothing. A dead husk of what was once a story worth telling.

And that’s exactly why people are leaving these games behind. Because deep down, no one wants to live in a world without meaning.

So let this be a call to arms.

If you are a writer, a storyteller, a game master, or a player—make your world matter.

Raise the stakes. Make death real. Make courage necessary. And for the love of all things sacred, stop rewarding players for nothing.

Because if we keep going down this road—if we let absurdity, irony, and consequence-free storytelling become the norm—then we deserve to lose the myths that once made us great.

And we will lose them.

Because no one fights for something they don’t believe in.

R.

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