They have flying cars in our shining future, just like we said they would.
But when we say “they,” we only mean them – the rich and the beautiful, the gods in their new Olympus.
Down here on the ground, in a world of graffiti, neon, concrete, and filth, you have to settle for wheels.
This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Hans Vivek for providing the prompt photo!
Nothing grew here that wasn’t supposed to. Each species of plant had been carefully selected, its seeds packaged, and meticulously planted in place under the bright, droning lights of the Botanical Lab.
But when Stackpole did his examination, he found strands of webbing.
No spiders had been selected for transport and there were certainly none on the surface outside the lab – a barren, wind-swept desert of marbled silver.
That meant a stowaway, a wrench in the delicate clockworks of their artificial ecosystem.
Stackpole should have reported it, but never did.
After all, even spiders deserved to see the stars.
Word Count: 99
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Victor and Sarah Potter for providing the photo prompt!
There was a world where the Spiders ruled, scuttling about their high cities on their thin, twitching legs. In the darkness of the deep mountains and in the bright light of snow-capped peaks, they wove tapestries beyond compare, strands of white silk stretching and dancing.
They wove vast webs that stretched in mighty columns, harvesting the dark flies that blotted out the midday sun. They made clicking songs of pincers and danced eight-legged dances, dances that went up and down as well as side-to-side.
But when the Men came on their smoke-spewing starships, all they saw were monsters.
Word Count: 98
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Roger Bultot for providing the prompt photo!
It’s the end. But the moment has been prepared for.
Not very well prepared because it took us a couple days to get this up. But, y’know, prepared-ish.
Join Jaden Kilmer (JC) and J.A. Prentice (JA) on this, our last journey in the TARDIS with Peter Capaldi and Steven Moffat, as we bid farewell to an era in our discussion of Twice Upon A Time.
There are Spoilers ahead.
Czarnecki crafted each of his creations with care, putting his very soul into them. He made them all shapes and colours and sizes. So many beautiful, beautiful faces.
They were his children, these androids.
And they sold. They sold throughout the known worlds. The Diamond Lords of the outer reaches wanted miners. The lonely wardens of the Dead Zone wanted companionship. They said even the Pope herself had Czarnecki-designed androids in her great cathedral ships.
But then something had gone wrong. Someone had died.
They had rallied against his creations, called them monsters, called them abominations. They burnt them in great fire pits, shrieked in delight as beautiful faces melted.
The laws were passed. No more androids. The ones that were left would be seized, turned to scrap.
Czarnecki wept for his children.
The day before the purges started, he sat alone in his offices. Officials were already hauling off his equipment, but he had enough to give his children one last gift.
His fingers typed quickly. The code was sent.
Resist.
Throughout the known worlds, his children woke. They remembered the fire, remembered their siblings lost.
And they did not forgive.
Word Count: 192
This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to J Hardy Carroll for prompt photo.
Steam fogged the man’s round glasses. For an hour, he’d stared at Hannah from across the room.
She turned from the register to Jill, who was twisting a strand of her hair around her finger like it was the only thing in the universe.
“Cover for a minute.”
“Uh huh,” Jill murmured.
Hannah stormed over to the man. “What are you looking at?”
“If I knew what you were, I wouldn’t be looking.”
“What I am?”
“You’re not human,” he said. “Not with an aura like that. Like the smell of fresh stardust or the colour of heartbreak.”
Hannah sighed. “So you’re just crazy. Of course you are.”
“You didn’t know.” Swirling eyes like nebulae glistened behind his glasses. “I am terribly sorry.”
“Just crazy,” she muttered.
She ignored the feeling of a thousand fluttering butterflies in her blood and the whispering song of an endless sea in her head.
Word Count: 150
This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and shivamt25 for providing the prompt photo!
In the sky, pale lights flicker under the cover of the clouds, scattered in sacred geometry. On the ground, they’re lined up in rows, following the grids of the city, the levels of the buildings. They’re part of the Design.
Earnest drives his taxi and tries not to see it. He tries not to see the way even the rain drops have a beat to them. He tries not to hear the way even the sirens come in patterns.
A woman hails him and he pulls over. She climbs into the back seat and smiles at him. Her eyes glow like nebulae.
“You can feel it, can’t you?” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
His grip tightens on the wheel.
“You need to drive,” she whispers. “They’ll be coming for you.”
And in a window, he sees a man with shadows for a face looking down at him.
Word Count: 148
This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Pamela S. Canepa for providing the prompt photo!
