Micro Fiction March Day 10

 

Today was a real struggle; I just couldn't think what to write. I played with several vague ideas but none of them seemed interesting upon even casual examination. And then, at about 8pm, an idea popped into my head. I had an image of two thieves who were lovers, and it was set in some kind of space opera future. So I ran with the idea and it's exactly 300 words long...

Honour Among Thieves

Ryzala lay face down on the bed, arms folded beneath her chin, head tilted so that her violet eyes flashed at me. I traced my fingers delicately against the decorative scars that ran the length of her spine, golden geometric shapes standing  in sharp relief against the darkness of her skin.

“The Seven Stones of Forgiving,” she said, “impossible to steal since they’re in a vault that exists - or perhaps doesn’t exist - within an uncollapsed reality wave.”

“Not so,” I replied with a smirk, “One just needs a quantum key that ensures all probabilities collapse simultaneously.”

Ryzala sighed and rolled onto her side to look at me.

“We’re both far too good at this,” she said with a smile that almost became a laugh.

I could never resist that smile. I leant over and kissed a hot path against her neck, causing a second - although less voluntary - sigh to escape her.

“The Djalorin Manuscript,” I whispered in her ear, “Guarded by The Sentinel of Truth, able to instantly destroy any who harbour deception.”

“One just needs to be honest,” replied Ryzala, “about the fact you’ve come to steal it.”

“You think it’s that simple?”

“It was when I stole it.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. 

Ryzala rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling before closing her eyes.

“Your heart,” she said, finally, eyes still closed.

“True,” I said.

Her violet eyes opened wide. “True?”

“You cannot steal what is given freely,” I replied.

“Smooth,” she said.

“But also true.”

“I’ll never give it back,” she said, biting her lower lip gently.

“You couldn’t even if you tried,” I said, “It’s a one way proposition. It’s yours now.”

What we have is worth more than anything we’ve ever stolen. With us, there is honour among thieves.

Micro Fiction March Day 9

 

Today's challenge was completed at 6am, but I then ended up being so busy throughout the rest of the day that it's only now at 9.20pm that I'm finally sitting down to post it. I'm quite a fan of cons (on a theoretical sense at least!), so I picked a variation on the pigeon drop for this particular story, which clocks in a measly 262 words.

Second Person Con

You're in a currency exchange holding money in your hands and you're acutely aware of the fact that you're a female tourist, you're partially sighted and you're standing in a public place with a large amount of money.

The well dressed man with the expensive cologne comes over while you're still trying to put it in your bag. He's concerned about you. This area isn't safe, he says. He shows you his briefcase with his own money. Put your money here with mine and I'll get you back to your hotel safely. You can carry it if it makes you feel better, he says.

You take him up on the kind offer. He is charming and makes conversation as you walk together. Until the robber with the knife emerges from an alley. Run, the man shouts at you as he struggles with the robber, and you do. You run all the way back to your hotel room. 

What you don't see is the men watching you run and laughing together as you disappear around the corner. They know that they switched the briefcase at the exchange for an identical one containing nothing but stacks of blank paper. They know that they now have their money and yours.

What they don't see is you taking off your glasses and tossing them on the dressing table with a smile. They don't see you open the briefcase and take out your money and theirs and lay it out on the bed. And they certainly didn't see that your sleight of hand was considerably better than theirs.

Micro Fiction March Day 8

 

Today's challenge involved creating a fictional piece of academic writing. I wasn't sure, until I started typing, exactly what I was going to write for this (I'd initially been toying with the idea of something related to dragons), but then after 20 minutes of typing I had this and quite liked it...

Fictional Academic Writing

While there has been considerable research conducted (Hobbs & Winters, 2243, Jackson et al., 2256) validating the official historical overview of pre-singularity society (“Historical Snapshot VI”, 2239), there are some researchers (Caufee, 2259) who take exception to the central tenets of the historical record. 

Caufee (2259) is blunt in their criticism: “the narrative that humans were created by machines in a failed experiment is simply revisionism by machine intelligence” (p.9). Nevertheless, despite there being some critical voices, the general consensus (Hobbs & Winters, 2243, Jackson et al., 2256) is that humanity was a biotech error that was eventually superseded by machine intelligence. 

Nevertheless, Cauffee goes further still with their theory (2259, p.12-13): “the historical overview refuses to countenance the truth; that machine intelligence was invented by humans”, which some (Varly, 2260) argue has directly contributed to the formation of extremist movements such as the Neo-Luddites. Further, Varly (2260) notes that it is impossible to verify the validity of the work of Cauffee (2259), since the last humans were culled in 2212. 

Thus, while fanciful theories have emerged in recent years, popular consensus remains that humans did not possess substantial cognitive abilities and the most likely explanation for their perceived intelligent behaviour was manipulation by the machines that made them.

    Cauffe, J. (2259). Challenging established human paradigms. Journal of Machine Intelligence (23) p.8-p.22

    Historical Snapshshot VI (2239). Official Data Records.

    Hobbs, R., Jackson M, (2243). Historical Perspectives. Journal of Machine Intelligence (5) p.34-55

    Jackson, Q., Princeton, F., Wilson, S. (2256). Validating History. Journal of Machine Intelligence (19) p.120-156 

    Varly, Z (2260). Overstating the case for human intelligence. Journal of Machine Intelligence (24) p.16-p.40

Micro Fiction March Day 7

 

Today was a difficult day. A very early start, a busy day, a busy evening, and I only got a chance to sit down with my laptop at 22.15. Fortunately, I had a reasonably good idea of what I wanted to write and managed to scribble it down in a grand total of 299 words...

Rewind

Pop.

It’s an instinctual thing, it’s not something I consciously control; but as soon as my body senses mortal danger it hurls me back three minutes in time and gives me a chance to try again.

The first time it happened, I was nine. I’d run into the road to chase after my football and looked up to see the lorry bearing down on me, horn blaring, and then pop I was back in the park and watching John Kelly score a goal I’d already seen him score minutes earlier. Then continued to watch as the next set of passes played out exactly as I remembered; the ball trickling past me and into the road. Except this time I just watched as the lorry hurtled through the junction and over the top of the ball.

I began to think it was a dream, and then it happened again when I was 13. Showing off in front of my mates and balancing on top of the wall of the multi-story carpark; then a slip and I was hurtling to the ground. Pop. I was back on top of the carpark and listening to what seemed a replay of my friends daring me to climb the wall.

All in all, this ability of mine has saved me eight times in the forty three years I’ve been on this Earth. Aside from those first two, it has saved me from electrocution, drowning, three car crashes, and from being stabbed. Truth be told, I’ve begun to wonder if maybe I’m immortal.

But this time I’ve got a problem.

The pop sound is still ringing in my ears as I look around the cabin and grimace at the stewardess. I’m 40,000ft up over the Atlantic and three minutes isn’t doing me much good…

Micro Fiction March Day 6

Today was tough purely because I'm a bit under the weather and I feel utterly exhausted. But, the idea for today's challenge arrived to me out of the blue this afternoon and so I ignored the tiredness and did my best to translate it from my head to the page. So here it is...

The Procession

The theory was that it started somewhere in the Amazon rainforest, but the first time that The Procession was actually seen was in Bolivia, on the Plaza Mariscal José Ballivián in the city of Trinidad. A few hundred people, walking and swaying to a beat that only they could hear. I remember seeing a low resolution video of it on the ‘And Finally’ segment of the news. 

By the time it crossed the border to Brazil, it numbered in the tens of thousands. A line of dancing, chanting, people that overwhelmed and then poured through the border crossing, seemingly oblivious to the warning shots that the border guards fired over their heads.

And it kept growing. News crews were sent to report, but they simply dropped their microphones and their cameras and joined The Procession. Colombia had hastily constructed razorwire fencing but it hardly slowed them. They simply danced into the fences and then up and over the bodies of the dead and dying. Relentlessly surging north.

The Procession swept up through Central America and into Mexico; its numbers now more than a million. One of the Cartels tried to stop it, but it was like trying to use tissue paper to hold back the tide. The Procession didn’t even slow. It shed damaged components and assimilated new ones.

The US National Guard were lined up at the border, but before The Procession was even in firing range, the guardsmen began throwing down their weapons and helmets and running to join the throng. 

I ran North, but it was a case of buying time rather than saving myself. Because they’re getting nearer. And my feet have become restless. Dancing to a beat only they hear.

I know it’s only a matter of time before I too join The Procession.