I've mentioned before that I'm lucky, right?
That I get to post these weekly prompts to inspire writers and then I get the boon of the inspiration reading what you write.
This week is no different and as usual I want MORE stories please. No, that's wrong, I want more of each story please. Bo, Narrelle, Hardboiledbaby, Anarion, and The Honeyed Moon, may I kindly request full novels of each of your prompt fills at your earliest convenience thankskbye.
A Taste of Writing Futures Past
Now here they are, tiny snippets of last week's larger tales, or in the case of one, the entire story (which do you think it is)?
There’s a patter of little feet on the floor like light rain on a car roof. I sit down on the floor legs crossed, I wait.
They’re coming. Around the corner they charge, a drumming of little paws on the wood floor accompanied by the sound of tiny mews.
I hand out the treats.
Nobody survives Chrysalis. That is to say, no body does…
…all the best monsters have to be invited in, and all the best monsters are just the heroes of their own stories too, and that’s what we’re truly becoming. The term Human 2.0 was first bandied about on Twitter, but the Science Side of Tumblr stole a march on that with Pan narrans. They borrowed the name from Terry Pratchett. The story-telling ape. And now, today, into the future, Pan narransis telling a new story.
It’s funny, when the doctors put Hutch and me in quarantine together, we could joke about stuff—the stupid yellow gowns, the bad food, the vampire nurses who kept taking our blood. It kept us sane, kept the fear at bay. The two of us together, as always.
There’s nothing funny about the situation now. The fucking plague, now it’s coming for Hutch. Now it’s about survival. He hands me his gun and calmly gets into the wheelchair…
We should’ve never gone that far into unknown territory, should never have landed on that small blue planet.…
…should we warn our leaders that we know the species that is making its way into our territory? That we should fear them, for they are not peaceful as we? We also wonder if it was our interference that turned humans into what they were then? Or maybe what made them want to walk the paths of the Gods too? Will the downfall of our system be on us? On the errors we made as youths?
But the news that arrive are unexpected.
Another linguistic fission occurred and the thoughts were now eight. “I thought I’d lost my heart, but I gave it to you willingly almost the first moment I met you. You smiled at my frustration and brought me noodles. You gave me a job when I felt unmoored. You gave me an anchor to halt my wandering. With you, I have a proper home for the first time in longer than I care to dwell on. You are holding my heart. Will you marry me?”
Without realizing it Kel had begun to cry.
They’re always saying the ravening hordes are always on their way, always, and Amoeba still doesn’t get it. That’s not her real name and she isn’t even the littlest one in their drove but whatever.
Anyways, someone’s always on about ’you’ve got to be tough,’ and ‘only the strong’ll survive’ as if some invasion force is comin’ and whatever-whatever, Amoeba’s heard it all before and doesn’t much listen anymore.
Cause somehow they make it through despite all the fuss, don’t they?
I always recommend that you scarper off to read the rest of each of the stories I quote here. There's more in case you didn't know. Each week I pluck out a bit from every story, the better to entice you. Are you enticed? Then go have a look at last week's prompt They Are Coming and see if you love them like I do.
Then write with us. One sentence, one paragraph, an ode. It's up to you.