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Fun Hops IWSG

Ribbons and Candles #WEPFF Challenge featuring Tilly and The Arbol Tree #amwriting #flashfiction

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Tilly and The Arbol Tree

Lucy was the last Griffin to light the Arbol Tree and that was over a century ago. The Arbol tree has been good to the people of Meiland, with its aquatic borders and intimate population of five distinct tribes, each made of five ancient families. The Arbol Tree glows bright green throughout the year, taking only one night of rest. The light of the Arbol Tree warms and nurtures the soil, alternates and regulates the weather, and produces the Arbol Fruit. The Arbol’s red seeds, green leaves, pink flowers, yellow to orange fruit, and even its violet bark are used in all Meiland meals and because of this, the people remain youthful and spirited until they greet their long sleep.

On the day the Arbol Tree fizzles out and takes up rest, the Meiland people hold a splendid celebration. The Griffins have provided the silk ribbons for the festival for as long as anyone can remember. With infants dressed as round plump fruits, unpromised youth adorned with leaves, mated couples donning pink flowers over their hearts, and revered elders wrapped in violet shrouds, the entire island marches through streets draped with red ribbons and lit candles burning with white flames.

The Griffins had once been the highest respected family of the Textile tribe. When Lucy was given the honor to light the Arbol Tree, she had won over the Council of Favor by presenting each member with hand stitched silk scarves with detailed Arbol Trees embroidered from one end to the other. No matter the style in which the scarves were worn, the Arbol Tree was always front and center. All few remaining Council members from that time still donned their scarves while those who’ve greeted their long sleep have had them sealed in glass and put on display in their memory. Not since Lucy has any Tree Lighter, especially not a Griffin, impressed the Council of Favor as much or had such a lasting legacy.

Tilly, in her mind, was a lot like Lucy. She too was a silk-shaper, the youngest in history to take on the craft in a professional capacity. Unlike Lucy, Tilly did not yet have a grand plan or idea to win over the Council of Favor, but she was determined that she would light the Arbol Tree and restore the Griffin family to a place of honor. Tilly toyed with ideas such as silk hats decorated with Arbol fruits and sashes painted with Arbol flowers, but she knew these were ideas that had been done before by other members of her tribe. No; Tilly needed to come up with something new, something that had never been done before, and something that would depict the Arbol Tree in the best light throughout the year, and hopefully throughout time.

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The day of the Grand Celebration was a busy one. All five tribes gathered to show off their crafts and share meals and entertaining performances before settling down to meet with the Council of Favor just before midnight. Tilly spent most of her day wrapping ribbons around infant’s heads, unpromised’s wrists, mated’s lapels, and elder’s necks. This was the first year she didn’t join the other unpromised in circle dances or street chanting. No; Tilly wouldn’t celebrate too much. She was too busy keeping a close eye on her offering to the Council and storing up the courage to present it to them.

At the gathering of the Council, Tilly sat near the back, not yet ready to reveal her offering. She had not even proclaimed to her tribe she would be making an offering. The Griffins hadn’t presented an offering in twenty years and the Textile tribe had forgotten to present the previous year, too busy and consumed with making and preparing ribbons for the Grand Celebration.

The Planter tribe presented the Council with decorated packages of delicious rainbow grains with preparation instructions included. The Ore tribe brought smiles to the Council member’s faces when they presented ruby lapel pins carved to look like the Arbol seed. Tilly knew it would be difficult to top that. The Construct tribe presented golden door handles shaped like the Arbol Fruit and the Game tribe presented roasted Meiland; the elusive fish for which the island was named. Before the Council could gather to decide who to grant the honor too, Tilly stepped forward, dragging a large bundle behind her. She proclaimed that the Griffins of the Textile tribe would present an offering.

In a flurry, Tilly began to pull strips of silk, satin, lace, and more from her bundle, dancing around the gathered crowd, folding, bending, twisting, and stitching with fervor. The spectacle of the flying fabric and dancing colors delighted the crowd and brought cheery smiles to the faces of the Council members. When at last Tilly had completed her dance, before each member of the Council stood a miniature Arbol Tree with red seeds inlaid at the roots, a violet trunk supporting green leaves, pink flowers, and yellow fruit. Tilly received a standing ovation.

The Head Council Member stepped toward Tilly with a golden candle bearing the white flame and bid her blessings as she faced the Tree. Taking the candle in hand, Tilly approached the Tree and gazed up at its seemingly unending height before stepping through its thick dry branches and disappearing from sight. Moments later, the Arbol was ablaze, crackling and sparkling; slowly fading into an emerald glow.
~
FCA- 904-words- Tilly and The Arbol Tree 2018 Copyright © Toinette J. Thomas

Please visit other entries in this hop and enjoy some funny, scary, touching, and thought-provoking stories. You’ll be so glad you did.



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
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