Day 138 Writing Short Stories And Ruminating About Writing

Bee

The heat blasted against her face as she hunched over her desk. She had a magnifying glass folded over her eyes as she soldered the firing and the tiny chips together. The bee was no bigger than actual bees in nature. That was the point. The robot would carry a sophisticated program within, making it easy to use remotely. She had designed the thing, so that there was no need to steer the bee. Commands were enough.

She leaned back, feeling the beads of sweat gather on her forehead. She used a rag on the table to wipe away the moisture. It was made from synthetic fibers, which didn’t leave dust in the air. Nothing could and would ruin this. This was her chance to break free from her master’s shadow and be recognized as the one who made all the advances in robotics possible.

There came a knock on the door. She threw the rag over the bee skeleton and turned to face the door.

“Yes,” she asked.

“June,” her master said, pushing the door open. Taro’s face looked all twisted and morphed through the magnifying glass.

“Taro,” she bowed her head deeply.

Taro never came to the shop floor. He always stayed at the offices with his designers and tech leaders. They left her to do the actual work.

“How can I help?” she asked and took the glasses off.

Taro looked around curiously, lifting things from her work desk, swirling them in his hand. He was wearing a suit, indicating that he had a meeting with investors or other important people. Taro was always on his way to one social event after another.

“What are you working on?” he asked, gesturing towards the rag.

“Just soldering together microchips. I had to cover them from possible contamination,” June said, knowing well that if Taro hadn’t forgotten how the actual work was done, he would spot her lie.

The man shrugged. “June…”

That was the second time he had used her name. June didn’t like it.

“Yes, Taro?”

“If you are working on something, I need to know. The investors…”

June tuned out, watching his mouth move. It was the same litany he always recited. He needed something to sell, and she had to give it to him.

“We have a faster microchip on its way,” June offered.

“We need more than that.” Taro leaned on her work desk.

They always needed more than that. June glanced at the rag over her bee. They would use it for spying. She had wanted it for research.

Taro followed her gaze, and before June could stop him, he pulled the rag off the bee skeleton. “What’s this?”

When she said nothing, Taro said in a stern voice, “June?”

“It’s a bee with advanced intelligence and cameras attached to it. It can be used to study bee nests or navigate through ecosystems without interference.”

“It flies?”

“Yes,” June swallowed.

“Good, that’s something I can sell.” Taro took a phone out of his pocket and took a picture. He left June alone, bidding her goodbye.

June sank her head into her hands and fought the urge to smash the bee into pieces. It would never be what she had meant it to be. It would be turned into a weapon.

Haunted

He felt like MacArthur. The man was a genius and a lunatic, and he had visited and slept in his childhood bedroom, the house where he had grown up, and spoken to his living relatives. Now he was ready to play him in the upcoming movie.

He felt more like MacArthur, the scientist, as he was dressing into his clothes at the set. Others had said as much, that he was the perfect embodiment of the man. He had learned the speech patterns, the mannerisms.

It was just that it felt like someone was whispering in the back of his mind. They were ushering him to leave this foolishness behind now that they had a body to use. A great one, they seemed to say. We can be one. The voice laughed, and he laughed with it, unsure where it came from.

Aliens

The heat was engulfing the whole house. They had gotten the others out, but there were only she and he left. He had sat by chance next to her at the opera. They had barely spoken during all that time, and now they would die, eaten by the flames. She could hear the sirens wailing, but they wouldn’t get here in time before the fire reached the upper floors. The fire was already loose on the staircase.

He faced the outside world from the Opera balcony with calm. But she could see he didn’t want to die. He didn’t deserve to die. He had given his life for the elderly woman and her cat, helping her out, only to find a beam drop between her and him, trapping him there. She was here because the flames couldn’t touch her, and she had to see that no one died. But he would, if she didn’t tell him who she was and what she could do.

Her kind had existed for centuries alongside humans, having taken human forms, and tried to guide humanity down the right path. They had destroyed their own planet, driven mad by greed and jealousy. The two emotions that seemed to possess humans as well. They needed Earth to survive, humans to survive. Earth was their only chance.

She couldn’t jeopardize it all for him. She should let him die. But she couldn’t. That was the cost of what she and they had become.

“Here,” she said and offered him her hand.

He was confused at first, but then he took it. She showed him who she was and instructed him to follow her out. The fire wouldn’t be able to touch him as long as he was attached to her, but he had to believe her that what she was showing him directly to his brain was the truth. She had to trust him with it all.

The Prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

I’m not sure what to think about today’s prompts. I got them done, but I have a hollow feeling that I could have done better, and I don’t know how. As I wrote them, my thoughts were all over the place. My mind still feels scattered, and I’m happy I could write the prompts and edit my book despite it.

Thank you for reading! I wish you a day full of clarity ❤