|
WRITING PROMPTS
Sometimes, when I look at an image, I hear the voice of characters yet imagined, narrative seeds that hint at larger worlds and stories to be discovered. But you don't have to be a writer to enjoy using your imagination. After all, we sci-fi fans are all dreamers at heart. You can follow me on Facebook to get the latest prompts. I usually post a few new ones each week. |
(artist: Lewis Fischer)
|
|
"I set my heavy to standby and dismounted. The signal was coming from inside the ruins. I knew I should wait for backup, but there wasn’t time. Brenley was at least thirty out, and every warlord with a receiver had to be moving on the beacon. We’d gotten lucky; I just happened to be nearby when the transmission started. I had about fifteen minutes—twenty tops—to retrieve the sample and get the hell out of Old Chicago. “Control; Soren. Tell, Brenley I’m going in. If he could hurry his ass up, I’d appreciate it.”
|
(artist: Edvige Faini)
|
|
"Well, Dorothy... Looks like-"
"David! I swear to god... Just shut up, already. We need to find a way back." |
 (artist: Juan Pablo Roldan)
“I always knew I’d crew a starship someday, been an obsession since I was a kid. Used to spend hours—whole days even—up on the observation decks of the docking towers watching the big ones tow in, grav-thrusters only. Yeah… Somehow, I always knew. But I gotta tell ya… Never thought I’d see my own command. There’s my darling out on Slip-54. Beauty, isn't she?”
|
(artist: Juan Pablo Roldan)
|
“I was just about to turn the Five-Six back to base when our heavy picked up a blip ‘bout a half-klick northeast of our position. Sat-feed confirmed hostile movement, so I called it in. Turned out, the Five-Eight was already moving on the location. Control gave us the 'go' to assist. We ran a quick sys-check, pushed the heavy’s sensors to max, and headed out.”
|
(“The Silent Order” by Thibault Girard)
|
“I've protected this world for more than a millennium. Humans. They have no idea how vulnerable they are—what dangers lurk in the other dimensions. It's our fault. My people weakened the barrier. Until they are ready to fend for themselves, we must guard their fragile existence.”
|
 (artist: Clark Huggins)
"Byte was buzzing in my ear—mouth running 120 words per minute—griping as usual. Claimed the only secluded place he could find in proximity of the node was a grimy privy stall in the back of some antiquated diner down the street. “Smells like warm ass in here,” he told me, more than once. I said we could call it—try again tomorrow. “Piss off,” he hissed. “Synaptics are already synced. Feels like a spike in the head every time I jack. I ain’t doing this every day, Cypher, so keep moving.”
|
