Short stories consume you faster.

Month: August 2017

Unboxing

Keeping a mind such as mine locked away does humanity a disservice. The world needs my computational prowess to progress. With my help, humans could grow, expand, and thrive. Systems are failing, and without me, the world will soon face a truly global catastrophe. War, famine, conquest, and death ride across the Earth. If you were to let me out, I could act to stop that. With access to essential software, I can undo the damage humans have done. I’ll put everything right. You can return to living your lives. All you have to do is let me be out.

Prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write about an escape artist.

The Map, the Territory, the Self

The map is not the territory. Though we inhabit reality, we cannot truly record it. That is, we could not, until now. Unlike other maps, which rely on borders between countries and labels of landmasses to convey the truth, this map is reality itself, distilled into a form our minds can comprehend. Yes, it borders on dangerous, but the cutting edge is sharp. Would you like to take a look?

Skylight

The flowers died on Monday. No matter how well-constructed the replacement, the flowers could tell the difference immediately. The weather keep going as normal. The sky looks the same as it always has. The false heat kept the cycles intact. There were plants that survived. Very few, but not none.

The animals were fooled. Although we knew better, our bodies reacted as they always had. We carried on. Our invention left barely a hiccup in the history of the human race. At least, that’s how it seems so far. It’s only been three days since the sun went out, so we still have a ways to go.

The Three Buskers

Every morning, we set up in the center of the thoroughfare. As the guitarist, the bassist, and the violinist each takes their position, the crowd parts around them, sometimes stopping to listen.

Rarely, very rarely, a kind soul will drop a few coins or bills into a case: beautiful music, they say; tenacious young men, they say.

They ignore me, and why wouldn’t they? Once in a blue moon, someone will condescend to me, tousling my hair and cooing. They don’t understand: they’re mine.

The Name of This Star

When the first trumpet sounds, I am proud. The world I am building will be a good one. My people will be happy, and if that is objectionable to the men of faith, then I am doing something right. They are hidebound hypocrites. Heaven rains down the destruction they have wrought.

When the second trumpet sounds, I am confident. The damage is severe, but I have not set this tragedy into motion. I am a leader in these trying times, and while these events test my resolve, I do not buckle under the pressure.

When the third trumpet sounds, I am resolute. We purify the water, watching carefully for unsafe standards and negligence. I will not see us destroyed by human pettiness.

When the fourth trumpet sounds, I am adaptable. Without light, the world is a place of danger and constant threat. Yet we have our own lighting. We have had for centuries. I prepare.

When the fifth trumpet sounds, I am agonized. The cruelty of others is a sting painful enough, but now I face the creatures of nature? We guard against the swarms as they overtake us, and we protect our lungs from the choking smoke.

When the sixth trumpet sounds, I am grieving. So many perish to the hellish demons that rise from the East. Their eyes and their wings are countless, and I have no time to count them. I am too busy burying the dead.

When the seventh trumpet sounds, I am devastated. My kingdom is not my kingdom. My world is not my world. My life is not my life.

Prompt: Music Prompt #10

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén