@whknott
Tall fellow: "You'd think it would look clean, or shiny, or something after it rains."
Short fellow to the left: "You would."
"I still don't get what it means."
"Neither do I! You know what I hate about civic art installations?"
"That you don't get them?"
"No—"
"That they're too expensive?"
"How much went into... Is it supposed to be a rat? Some kind of statement about urban decay and urban gentrification? You could build a small building from the steel. No, it's not that, or the expense."
"What then?"
The taller fellow finally walks under the titanic structure that straddles main street, then swats liquid off the shoulder of his suit jacket. "It's that the monstrosity drips rust after it rains."
@whknott
The junkyard on Rigel 3 was incredible, but after 20 minutes Jake never imagined that there was so much stuff in once place that he didn’t want, and he was a thief. What he did want was parts for a K8 series Naugum unit. The originals were made on Wolf 359; you couldn’t buy new ones anymore and you couldn’t find parts, that’s why he was here. M27s, Green45s, Laugerts, but no K8s. Then Jake rounded an isle and there it was, a K8 in almost pristine condition; just a few scratches that wouldn’t need restoration, probably discarded by some filthy rich general. He smiled and said, “Oh yeah, time to steal a planet.”
The twins were still behind me, bits of burnt cellocard and carbonized grit swirling between them from the flaming rubble lining the street. Their weapons dangled as they walked, swaying slightly between every heavy footstep. There was no going back.
Ahead, only the tank, crouched on thick tracks, claws dangling from worn pins. Its diesel made the body panels vibrate. It looked down at me.
I held up the switch with the wire running to my backpack.
@whknott
A dark and stormy night. A train on time. A suitcase full of stolen memories. An electronic book with the names of people whose memories must be stolen. A half eaten hamburger. An angry woman to run from. An even angrier cat waiting to be feed. A mountain of bills to pay. An old revolver to reload. A life no one would want. A single step and that life would be over. An opportunity to get out of that life was lost because he was late. Again… #WritingPrompt
How many years? Well, Earth years or Terra-2 years? A lot of either, that's for damn sure. I can tell you how many times I've tried to get off this deceptive mistress of a world: 346. That's right, 346 times. Once a month, when the moons are at perigee. I've tried it 346 times and it hasn't worked yet but I'm not insane. I just have to get the time right on this watch, so I know exactly when to jump, and I'll be able to step right off this rock and onto the closest moon, easy as peas on Sunday.
I am writing to you at Hot Lonely Girls because I saw your profile. The app says we are a 99.9% match. I am an old guy, not rich anymore because I bought one of those new multiverse planets. I own the whole planet! It is so beautiful, like you! Tropical climate, surfing, seafood (you have to catch it and cook it yourself) and no people at all, though there are some amphibians who build huts. Contact Multiverse Real Estate about planet 4064b. We could have a wild time!
@whknott
—The machine's purpose was a complete mystery, to be honest. When we tried to move it, oh, surprise, it turned out to be just the tip of the iceberg. That thing was the size of the mountain it was where we found it. It was the mountain, indeed. The doll, attached to the machine, responded to our actions sticking out its tongue. Very annoying, if you ask me. Every time we tried to do anything, the doll did that. Even when we cut its tongue, another one replaced it… #WritingPrompt
My #visualwritingprompt is on hiatus until Wednesday, December 27th. New prompts will return then. Happy Holidays and my sincere thanks to everyone who participated this year. I feel privileged to have read many fine examples of microfiction thanks to you creative folks, and I look forward to seeing what we create next year.
@whknott Walking through the Arkham County mall, Blackwood was burning for revenge. The holiday shoppers, oh, those servants of the system, those lackeys... they didn't know, they didn't FEEL it. Only he knew the Khurgarak. That otherworldly being, so hallowed, so infinitely wise. They tricked it, captured it, hang it above their mall as a decoration. An elder god! As a trinket! But he was to going to release it, now, just in time for Christmas. Those imbeciles would soon get what they deserve.
Gaemalin gazed at himself in the mirror. He did not recognize the face that looked back at him. The years of intergalactic piracy had stolen his youthful vigor, had made him hard and cold. I decided then and there that that would end today. He would steal away while the crew slept and night shift busied themselves with necessary tasks of running the ship.
Shortly after the midwatch bell chimed, he grabbed the meager bag he had packed and headed for the shuttlepods bay. He knew the bay would be unmanned at this time with no scheduled raids. He rigged the hull energy locks to disengage just long enough for the vacuum to eject the pod nearest the doors. He got into the pod and sealed the door. The locks disengaged and the pod was ejected into space, then the locks reset.
He drifted for countless minutes, hoping the lock action had not alerted the bridge crew. After about an hour he felt safe enough to energize the pod, and headed off to begin his new life.
~fin
Brother Frogus sorted the ancient library crystals. For no particular reason, one attracted his attention and he put it into the visualizer. A haunted face appeared.
Don't be like me. I was once a writer, a poet, and artist. I posted my works to the Omni-net for all to read, hear, and see. I pursued beauty and had many followers. Many contributed praise and gifts that allowed me to live. Then the Omni-lords accused me of deviance and took my works for themselves. And thus, I die.
@whknott
The Bergman PogoGyro XF-3 was the brainchild of inventor Langley Dumm. It promised to be the 21st century's most advanced military vehicle, with the ability to fly like a helicopter, plane, dirigible, and transition to a land personnel carrier, hydrofoil and submarine. A single PogoGyro cost fifty million dollars and had an operational lifetime of 10 seconds. The PogoGyro Project was sponsored by Senator Sam Bergman, who was Dumm's brother-in-law. Senator Bergman was the sole owner of the Bergman Aviation Design Corporation; he had personal intel (with photos) on 63 senators and the president. The second phase of the project escalated costs to 150 million per unit.
@whknott
"That's the ugliest thing I've seen in my life. How can that thing fly?"
Those were Major Tom's (no, not that one) thoughts when he saw the vehicle he'll fly in Mars in 3 years. He must become an expert pilot before the mission begins. He doesn't like the way the training's done now. He need to touch the controls with his hands, not downloading files into his brain. He hates that implant. It makes him see things that aren't there. Like the plane itself, or the base… #WritingPrompt