Red Lettering

Stories will not be written easily. A story without a heart is dead, and the only place it will get a heart is from the author.

Writing Prompt: 12-19-2014

Origin: “Mosquito Probe,” by Eren Arik. I do not know this artist, nor his other work, so if you decide to look him or it up, I would advice caution.

Feeling inspired? Write something from this prompt! You can leave a response in the comments, or move the prompt to your blog and leave a link in the comments. I’m looking forward to seeing what you write. Have fun, folks!

[I really look forward to being able to read anything you write from this prompt, and I expect to enjoy it very much and for my readers to also enjoy it. That said, please keep everything as clean as it gets because otherwise I will delete the comment or link to your blog.”Only what is good for building up…” If in doubt, ask. My contact information is on the About page.]

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4 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: 12-19-2014

  1. The Mosquito Probe was only a few feet from its ‘unplanned target’. I watched it from the surface and rehearsed my lines. I had to report to central sounding as if the whole thing shocked me. After all, my acting was the only reason I had gone so far in the business; and the farther I went, the more I uncovered. It was becoming harder to hold in those secrets behind an innocent- even apathetic- expression. But here, alone on the surface, I allowed myself the grin of one who was behind the revolution from the start. It wouldn’t be long now.

  2. The return of iPa.

    “Do you think you can get close to it?” Bill asked iPa.
    Ipa nodded. “I am not alive, thus it will not detect me.”
    John reached up to grab iPa’s arm. “I think you’re alive. Normal bots kill people. You don’t.”
    iPa gently brushed his tiny hands off her arm. “Bots do not know I am not a bot. I will be safe.”
    Bill handed her a pack of explosives. “Get close, put this on, and then run. Don’t hang around.”
    iPa took the explosives. “I will do as you say.” Odly enough, she had never felt her programming forcing her to obey Bill. She just did.
    “Good luck.” Bill slapped her on the back.

    After a few hours of running, something that would have taken a human half a day, iPa made it to where the huge robotic probe ripped the ground with laser fire. It was probably looking for fuel. She walked straight toward it, her gears whirring.
    The probe paused and turned toward her. Why had it noticed her?
    She froze and her gears almost stopped completely.
    The probe stared at her, if they could stare. Would it fire?
    iPa’s internal clock only counted two seconds, but it felt longer to iPa. Finally, the probe looked away.
    iPa walked to it as it lumbered across the wrecked landscape. It ignored her as she climbed up its leg and set the explosive charges. She set the timer, then leaped off the probe and ran.
    Behind her, the probe exploded. iPa paused to admire her work. One less probe to worry about.
    The thought kept playing through her circuits. Why had the probe looked at her?

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