copyright Dale Rogerson
If you’re going to connect your robotic theater to the Internet, make the password more creative than shakespeare123. It took me ten minutes to hack it.
My mother told me not to cause trouble. She also told me to create art. You can see my dilemma.
It started small, like making Hamlet declare “To pee or not to pee,” then changing every instance of “cat” to “pig” in a certain musical. To be fair, Pigs was sold out for six months.
They caught me eventually, after I added a techno remix to Phantom. The good news I’m on salary now.
This Friday Fictioneer prompt was an interesting challenge. To me, it said primitive technology in the midst of modernity. So that was the jumping off place for this story. Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for the picture.
copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
The Light of Times Past
“Great job, Shane. Those cybos didn’t have a prayer.”
Shane smiled and nodded. He stowed his blaster rifle, flew home, and threw the main breaker.
That time was precious—that hour he spent daily in the oil lamps’ glow, with not even a single LED breaking the spell.
Shane was proud of his job defending humanity from the cybo attacks.
But still . . .
He missed those days—doing homework and saying prayers by lamplight in that old wooden house, with its blue door and freezing outhouse.
He took out the old German Bible, opened the cracked cover, and began to read.