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#microfiction

71 posts53 participants7 posts today

The evil wizard Unguent Lubricantum sipped his tea and stared off over the vast forrest that surrounded his remote tower.

"Perhaps," he said, "I could cause giant meteors to fall upon Washington D.C., killing all? That would bring chaos to the world's supposed greatest nation."

His chameleon familiar considered this.

"Some might consider that a boon," he noted. "You may be hailed as a savior."

The wizard frowned. "Well that won't work... I don't want people to LIKE me...."

"Bathroom is through the mud room, first door on the right." The team was on the back porch of Jacob's new house for a housewarming party.

"Ok, cool," Reggie disappeared into the house, and came back a few minutes later with a puzzled look. "Jacob, your washing machine looks terrible."

Jacob smiled, "It's just been modded."

Maggie got up, "Ok, show and tell."

The machine's panels had been removed revealing the machine's internals. "This machine gets out of balance very easily. So, I added weights to the underside of the tub. They're attached to tracks that run out from the center and a microcontroller adjusts their positions to keep it balanced."

"Why leave it - skeletal?" Enzo asked.

"Well, the panels got damaged. My first set of tracks couldn't handle the spin cycle."

"And these?" Antonio pointed to several melon-sized holes in the far wall. Everyone looked, and then turned back to Jacob.

"My second set of tracks couldn't handle it, either."

#Microfiction

So only living artists and 10% of other art is real?

Yes.

Why?

Well art gets nicked and copied, but why sell one hot piece to a buyer when you can sell 8 or 9.

Yes.

Then if you destroy the original, it can only be compared to A.N.Other copy, sooo.....

But destroying art is monstrous!

So is poverty and genocide and you work harder to get stolen art back than end either of them.

Neanderthals

The Director pointed at the large screen.

“You say these are Neanderthal markings and that you have decoded them?”

“Correct,” I reply.

“What do they mean?”

“We believe these long scratches are the Neanderthal equivalent of a Gantt chart for planning a project.”

“What about these figures here?” the Director queries.

“We think are Neanderthals. See how those others over there have different shapes and patterns? Our guess is that they represent Cro-Magnon humans. Us, basically.”

“Now, look over here. We see one bigger Neanderthal. This was probably their leader. You can see him talking a lot from those wavy lines. There are many groups of Neanderthal figures along most of the chart. This would represent meetings. After a while, the leader is shown talking out to many groups. We suspect that this is their publicity phase.”

“Quite extensive,” remarks the Director.

“Here, towards the end, you can see them talking to the Cro-Magnons. The groups are surrounded by circles.”

“Thought bubbles?” asks the Director.

“Possibly,” I reply.

“What’s this short scribbly bit at the end?”

“The implementation phase. We don’t think they ever got to it.”

“What happened?”

“Cro-Magnon humans wiped them out.”

The Director laughs.

“It wasn’t a very good plan then, was it? Well, excellent work! We had better organise a meeting to present this to the committee. I’m sure they will be most interested. We’ll probably get a press release out of this!”

“Did you know,” I say to the Director, “Many people have about one or two percent Neanderthal in their genes?”

As they left to share the news, a colleague turns to me and adds, “Some more than others.”

"The locals say never to camp at the #foot of Whispering Hill," John said. Twilight was deepening, and they were, in fact, at the foot of Whispering Hill.

"I'm not going back! Town's an hour's hike behind us!" Lizzy slipped off her backpack & began setting up.

"We could press on to the top," John suggested.

"Or we could ignore superstition."

John grimaced, but followed Lizzy's lead.

In their dreams they heard & followed the hill's whispers--and were never seen again.

“Ugh, I had the high school dream again. This time an assignment was due tomorrow I had to write and record a fucking pop song. I fucking did it, but I feel like i haven’t slept a wink.”

“I’m gonna kill ‘em!”

“Who?”

“The kid next door. The musician. Well, drummer anyway.”

“What are you on about?”

“This year’s techsib grift is psychic language models. Artificial intelligence didn’t pan out but stealing it from sleeping minds works. Won the igNobel prize for lack of ethics”

“What…you mean…I?”

“Yep, you’ve been sleep slopped”

Replied in thread

@VisualInspiration

Sugarplum

The girl looked shocked.

- Why did you kill my puppy, Mister?

- I was no puppy, the man said coldly. It was a robot vaguely shaped liked a dog. It was designed to kill you.

- No! He was my only friend! And you blasted him into pieces.

- Don’t call that thing a 'he'! It wasn’t a person, it was a machine. Anyway, why did you say, 'only friend'? Where are your parents?

- They’re… gone. Dead I mean.

The girl showed a very sad face.

- Let me guess, you found that dog-bot and it looked so cute and you begged your parents to let you keep it in your house. They agreed and the next day, you found them dead. Am I right?

The girl nodded, nearly crying, sobbing.

- That’s the way they work, the man muttered.

- I can’t believe it.

- Listen, the man said, kneeling beside the girl, I live in a community. A big one. There are other children and families. You won’t be alone any more. You’ll find real friends. And – if you want – a real dog.

He stood up and stretched out his hand.

- But we better go now. The robots have infravision and will hunt us down if we hang around here. You wanna come with me?

The girl smiled. And when the man turned to lead the way, it grinned.

#microfiction
#scifi

Replied in thread

#wss366 #Foot 5/12 (Part 7)

“Here it is,” TM said.

Sure enough, hidden in the shadows, a sign read, “The Midnight Hour,” and in smaller print, “Morning regrets are a thing of the future.”

A FOOT-faced woman took their cover. Poe, who saw stranger things in nightmares, thought nothing of it.

“Show me your FEET,” FOOT said.

“Lepie, stop it. Poe’s my friend.” Then to Poe, “Lepie is a wee FOOT fetishist. Put your FEET within a FOOT of her. She’ll lick them. Possibilities, aye?”

Ignoring, Poe pointed at a sign above the bar.

“Freak Out On Thursdays—½ price wells.”

“Cute, ‘F.O.O.T.,’” he said.

Those few who work in the Library of Infinite Books are, in their words, nothing special. They go home at the end of their shifts, they have families, holidays, and all the mundane components of an ordinary life.

What is a puzzle to all is by whom and how they are paid. Pay packets arrive at the Chief Librarian's desk once a week, neatly divided into pay and taxes. The Library's accountant - for not all who work there are librarians - deposits the tax amounts into a bank nearby into whatever tax withholding system the government of the day demands, and the packets are distributed.

Every once in a while, a librarian will one day get the traditional pink slip, a generous severance bonus, and sometimes travel tickets for their family to another land. It is assumed by many that such events occur when an outside force is attempting to co-opt one of the staff, but it has never been proven.

However, should the Chief Librarian dismiss someone, they get nothing beyond that which the laws of the land demand.

They would call themselves ordinary, but hard working. What all the librarians have in common is a drive for the preservation of books. Often times a book will be acquired because it is being banned. A copy will enter the library. Authorities will take it away. And the copy reappears on the shelf - leaving the authorities with their copy to do whatever to.

Occasionally this leads to more dictatorial groups to attempt harm to the library itself. This inevitably results in the library relocating itself before any harm can befall it.

Again how? No one knows. Some might call it 'magic', others 'sufficiently advanced technology'. But the relocation always takes the staff - and their (sometimes extended) families. This may result some hardship, but the librarians never has to worry about the safety of their loved ones.

The blacksmith studied the beak and talons. "Ah, now this," he said, "is fine material! I can fashion a stellar sword from this!"

"I know you can," replied Sven the Paladin, "but... how?"

The blacksmith grinned. "I hit it with my hammer, Lad!"

"Yes... but it's not metal. It's bird beak and talons."

"Not from a bird, Lad. From a named griffon!"

"Yes, but..."

"Look," said the blacksmith, "do you want a magical sword, or not?"

"I... yes!"

"Then don't ask questions."

Okay, I’m declaring defeat on trying to explain to people that “Gravity LED” is not what they should be called. Yes, I know it’s “Just Marketing”, and Phased Graviton Emission Hawking Effect Transistor is damn unwieldy but you might still hear my teeth grinding as you tell people how the “Gee-LED” “Lights” you installed in your roof let you levitate in bed. Also, have fun finding out how hard it is to fuck in microgravity, asshole.

#wss366 5/11 #Tail #Tale

The banner read, “TAILs and Readings.”

Next to the stage was a poster displaying a cat sitting on a tree limb with the same words above its head. A TAIL-like stream of words flowed down the sheet, reading, “Open mic Thursdays 6 to Close. 10% off English pints, 1 pint free to TAIL tellers + Prizes.”

A woman with loose blue hair, wearing a black kimono, climbed onto the stage. From one table, three individuals cheered, “Go Shishi!” They had been availing themselves of the discount from the sound of it.

Shishi took a dramatic pose and began. “My girlfriend wrote this TALE about a prophetic dream I had. ‘The Hall of the Kudan.’” [Image below]

Shishi just finished the line, “I called, ‘Ume!’” before a woman jumped up, waving her arms. “Here, I’m here.” She was definitely going to bother people if she had any more.

When Shishi finished, the audience didn’t know what to make of the story, but they voted her the most dramatic reader of the night.

Full text of what Shishi read is at archiveofourown.org/works/5277