Okay so everyone is writing snippets now! I come with prompts!
The game is simple: Write a snippet and end with a prompt. If you want to join pick any prompt from a prior post or add one of your own.
A few starter Prompts:
- Does your character celebrate a holiday? Write about them doing one of their traditions for it
- What kind of drunk is your character? Sad drunk, flirty drunk, sleepy drunk? Write about your character in a state of inebriation, however that state occurred.
- Show how your character would react to another version of themself. Is it in a dream? Or is medical being fucky?
- Show your character doing mundane housework. Everyone needs a cleaning/chore day. How do they feel about doing it? What do they do to make the job go faster?
My Prompt: Family Heirloom
What is your character’s favorite item they like to carry with them? Why? Write about your character with their item.
KICKING THE HABIT
The electric sound of rain on the window pane thumped rather loudly. Sparrow sat in her cubbyhole of a nest, leaned back against one of the various shelving units that encased her bed. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the old lighter she was given. Or was it that she didn’t want to forget?
The wind outside whistled as she looked out onto the pixelated cityscape, drawing her attention away from the sour gift. She knew it was a façade, the whole window was, that is. Her apartment had no windows or space ports. It was just a plain, blank wall with a piece of glass masking the holograms. Stretching the act and making it all feel more real. She huffed in amusement, watching the dreary streets below as people walked over countless glimmering puddles, the various colorful advertisements illuminating them. Some pedestrians were covered by shaded umbrellas, others has long dark coats with hoods. The saturated neon glare made the lack of details in their models even more noticeable to be honest, rather than contrasting it and drawing attention. She knew they were simply supposed to be ambient silhouettes but she still was struggling to find comfort, having been reminded of the isolation she found herself in.
Sparrow looked back at the lighter, almost with a soft glare. Out of habit or muscle memory she flipped the metal cover open with practiced ease and flicked the flame to life. The room felt like a coffin. It was so quiet compared to the bar or chaos of station halls. Her apartment back at Coda Station was never this quiet. It never tried to lie and perform some illusion with fake windows. No wonder so many corporate lackeys would try their hand at living out in Independent space. Though they’d always leave or die due to it’s alluring dangers. It was depressing here in Corporate Space. At least she had people around that were trustworthy and wouldn’t try to stab her in the back for a pocket full of credits.
The steel grew warmer in her hand as the lighter slowly ate away at its fuel. She peered at the whale etched into the metal
The argument still rang in her ears.
“Why would you deal with them? You know they deal in smuggling folks like me! You know they don’t see us as anything more than tools, Lucus!” Sparrow remembered the terrifying fire in her chest, making her left side crawl with agitation. The betrayal twisted in her gut, making her throat grow tight and her voice high pitched and strained.
Old Man Whittaker simply watched her, a quiet sort of pity in his face. Sparrow hated that look, even to this day.
“Sparrow, you gotta learn this. Sugar gets you more allies than vinegar. We have to stick together against the corporat-”
“So we act no better than the Corpos? By working with jerks who treats Manufactured folk like objects?!” Sparrow hissed, “I’m not stupid. I know it’s because of the lack of funds from the bar. I know you’re desperate but you’re too lazy to actually do something. We could revamp the menu, or repair some damage the walls have had! I don’t know! There’s other ways, Lucus!” She felt stupid for pleading, like a screaming child who didn’t get the candy they wanted. Lucus was stubborn, and an impatient fool as well, but he was more of a father than the monster who made her.
The old man had enough, “Who runs this bar?! Who owns it? Who brought your sorry self in when no one else wanted some mystery Barcoded fake to work for them?! Everyone else is afraid to have you around because who knows- those corporations you hate so much might be looking for their property!”
Sparrow hissed in pain, as she snapped closed the lighter, pitching it onto the metal shelf beside her. She was still sore about his choices, but it was rude to throw away a gift despite it still burning. After all, he had practically dragged her up from a blank slate.
Part of her knew he was right too. That’s why she kept it, she was too stubborn to say it. It was her reminder that the stupid reality she found herself in was a lot more complicated than simple binary rules. Life was a gradient of possibilities and everyone had to be flexible with their morals just to survive.
Sparrow looked out the false window, wishing she could just open it up and cool her burnt hand in some actual, cold, soothing rain. The sink across the room would have to suffice for now.