Category: Writing Prompts (Page 2 of 30)

“Everyone hates the self-checkout line,” Regina said wearily. “It doesn’t work properly. It’s eliminating jobs. It’s unpaid labor by the customer. We get complaints at least once a week.” She tipped her head, striving for the optimism she’d promised to get herself through one more holiday season shift. “Not every day for a few years now, though.”

“This is a new complaint, boss.” Opal’s eyes were wide. “You know the latest software upgrade?”

“Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose. “The AI one last month? Yeah, we got a bunch of complaints after that, too. Turns out some people actually read the fine print as they’re checking out. Including that guy who covers the camera with a plastic bag every time.”

Opal shrugged and pointed. “Well, that one seems to be learning faster than the others, but the rest might learn from it if they’re networked at all.”

“What?” Regina nudged the CLOSED sign out of the way and began pressing the touchscreen. “What do you mean, this one’s learning faster?”

“That’s the only checkout station we’ve gotten complaints about so far.”

She stopped, UPC book in hand. “Opal, tell me more about these complaints. What exactly happened? Wasn’t this version supposed to eliminate of the whole ‘please rescan your item’ nonsense that everyone hated?”

A heavy sigh from the teen. “That’s what the rep said. But it started off with a lot of errors. You know, telling people they hadn’t put something in the bag, but they had, and making a human clear the error still. And, um, I think a lot of people got really irritated with it.”

“So?”

“So they swore at the machine, and now the AI assistant for self-checkout has learned to cuss. Or at least that one has.”

Regina caught herself and limited the obscenity to mouthing the word.

“It’s mostly ladies who seem offended,” Opal pointed out, tugging on a blue pigtail.

“Right.” She straightened. “Well, the latest study says they’re doing the majority of the grocery shopping still. Let’s turn this machine off. I’ll contact the software guy and get him on this straightaway. One down shouldn’t back up the lines too much.”

Across from the women, a man with a newsboy hat broke into laughter. He bagged his last item and snagged the receipt, still chuckling.

Regina made eye contact and raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t that beat all,” the man said, zipping his leather jacket. “The machine gave as good as it got, eh? Defending itself. And still wished me a good day!”

She winced. “Opal.”

“I know.” Another sigh, the kind only a seventeen-year-old could supply sufficient weight to, the kind that drowned the world in a limpet mine’s worth of sorrow. “Shut them all down.”

***

This week’s fun prompt was from nother Mike: The AI help line for the self checkout worked fine, until it learned to cuss…

Mine went to Becky Jones: He had the personality of an unhappy slug in seawater, but they needed his skills.

Find more, over at MOTE!

“It’s been a long year,” Kevin said. He squeezed her hand, breathing in the mixed scents of melting snow, sticky fir, and burning peat, overlaid by his wife’s citrus soap. “Are you ready?”

Mari let out a prosaic sigh. “Oh, how stereotypical.” She gave him a wry smile, as much as her face allowed these days. “Hard to help it, after all these months.”

“Hey,” he began, and stopped. Twining his fingers with hers, he spun her into his arms and held his wife as tightly as her fragile body would allow.

“Soon,” came her voice, muffled by his suspiciously damp shirt. “Soon.”

“Two more months of treatment,” he vowed. “And then the hunt’s back on full-time.”

A sniffle. “It’s silly, isn’t it?” Fragile fingers rose, clutching a crushed yellow ribbon.

“No, love.” Kevin pulled back and looked into her brimming eyes. “The ribbon’s a symbol. Just like our wedding rings. Things have meaning when you give them meaning.”

“Hope,” Mari said hollowly. Then repeated it, softly, but with more conviction. “Hope. I know the police have given up finding her alive, but the twin bond has never served me wrong. I still think we’ll find her alive.”

“Then we tie the yellow ribbon round the Christmas tree,” he said firmly. “For Hope, because we have hope.”

***
This week’s prompt was from nother Mike: Tie a yellow ribbon round the Christmas tree, it’s been one long year…

Mine went to TA Leederman: The wreath survived, if blacked by fire.

Find more, over at MOTE!

“Dismissed.” Major Stella Jager snapped. She waited for the Class Three Spacer to brace to attention and leave her office — scurrying, as he should. Her tongue-lashing was only the start of Spacer Davos’ problems after getting so scuttled on station that he’d tried to steal one of the lifeboats. He’d waltzed in, trying to explain, as if he’d skipped right over flight safety training rather than what should have been instinct after five years in the service.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen or participated in a single emergency drill since she’d arrived last week. It should have been automatic as soon as she’d gotten to temporary quarters, let alone her permanent apartment. She’d assumed it had been the influx of new personnel overwhelming the system.

Stella turned away from the hatch opening. She took a few precious sections to rub the bridge of her nose and exhale sharply. Given the shenanigans that seemed the norm on Apezel Station’s weekends, the quick reset was the best thing to a break she’d get in the next few hours. Sparing a pang of longing for the homemade soup currently resting in the chiller alongside a glass jar of moldy jam and three packets of sauce from her predecessor, she called up the next file instead. “Send the next pair in, Lieutenant Petra.”

“So,” she began, and blinked. Both of the Spacers were covered in splattered grease, so much so that she could barely discern facial features or rank insignia. The female wore a makeshift sling. The male had a cut over his eyebrow, where the blood had smeared before it coagulated. “Have you been to medical yet?”

“We’re fine, ma’am!” came the chorus.

“I’m going to shorten this and cut you over to medical,” Stella said grimly. “I want the BLUF of what happened first, though.”

The one with the cut moved his lips through the acronym. Slowly.

“Bottom line up front,” hissed the sling.

Stella’s eyebrows were somewhere in the vicinity of the satellite ring above the station. What kind of military establishment had she encountered, to not recognize basic acronyms?

And how in the heavens would they get from this muddled state to be able to fight the war headed straight for the colony they’d sworn to protect?

“Uh, ma’am, the instructions were actually perfectly clear,” the male said. “Just misunderstood.

A quick look at the file said his name was Dean Zachiras. “So what happened, Dean?”

“My fault, ma’am,” came the female’s voice. “Afraid this is my first week on station, and I’m used to the Welder aircraft. The war declaration screwed up assignments and training, so I’m supposed to shadow-train on the Sylph with Dean and make up for it later.”

“You’re not the only one in that position,” Stella said to — Violet Dunham, apparently. “Go on.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t realize the psi it called for in the book was total pressure, not additional pressure.”

“And I’m not familiar with Welders, so I didn’t realize the manual didn’t articulate the difference.” It was Dean’s turn to swallow. “Kaboom, ma’am.”

“Very much kaboom,” Violet agreed. “Not just the Sylph’s tire, but everything nearby enough to get caugh.”

“We’ve got it sorted,” Dean offered. “Replacement tire’s on, the crew chief is inspecting for additional damage, and we’ve even got most of the hangar cleaned up already.”

“Crew chief’s orders.” The sling bobbed, its cloth the cleanest item Violet was wearing.

“Get to medbay.” Stella let out a sigh and followed the two out of her office. “Ell-tee.”

“Station’s not right, ma’am.” Lt Janine Petra studied her with wide eyes. “And all of us newbies aren’t helping figure out where the problems are. Forward deployment seems like less an adventure and more of a sitting duck situation.”

“Mmm.” She leaned against the chiller, then skipped over the memory of lunch. “And we need to make sure we don’t break what does work in the process. I can’t fix stupid, but that’s not the problem.”

“Not with those two,” Janine said. “The one before? Eh.”

Stella straightened and twitched a hand at the junior officer. “Let’s go find this crew chief.”

***

Thanks to AC for the prompt this week about a perfectly clear yet misunderstood problem! Mine went to Parrish Baker – see what she did with assassins avoiding handshakes here. And don’t forget to check out the rest of the MOTE crew!

“All right,” Lena said, and came to a slogging halt in the middle of the swamp, no matter that the water came up to her thighs and she was damned afraid she might be sinking further. “Stop it.”

Matt waved his arms to avoid a collision, which managed to splash swamp water over the rest of the group.

Lena wiped mud from her nose and flicked it toward a curious toad. “Look, we’re all slogging through this mess, wondering what else could go wrong. So let’s stop wondering, and figure it out.”

Ingrid raised a tentative hand, as passive as her pale, shadowy form, then pointed. “Perhaps we could move to that lump of slightly drier land, boss?”

She sighed. “Fine. But we talk as we go.”

As usual, Matt was the first to complain. “We crash landed. Immediate mission kill.”

“But we lived,” Lena countered grimly.

“The transponder’s dead. Cracked beyond repair.”

She grabbed a vine and pulled herself up, then silently congratulated herself for not strangling Matt with the sturdy creeper. She gave him a hand instead. The slug didn’t even notice her unusually tight grip.

“But the ship knows we’re here, and we left sign that we’re alive.”

“Which we had to destroy thanks to the locals who are chasing us anyway,” Ingrid casually offered. The lithe woman made the mud look like an accessory she’d chosen to apply.

Seth followed her, tall and blocky, squelching as mud fell off in clumps. “Including that tentacle thing. Though I’m more worried about the locals not following us in here.”

“We’re still alive,” Lena said through gritted teeth. “So let’s figure out how to stay that way. Start problem solving. They’re waiting for us.”

“I think our training suggested that toad is edible,” Mike said with longing.

She handed him a nutbar. “Let’s save that for when we’re more desperate. Food poisoning isn’t something we can afford right now. And everyone hydrate!”

***

Hmm, how does our team get out of this one? Perhaps it’ll continue next week. Thanks to Leigh for the prompt on what else could go wrong – the most dangerous question!

My prompt went to Becky on desperation. Find the links to everyone’s sites and more, via More Odds Than Ends, the free and open challenge where you, too, can play along. See you next week!

“The Empress bathed in regolith and suffering,” Yolinda stated gravely, waving her hands dramatically. “They say she lived a thousand forevers…”

A scoff. “I don’t think that’s right.” Jagira interrupted her, scowling. “Even the Empress isn’t that old.”

Garrett nodded, emphatic. “Even if she has been in charge for forever. How can you have more than one forever?”

“That seems logical,” Zamett agreed. His face scrunched up and got a little red, like when he was offended. Yesterday, he’d even gotten offended by an offering he felt was meager, despite the woman in silks passing over the exact daily allotment recommended in the Book of Zeuzatt.

“Who’s telling this story?” Yolinda demanded. Then, as footsteps approached — a thump of a cane alongside deliberate pacing, all far too familiar from class — “Shh!”

They huddled on the floor of the closet, shuttering the lantern together, as if the steadily approaching thumps would spark more than a lecture or perhaps a switch for being out of bed.

Perhaps it would, Yolinda thought inanely. Perhaps Zeuzatt would come down from his mountain and embody the guardian caretaker to punish the orphans in his care. Perhaps she would lose her chance to become an acolyte, and be turned out into the streets.

She was the eldest of the group, after all, and Zeuzatt preached that elders should take care of them all. It was why the Empress ruled Olymp, after all; who else but the eldest to protect the holy city?

Her words came in a whisper, even long after the footsteps had passed. “Tomorrow.”

The others took their cue from her tone, and waited only long enough to scatter back to their dormitories, quiet as the mice they spent the day driving from the grain stores. A flash of fingers formed their pod’s sign, and hers formed the lie with reluctance.

In her heart, and deep under the rough linen blanket, Yolinda feared that storytime had ended. And she was not quite certain what might take its place.

***

Thanks to TA Leederman for the prompt this week! I’m in, just under the wire, with: The Empress bathed in regolith and suffering. They say she lived a thousand forevers….

Mine went to AC Young: “I thought you said this thing worked.”

Find more, over at More Odds Than Ends, and join in if you’d like to play along!

“Weather approaching,” Greaves announced over the intercom, startling Izz out of her inventory.

“We’re not near atmosphere.” She frowned, still clenching a brass-colored — well, something, she hadn’t a clue what its original purpose was, although surely it would make a lovely, albeit narrow, vase. Her frown grew deeper, though the edge of panic in her voice was well-hidden from all but the AI she spoke to. “Unless you happened to change course and put us near atmosphere for some reason?”

The AI in question laughed at her. “No. It’s a space storm.”

The wind chimes Izz had hung over the cockpit chimed softly. Loud enough to be heard two compartments away. In the three months she’d been running salvage, they’d only ever chimed during takeoff and landing.

Rastan, that absolute pirate, had told her last month that it was silly to have them inside. Izz had given him the aghar with a flick of her fingers and hadn’t cared how rude she’d been. He was a pirate, after all.

And they were the last memory of her sister, who’d loved the obnoxious, cheerfully noisy things.

A low wind began a faint howl, and the wind chimes sounded more desperately.

Even if it was an annoyingly cheerful warning.

“Shall we change course before we’re trapped?” Greaves asked merrily. “I’ve plotted the optimum way out.”

“Yes, yes,” Izz murmured, and bumped her forehead with the brass vase-thing as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You know, this is the sort of situation that you should change course without asking me.”

“Not after last time,” Greaves muttered darkly.

Izz was fairly certain the subsequent course correction would have been significantly smoother if she’d kept her mouth shut. “Only a sentient ship.”

***

Thanks to Becky for a chance to redeem myself with chimes this week! My prompt on aliens went to Leigh – find more, and play along, over at MOTE!

Chimes rang softly in the breeze. Kaleh laid in the soft grass and smiled, knowing the sound meant his wife was coming to wake him from his impromptu nap.

It was rare enough that a farmer could rest, but with the last of the wheat harvest in, he’d taken a dip in the pond to clear the debris from his bare chest and arms. The stone cabin was close enough to the pond to provide easy fish and water; far enough away the marsh and its mire stayed properly away from harming the humans that lived nearby.

He’d done well, Kaleh thought. Better than he’d hoped. Better than Bella had teased him, as he’d built the stone and wood cabin during their courtship. He’d installed the bells and pipes for her as a decorative touch last midwinter, when she’d mourned the loss of daylight and fretted that the snow wouldn’t melt in time for a proper plowing and harvest.

Bells for his Bella, he’d told her, when the wind blew or the door opened.

It had been worth the coin to the smithy to hear her peal of delighted laughter at the gift, followed by a delightful embrace onto the bearskin rug with a swirl of lemon and vanilla. He was convinced that particular session had resulted in her current condition.

Footsteps approached in the grass, and he smiled and reached a hand blindly toward the sky. If he were very lucky, he could still tug her down into a pile of laughing skirts. They’d have to be more careful, since her time drew quite near indeed. Perhaps he could convince her it would help their firstborn arrive sooner.

Footsteps, slower even than her current pace, and a squelching sound that made him furrow his brows together. The movement hurt, causing a pulsing throb across his right temple. The heavy beat joined the ringing and drove away questions about why lemon and vanilla had somehow been replaced with copper and scorched earth.

Kaleh let his arm fall and found his eyes were covered in sticky, warm goo. He opened them with difficulty.

A man in unfamiliar leather armor stood above him, spear hoisted high. Crimson splattered across his face.

“Bella,” Kaleh mouthed.

***

Thanks for the prompt about chimes, Becky! Sorry about what I did with it. This week was a trade, so make sure to check out what she did with twining moonlight – and don’t forget the rest of the Odd Prompts crew, or that you too can play along!

Selma waited for the children to settle, then smoothed the blanket and met three pairs of waiting eyes. Each were a different height and color, but all shared the same anticipation.

“Once,” she began, and drew out the word until the littles twitched with anticipation. “Once, there was a woman grievously harmed.”

“Wha’ happ’ned?” Elisee lisped.

“Never you mind,” Jared retorted. He jabbed her with a pointy elbow, for all that she was bigger. “Let Grandma Selma tell the story.”

“It does, however, matter.” She drew a deep breath. “But for the present, it’s enough. You are young, and once every few generations is enough to learn before the time comes. Suffice to say, for now. Grievous harm was done, not just to her body, but to her soul.”

She held a finger to her lips – suddenly, dramatically – as questions clamored in their eyes. “To her soul,” she repeated. “The worst loss in this world is innocence, and that day it shattered.”

“Vigilance,” she continued. “Rare would it be that she would trust again, and always a piece held back.”

“Did she seek revenge?” Jenna had been quiet until now – mostly – but her question cut through the night with clarity.

“Not revenge,” Selma answered solemnly. “Dark fire had burnt out the core of her heart. Instead she sought cold retribution.”

Jared scrunched his face. “I thought that was like…the law.”

Selma’s lips curved, but there was no mirth behind the reminder that the child was well on his way to an academic career. “Oh, but this was a different sort of retribution, my good child. This woman lived in the shadows, spending years steering the visible leaders. And once the system was weaponized against them and they had nothing left…”

“Yes?” prompted Elsee. “She killed them?”

“No.” Rising, she smoothed her skirts. Time enough for the real story, the full story of how their little kingdom had come to be. “She let them live, which was worse.”

She walked away from the puzzled children. Shadows slipped across her face as blood had once run down her cheeks.

It was only after she carefully shut the door to the children’s dormitory that she let the memory flicker into life. She let laughter bubble, eyes unfocused, still gleeful after forty years.

***

Thanks to TA Leederman for the prompt: Dark fire had burnt out the core of her heart.

Mine went to AC Young: Fog shrouded the town each Halloween, concealing…

Don’t forget to see what else the Odd Prompts crew came up with this week, over at More Odds Than Ends!

Medina giggled and chased the soccer ball. Again.

Looking up from where he manned the grill, Peter gave a nostalgic smile and rotated a bratwurst. “My younger cousin used to do the same thing. Chase the ball, then sit on it and hide it with her skirts. Until she got up, no one knew where the ball had gone.” He shut the grill’s lid and sniffed appreciatively. “Made it hard to play footie.”

“I think she just wants to make it pop out from underneath her so she can giggle about landing on the grass,” June said dryly. “And chase it.

And oh dear, I’m out of time! Well, two-year old Medina is quite intrigued with that growling pile of compost, but June and Peter are quite alarmed…perhaps it just wants to enjoy a brat as well? Apologies to TA Leederman, whose prompt I did not do justice, but go check out the rest over at MOTE!