Earlier in the blog I posted that I would be interested in writing short stories to hone my craft, and that I felt they would be helpful samples of my writing that readers could enjoy and hopefully share. That idea was placed on the back burner purely for lack of time, but today I had a thought that I would like to implement in order to see how well it works. Starting with tonight's blog posting, I'll be writing a short story "live," simply going point to point, week by week, until the story is done (which could even be in one night, but I doubt it). Then I'll edit it on the blog and everyone can read it and tell me how very, very disappointed they am with my life choices. It's okay, I'm disappointed to. I always thought I was going to grow up to be a space shuttle door gunner.
A Fold in the Rift
A short story by A.C. Harrison
"Aw, shit, this is it," Zeke exclaimed, knocking open the door to his studio apartment, the heavy thing smacking a fresh hole in the wall. That would have to be repaired later, before the landlord found out. Right now all that mattered to Zeke "Two Gun" Saad was getting wired. Stepping into the darkened room, he expertly tossed his empty wallet at the old fashioned light switch, kicking on the single bare bulb that illuminated his tiny abode. He kicked off his shoes and stepped over scattered pizza boxes, his dingy socks somehow leaving the linoleum cleaner as he slid along the floor. Under his arm was a cardboard box, sealed up tight with packaging tape. He set the box on a small end table that abutted a large metal desk that was more like the hatch to a nuclear bunker, then pulled out a dull pen knife, using brute force to slice the tape. Ripping open the box with childhood excitement, he lay eyes on what he had been eagerly working towards for so many months.
Hiding inside the drab exterior of the shipping box was a gleaming case of injection molded plastic decorated in a mottled gray camouflage. Pulling out the plastic container with reverence, Zeke ran a dark skinned hand across the metal placard attached to the front. Engraved on the gleaming black piece were the bold words: TEMPORAL RIFT v2.2.1. Popping the latch on the front of the case, the hinges swung open to expose a padded interior, in the middle of which rested a strange apparatus that seemed to be composed of block shaped goggles, headphones, wire jacks, and coils of leads that ended in two-way sensor pads.
"Worth every fucking penny," Zeke grinned from ear to ear. Setting the gray polymer unit down atop the case it came in, he turned his attention to his desk where his gaming rig sat. It was an alien configuration, devoid of monitor, keyboard, mouse, or speakers. The only thing that vaguely hinted at a functional computer was the flag black aluminum box sitting under the desk proper, a soft blue glow rising and falling from lights embedded inside the box, the cadence of which mimicked relaxed human breathing. Atop the desk was a similar unit to the one he had just received, but smaller and lacking the sheer quantity of connections and wires. Printed on the side of the headband were faded letters that read "Ocul--" before fading out to nothing. On the flat front of the unit was the version number, this unit being the fifth iteration of the venerable unit that started the whole trend in immersion gaming.
Zeke wasted no time in pulling the plug on his old immersion unit and setting up his new model, a task made difficult by the nervous energy which jumped through his twitching limbs and fingers, making him have to take several stabs at securing all the network connections and neural I/O links. When he was done he stepped back and admired his work, the immersion set sitting front and center on his desk, wires trailing off in all directions, black tendrils of information that would soon push his brain directly into a light speed world of battlefield carnage, starship dogfighting, and alien slaying.
"Zeke, you should wait until you're not burned out from a day slinging wetware," Zeke told himself. "Yeah, fuck that."
He plopped his ass down in his black leather recliner, slipped the TEMPORAL over his head, then got his hands over their respective motion tracking fields. A plain black menu floated before him, completely real to his brain. Manipulating his fingers in the air, he tapped the initialization icon that hovered in the top right of his field of view. For a brief moment nothing happened, then all of a sudden Zeke felt a pressure at the back of his head, a low pounding as if he had stumbled and cracked his skull on the floor, only it didn't hurt. A strange, icy sensation slithered down his spine, extending out to his limbs, ending in his fingers and toes. The feeling actually terrified him, but ended before he could even react to the sensation. A strange sparking happened behind his eyes and he thought he could smell smoke, but then all of that passed and he was left alone inside his head.
At first there was only darkness. Then Zeke thought, "Let there be light," and there was light.
"Ho-lee-shiiiiiit," Zeke thought. "Wait until I shove this in Tyrin's face."
I said short story, yes? More to come next week. I'm digging this one.
A.C. Harrison
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter.
A Fold in the Rift
A short story by A.C. Harrison
"Aw, shit, this is it," Zeke exclaimed, knocking open the door to his studio apartment, the heavy thing smacking a fresh hole in the wall. That would have to be repaired later, before the landlord found out. Right now all that mattered to Zeke "Two Gun" Saad was getting wired. Stepping into the darkened room, he expertly tossed his empty wallet at the old fashioned light switch, kicking on the single bare bulb that illuminated his tiny abode. He kicked off his shoes and stepped over scattered pizza boxes, his dingy socks somehow leaving the linoleum cleaner as he slid along the floor. Under his arm was a cardboard box, sealed up tight with packaging tape. He set the box on a small end table that abutted a large metal desk that was more like the hatch to a nuclear bunker, then pulled out a dull pen knife, using brute force to slice the tape. Ripping open the box with childhood excitement, he lay eyes on what he had been eagerly working towards for so many months.
Hiding inside the drab exterior of the shipping box was a gleaming case of injection molded plastic decorated in a mottled gray camouflage. Pulling out the plastic container with reverence, Zeke ran a dark skinned hand across the metal placard attached to the front. Engraved on the gleaming black piece were the bold words: TEMPORAL RIFT v2.2.1. Popping the latch on the front of the case, the hinges swung open to expose a padded interior, in the middle of which rested a strange apparatus that seemed to be composed of block shaped goggles, headphones, wire jacks, and coils of leads that ended in two-way sensor pads.
"Worth every fucking penny," Zeke grinned from ear to ear. Setting the gray polymer unit down atop the case it came in, he turned his attention to his desk where his gaming rig sat. It was an alien configuration, devoid of monitor, keyboard, mouse, or speakers. The only thing that vaguely hinted at a functional computer was the flag black aluminum box sitting under the desk proper, a soft blue glow rising and falling from lights embedded inside the box, the cadence of which mimicked relaxed human breathing. Atop the desk was a similar unit to the one he had just received, but smaller and lacking the sheer quantity of connections and wires. Printed on the side of the headband were faded letters that read "Ocul--" before fading out to nothing. On the flat front of the unit was the version number, this unit being the fifth iteration of the venerable unit that started the whole trend in immersion gaming.
Zeke wasted no time in pulling the plug on his old immersion unit and setting up his new model, a task made difficult by the nervous energy which jumped through his twitching limbs and fingers, making him have to take several stabs at securing all the network connections and neural I/O links. When he was done he stepped back and admired his work, the immersion set sitting front and center on his desk, wires trailing off in all directions, black tendrils of information that would soon push his brain directly into a light speed world of battlefield carnage, starship dogfighting, and alien slaying.
"Zeke, you should wait until you're not burned out from a day slinging wetware," Zeke told himself. "Yeah, fuck that."
He plopped his ass down in his black leather recliner, slipped the TEMPORAL over his head, then got his hands over their respective motion tracking fields. A plain black menu floated before him, completely real to his brain. Manipulating his fingers in the air, he tapped the initialization icon that hovered in the top right of his field of view. For a brief moment nothing happened, then all of a sudden Zeke felt a pressure at the back of his head, a low pounding as if he had stumbled and cracked his skull on the floor, only it didn't hurt. A strange, icy sensation slithered down his spine, extending out to his limbs, ending in his fingers and toes. The feeling actually terrified him, but ended before he could even react to the sensation. A strange sparking happened behind his eyes and he thought he could smell smoke, but then all of that passed and he was left alone inside his head.
At first there was only darkness. Then Zeke thought, "Let there be light," and there was light.
"Ho-lee-shiiiiiit," Zeke thought. "Wait until I shove this in Tyrin's face."
I said short story, yes? More to come next week. I'm digging this one.
A.C. Harrison
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter.
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