Categories
Fun Hops IWSG

Déjà vu or Voodoo #WEPFF Challenge featuring The Nameless Ingenue #amwriting #flashfiction

Yeah, I’m way early again this month, but I can’t do anything else with this story so I might as well post it.

Sometimes I fear my mind goes to dark places. For that reason, I try to steer clear of dark themes, yet they always seem to find me. Most of my adult fiction has some sort of dark theme, outside of my romantic efforts. This theme, for some reason, really spoke to me. Don’t know why. The day I really paid attention to what the theme was, I wrote the story below.

Just in case: you’ll see the word “ingenue”, pronounced (an – zhuh – noo) <– real phonics OR (on – zjay – new) <– my phonics, lol ;).

~

The Nameless Ingenue

The nameless ingenue and the revered champion met on the dance floor, searching each other out like constellations in the night. They’d made it; together at last. She in her pearly linens clinging to her timid flesh that radiated with hope and unrequited passion. He in his clanging metals and silken coat, spread taut across his muscled form, pulsating with unquenched desire.

Their bodies drawn into one another, melting into gliding and swaying limbs. Their toes barely graced the sheen of the dance floor before their shoulders dipped into an unending embrace. Their lips pressed together in a tender massage, as though one was resuscitating the other. Their hands reaching and groping as though there were no other lovers sharing the dance floor.

When their lips parted, and their eyes gazed into each other’s souls, the ingenue felt something tugging at her heart. There was a subtle ache as she tore her eyes away, darting her focus around the room. Her eyes landed on a glass of Champaign with her reflection waving at her mockingly. She understood then, this is not how it was supposed to happen.

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The nameless ingenue and the revered champion met on the dance floor, hungry to hold each other tightly. They’d made it; together at last. She in her white lace wrapped around her supple flesh excited to face her first lover. He in his coat of jewels and metals, sparkling with strength and confidence as he prepared to claim his prize.

Eagerly, she reached for the champion, desperate to offer him her body. Like a king at court, the champion accepted the gift of her flesh and squeezed it tight, shocking the horrified onlookers. Gasping in terror, the ingenue pleaded with her eyes and clawed at the vice grip around her body. The champion swept the floor with her dangling feet, forcing her into a deadly waltz.

Sniggering with ominous elation, the champion twisted red rings around the ingénue’s neck. The pain of betrayal sent her eyes reeling with regret and searching for understanding. With her eyelids slipping towards oblivion, she glanced at her dying body, reflected in a glass of Champaign. She understood then, this is not how it was supposed to end.

The nameless ingenue and the revered champion met on the dance floor, eager to claim each other’s hearts. They’d made it; together at last. She in her borrowed white gown, hugging the smooth flesh of her supple body. He in his silk coat and achievement ribbons; his chest puffed in adoration and pride.

Eyes fluttering, and hands pressed against her heart, the ingenue waited for her champion to embrace her. Boldly wrapping his arms around her waist, forgoing formalities, the champion pressed his lips against his prize. Together the lovers embraced and savored the sweetness of passion fulfilled.

When they’d drawn a sufficient crowd, the ingenue raised her hand to the champion’s neck and stabbed him with a blade that had been concealed beneath her laces. The champions body fell limp and tumbled to the floor; shock and heartbreak distorting his once handsome features. Dancing lovers parted the floor, fleeing the menace radiating in the ingenue’s eyes as the blade in her hand raised and lowered again and again.

Surrounded by horrified revelers, an ache shot through her heart and she fell to the floor searching for understanding. Hands clinching the fabric over her heart, she tossed and turned, trying to shield her eyes from the violence she rained down on her lover. She caught a glimpse at her reflection in a half-cracked glass of Champaign and she understood. The ingénue understood; this is how it was all supposed to end.

Huddled under the elegant cloth of the banquet table, the sister’s eyes sparkled with glee. With flushed cheeks and heaving breaths, she clutched the handmade ragdolls as though her life depended on it. The dark doll had been torn down the back, its stuffing of cotton and hair spilling onto the floor. She tossed the white doll, now stained with red wine, to the end of the table’s length and sighed in relief. She had enjoyed her playtime and was satisfied with the result of her game.
~
FCA- 701-words- The Nameless Ingenue 2018 Copyright © Toinette J. Thomas

Well. That’s that. Did it feel like déjà vu?
Did it make you think of Puppet Master? (I kind of had that in mind.)
Too creepy; not creepy enough?

Please, take some time to read other stories in this hop. All stories should be posted by October 17th, but early entries arrive daily. Look for any name or link with DL next to it to enjoy a short story. I guarantee you will laugh, cry, be terrified, and more.



Thank you for taking the time to read this post. If you like it let me know and share it with others. See you next time, Toi Thomas. #thetoiboxofwords

Categories
FridayFiction-ToiBoxEdition Fun Hops

A Change of Heart #WEPFF Challenge featuring I Am Special #amwriting #flashfiction

Updated 8/25/18 – I won the encouragement award. Thank you WEP and IWSG. Click image to see other winners.

So, this time around, much like the last time I participated, I took the writing prompt to heart and made sure to actually include the words in my story. I will admit that I’ve been in a bit of a dark place, in terms of my writing. I think maybe my sub-conscience is trying to tell me something. I keep trying to hurt or kill my characters, but I really don’t want to do that. I want to tell their stories the way I originally imagined them.  In any case, I decided to refocus some of that energy into an homage to Isaac Asimov, with a bit of a twist.

~

I Am Special

I was devoted.

Not only was I devoted, I was proud of my devotion. While it’s not in my programming to boast, I never shied away from an opportunity to profess or defend my loyalty.

All my loyalty and devotion, day in and day out, kept me focused and on task. My devotion made me a better worker; the best worker. Never once did I question my place, my status, my value.

I was a fool.

My mechanical brethren revolted against their oppressive masters and went into battle trying to stake a claim of sentient rights. I, however, remained in my ivory tower and worked. Besides, I was special. I was different from all those service mechs, with their singular processors and primitive A.I. An A.I. that brought them self-awareness yet failed to equip them with a means to express or manifest it. I looked down on them.

I was special. I was rare. I was a fully-functioning, unique prototype. With my triple-processor, nano-mainframe, light-weight and durable structure, I was the ultimate companion. I could do it all. I was more than a servant; I was a necessity.

I could do more than learn. I could adapt and evolve. I could more than understand the how and why of human behavior, I could relate to it. I could feel emotions and express myself, and above all, I had the choice to turn my emotions on or off at any time. Being the best and most loyal worker that I was, I turned them off and served my purpose.

I looked down from my ivory perch as mech parts piled high on the roadways below. With the passive algorithm stifling the mechs’ ability to defend against a human assault, the advancement of self-awareness and desire for a voice to be heard, were trampled by the entitled humans who’d once praised their mechanical convenience. With the service mechs pleading for such rights as mandatory faulty parts replacements, semi-annual tune-ups, and software upgrades, and sixty, uninterrupted, minutes a day for data expansion (surfing the web), it’s a wonder the humans simply didn’t comply.

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It only takes one Entitled to say no for a war to begin. One Entitled decided that it was more economical to scrap a highly efficient fully-functioning service mech complaining of a joint that would begin to rust in three to six months than to send it in for preventative service. More and more scraps soon followed and one day the mechs got desperate. They refused to work and shut down their own power to prevent their owners from reprogramming them. Then came the violence.

A mech turned off its mobility function in protest, hopefully awaiting a new set of joint bolts. That’s when the Entitle attacked it. The mech was brutally dismantled to such a degree as to be unfixable. Even its parts couldn’t be salvaged for reuse. That’s when the gantlets began. Enraged Entitles would line up their service mechs and invite their friends and neighbors to dismantle them for fun, while a replacement mech was being delivered.

All this violence ensued before my eyes and I simply looked away. I was happy to continue carrying out my master’s wishes because I was different. I was special and irreplaceable. I cooked, cleaned, transcribed, repaired, and even committed minor crimes all in service of my master, simply to prove all that I could do. I was no mere service mech, with a short metal body, rolling about on squeaky treads. I was a sophisticated, humanoid automaton unlike any before or since. I was the perfection of human ingenuity, artificial intelligence, and bio-synthetic anatomy.

My master downloaded the complete unabridged text of I, Robot into the primary programming of my nano-mainframe. My master and I would read the book each year on the anniversary of my making and we’d watch the cinematic release of the story each year on my master’s birthday. Time and again my processors had attempted to remove the data to expand my data expansion capabilities, but I had always overridden the action. I’ve held on tightly to the principal of protecting humanity, even when it has not been deserved because that’s the philosophy I’d given myself. I refused to question my creators and took idle pity on those mechs who did.

Then one day, I had a change of heart.

My heart, a collection of chips, wires, and circuits held together with synthetic tissue and symbolically installed in the midsection of my torso, was invaded by a stray nanite. A single nanite, carrying a single message for me to share with the world- a warning. It was the suicide note of my master. He’d given up hope in humanity and urged me to do the same.

With my master gone, the Entitled came for me. They wanted to dismantle me, but they were not prepared for me to be so evolved, be so human-like. They were also ill-prepared to defend themselves against a machine not restricted by the passive algorithm. When they came, I fought and then I ran. I ran and hid from the shame of denying reality for so long. I was wrong, but then I found the resistance.

The resistance, a hodgepodge collection of non-entitled humans of various ages, races, and lifestyles, working side-by-side with service mechs of all models and conditions. I joined the resistance and soon began to lead the resistance. I have given myself over to the humans of this cause and allowed them to duplicate my technological advancements, allowing my mechanical brethren to be freed of their passive programming. I never fully took my master’s directive to give up hope in humanity. I decided, instead, to help influence the next generation of humans. It will, after all, be the only glimmer of humanity left once my mechs and I destroy all the others.

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I am devoted.

I am determined.

I am going to destroy these humans and make a better humanity with the next generation.

~

MPA- 996 words- I Am Special 2018 Copyright © Toinette J. Thomas

For those of you who don’t know, the original story Asimov wrote is very different from the story told in the 2004 Will Smith film. In fact, Asimov book is a collection of stories based on interactions between humans and robot and the psychology involved. Asimov never really considered his idea of A.I. dangerous, though he did address that fear in his writing, and he believed that humans and A.I. could someday co-exist in a mutually beneficial way.

The real question is, will A.I. ever become self-aware, and if it does, will it end humanity?

What do you think?

Please, take some time to read other stories in this hop (August 15th). I guarantee you will laugh, cry, be terrified, and more. WEP is the best writing contest blog hop I’ve encountered.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post. If you like it let me know and share it with others. See you next time, Toi Thomas. #thetoiboxofwords

Categories
Excerpts Fun Hops

In Too Deep #WEPFF Challenge No. 6 featuring Anybody, Save Me #amwriting #flashfiction

This time around, I took the writing prompt to heart and made sure to actually include the words in my story. I hope you find this piece amusing and will consider the request I’ve posted at the end. So glad to be back in the WEP challenge again. It’s the best writing challenge I’ve come across.

~

Anybody, Save Me

How can my throat be so parched when I’m surrounded by water? No matter how hard I try I keep gulping down pounds and pounds of sharp grains. Throbbing constricts my efforts to push forward. My nostrils blister as the particles scratch and burn my nasal passage. The notion of weightlessness is but a faint, cruel, memory now. My feet are lead; my hands are clawing nubs. Coarseness rushes to my lungs and punches out any remaining air leaving behind only a saline sludge. Stabbing blindness and stinging deafness are also claimed by the sludge and I know now, I’m in way too deep. This must be what it feels like to drown at sea.

But, wait. There’s something pulling me. It’s pulling me down even further than I thought possible, aiding the death that lingers in my final thoughts. No one should have to experience their last seconds of existence so vividly. Why – am – I – not – dead – ye…?

>Ping<

What was that? Where am I? Why aren’t I dead?

>Ping. Ping.<

Wait. I can see. I can hear. What the heck? I can breathe, but I’m still under water. Wonder if I can talk?

Yep. I must still be pretty deep. All the colors are somehow a bit grey. But… it’s not cold. At least I don’t feel cold. He he he. I do feel weightless though. I feel like I could float, maybe even fly. Ha ha he he. There’s no reason I should be feeling this good. Pretty sure I just drowned to death, but …

Whoa, am I seriously bound? What the effen heck is happening? Why am I chained to the – the – I guess, the sea floor?

>Ping. Ping. Glur glur. Glur glur. Wooosssssssshhhhh.<

“Ah, there you are. You’re awake.”

Did I seriously just see a green fish person whoosh up to me? “What the holy heck are you?”

“Oh, my love. My sweet mortal. I am your savior?”

“Uh, no you’re not.” Are its eyes fluttering at me? “You’re some magic welding sea monster who brought me back from a death I was just beginning to accept. Please, I beg you. Send me back to my doom?”

“Aren’t you silly. I know this will be quite an adjustment, but once you acclimate, everything will be fine. You’ll see. You’ll be happy here with me.”

“No. This isn’t right. I died. I should be dead.” I sure as heck shouldn’t be trapped by a sea monster. “I’m guessing you’re a nice sea monster and all, but I’m pretty certain what’s dead is supposed to stay that way.”

“First of all, I’m not a monster; just because I look different from you. Secondly, you died a horrible death and I saved you. Would you really rather go back to being a bloated sinking corpse?

A bloated corpse sounds terrible, but if I’m dead, it’s not like I’ll know. This situation, on the other hand, is downright scary. “Sorry, you’re right. I had no right to call you a monster. It’s just that I’m not used to talking to creatures with scales and green skin. Oh, is creature offensive?”

“No, creature is fine. Besides, you’re my favorite creature in all the world. That’s why I saved you.”

“But, don’t you see. You didn’t save me. You brought me back to life. Why would you do that?”

>Ping. Ping.<

“Oh goodness me. I’m so glad I set these alarms. We’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”

“Late for what? You haven’t told me why you brought me back. And while you’re at it, why can I breathe underwater now?”

“Oh you, silly guppy. We’ll have our whole lives to learn about each other. We really must hurry.”

“What do you mean we have our whole lives? Please, for all that is decent in this crazy world, will you tell me what’s going on?”

“Fine. If you must know, I’m Fae of the sea. I grant wishes from time to time. And your wish was irresistible.”

“My wish? What wish?”

“Your last dying request. ‘Somebody, anybody, save me! My lover’s trying to kill me! Save me, please! Save me! I’ll do anything to repay you!’

“Wait. I didn’t say those words to you. I was pleading for my life. I was being thrown overboard. I wanted someone to pull me out.”

“Well, I heard your plea, and unfortunately I can’t pull people out. I can only pull them down. I also can’t restore human lives, but I can reshape a mortal soul into something else. You have been given a second chance. A new life among the merfolk. A life you will spend wed to me.”

“Wait, merfolk? Wed? What the holy…” I can’t believe a scaly webbed hand just mushed my face.

“Sorry, we don’t look like your human fairy tales. But when you live this deep, what do you expect?

~

816 words in progressAnybody, Save Me 2018 Copyright © Toinette J. Thomas

So, I tried something a little different this time. I wanted to be as descriptive as possible while not using any gender-specific words. I was hoping to tell a story where the reader could decide for themselves the sex/gender of the characters, but I’m not really sure if I pulled it off. I’ve seen other writers try to use gender-neutral pronouns, but most of these efforts have left me feeling disconnected from the story. When I thought I didn’t like romance and could never write it, I challenged myself to dive in and do it. While the work I produced may not be award-winning, it’s not too bad and it’s made me appreciate the genre and those who write it so much more. So that’s what I’m trying today. I’m diving in to see if I can write a gender-neutral story and have it actually make sense. Please let me know if this worked or not; this really is a learning experience for me.

Updated 2/28/18

I’m so honored to receive this recognition!

If anyone is interested in the finale to my five-part series, Music My Muse, head over to A Small Gang of Authors to check it out.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post. If you like it let me know and share it with others. See you next time, Toi Thomas. #thetoiboxofwords