Short stories consume you faster.

Tag: flash fiction

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.

Spotless Record

Every nascent road trip is incomplete without tourist traps. Tiny title spots found everywhere along the interstates, tourist traps divert attention from the trail ahead. That’s what makes them traps. Every driver may have duties and responsibilities, but a few hours in a haunted hotel or underneath a strange statue would make anyone insouciant.

The king of the roadside attraction is the mystery spot. A strange breed, mystery spots topple the illusory sense of normalcy that daily life warrants. There’s nothing normal at a mystery spot.

Chip hopped off the back of the truck, waving to the driver. The driver gave him a tentative wave, shaking his head. It was harder and harder lately to hitch a ride lately. It was probably his age. When he was in his teens, he came across as bohemian and free-wheeling, and getting a ride was a cinch. Now he seemed eccentric and out-of-touch, and everyone chided him for his choice in lifestyle. Armed with a cassette player, a bowtie, and a Polaroid, he wasn’t exactly average.

Chip walked straight past the shack. Undoubtedly it would offer trinkets and souvenirs, but that wasn’t why he came. He came for the hills. As he walked further, the cries of birds grew louder and louder. There it was. A bird flying straight into the ground, its wings moving backwards. There were a few cars today, testing out the hill’s vaunted magnetic properties. They were always unimpressed until the car started rolling uphill.

Chip couldn’t care less about the cars, or he birds. He was here for something greater. He took out his favorite stone. Uncut and untouched cassiterite, on a band of twine. He put it around his neck. He closed his eyes, and he listened. There was the pulsing. The ebb of flow that the hills could give him access to. He reached out for the nearest tourist with his mind and his stone, and watched him crumple to the ground with a satisfying thump, blood beginning to spill.

Chip whistled as he walked downhill, pocketing the necklace. He loved mystery spots. They had the most fascinating people.

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