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Robots Contest Entry:

She was made with adaptive core, an augmented query engine. She has three different types of access ports, and automatic driver load with universal handshake. When technology advances, she advances. One of her selling points is that she can retool herself and will always be the latest model. The salesman had said in her ability to adapt, she was almost human. Almost human. That seemed to settle the deal. Almost human. Wait until the human that owns her now gets home and sees the simple little nothing she has managed to slip into, understands she has accessed his video library.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

Robots Contest Closed

Hey everyone!

We’ve reached the end of the submission period for the latest contest. I’ve start posting the stories, and I'll be saving the winner for last, as always. A lot of good stories once again, and I’m excited to share them with you all.

We’re still accepting normal story submissions, so please continue sharing your 100-word gems. And if any contest submissions come in now that the deadline is closed, I’ll post them with the other submissions, but they won’t be eligible for sweet, sweet victory.

Thanks for all your contributions!

If anyone has any recommendations for the next contest theme, put them in the comments below.

That is all.

Choices

Robots Contest Entry:

The salesman gently touched the ‘sale completed’ icon.

“Lovely. I have your choices.

Color, size, and finance.

As you know, the ‘AI Whoosh’ will be delivered preloaded with all your personal preferences.

Music, regular routes, and recharging stations.

That just leaves us with your safety level preferences.

Six questions for you to answer, A or B.

Ready?

Your car sensors detect that a child is about to step in front of you.

How do you want your Whoosh to react:

A. Ensuring your own safety; continuing in a straight line?

B. Putting your safety at risk; swerving across the road?”

From Guest Contributor John Holmes

John, based in the North East of England, is a writer of short fiction. Winner of the The Times Short Crime Fiction Story prize. In the last 12 months has appeared in Paragraph Planet, 101 Words, Fragmented Voices, Pen to Print, Glittery Literature, Globe Soup, Drabble, Bag of Bones and Ellipsis Zine. When he’s not writing, he’s out cycling - soaking up new stories.

A Moment In The Sun

He couldn't believe how amazing it felt to be free of the anguish and suffering he'd endured for so long. He fled this hellhole!

On an outcropping he sat, legs dangling over, watching the tiny ripples in the lake below. Looking towards the rising sun, it seemed to have sped up as it moved across the sky, a shadow of some type, nearly black, just behind it.

He watched as they raced above him, sun in the lead with shadow in tow, heading to the far side of the world. Now motionless, the darkness grew until the sun vanished entirely.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Oliver's Army

Oliver was the first to notice.

He was enjoying a day off, determined to spend it in his garden, partly to work in it, partly to relax in a folding chair.

Leaning on a rake he called out to his wife:

“Would you look at that? I have never seen this many together on a single bush.”

She was just as surprised as he was.

"Remember? Last spring we didn’t mow the lawn for a month. Could this have something to do with it?”

Thousands, even millions of butterflies gave a clear forewarning: the new rulers were on the rise. From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

I Overhear My Grandmother In A Dream

I knew about the tarpaper roof torn in the shape of the mountains she had just left, the shape of her youth spent in birthing a dozen children. I did not know she sang only to the sons, who arrived looking like wrinkled old men. When I asked her why she wouldn’t sing to her daughters, I already knew the answer: the girls would just leave her for strangers.

I saved my voice for prayer. The light flinched under the lie, but it was only my shadow. That light came from some distance, she said. You really shouldn’t impede it.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl is a classically trained pianist who writes by ear. Author of several collections of poetry, she has also written a series of novels called Bombay Trilogy; and been published in hundreds of literary journals and anthologies, including a Best of the Net. Look her up on Facebook.

Like In Versailles

"Poplars lining the road, like in Versailles. Not that I've been there. I just imagine that's how it would be."

"Are you sure they're Poplars? Maybe Birch."

"Birch in Versailles?! I don't think so."

"I mean the ones outside. Maybe they're Birch."

"I'd prefer Poplars. Like in Versailles. Though I've never been there."

"If you've never been there, how do you know anything lines the road?"

'I imagine there would be something. It's Versailles, after all. Most likely Poplars."

"I guess you're right."

A silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of the wind in the Aspen.

From Guest Contributor E. O'Neill

All Below Was Sky

All below was sky. No, that isn’t right. You are upside down. The seatbelt keeps you suspended a foot above ground. Blood swells and pounds in your temples, or was it the whiskey? Frank was on the street.

Ejected. He had been thrown fifty feet.

Dead and dusky.

His seersucker shirt plunged a deep v on a chest of ringlets. Oxford buttons pin a lapel dyed crimson. You count the spots on a ladybug as it skitters across. Stripes and six spots. A gnarled oak casts shade on the misshapen corners of a green license plate.

A wailing siren approaches.From Guest Contributor Kyle J. Ames

Kyle is a student of English at Pikes Peak Community College

I Met A Man, A Most Remarkable Man

I met you at a time when the star of you was careening downward. Though in descent, due to illness, your radiance shone in your discussions of the band Rush, the literature of Chesterton, and your absolute love and skill at cooking. You were afraid of being an imposition, not realizing that giving me a chance to help you—during our fateful trip—was my chance to brush against your beauty, your deep, feeling heart. I am selfish; I want more. But I must wait, as your star has again swung into ascension, brightening this world even upon your exit.

For Tony Rome By Keith Hoerner

He’s Not Coming Back

“He’s not coming back, honey.”

“Don’t say that Daddy.”

“Baby, maybe it’s for the best.”

With that, Charlotte wailed and ran out of the living room crying. “You always hated him, didn’t you?”

Robert followed his only daughter into the kitchen. “I hated how he treated you. But he’s your husband.”

“He’s always come back.”

“You mean after he puts you in the ER?

“Not helpful.”

"Perhaps you’re right, he’ll come back. I need to go for a drive and give you some space.” Robert thought it best he get rid of the shovel from the back of his truck.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin