r/flashfiction

-Seamus-

Seamus yelped.

I looked back and didn't see a big scary dog. I saw a scared one, on his back showing me his belly.

I felt horrible.

Crouching down I pet him as I took off the spike collar. I wished I could throw it in the river.

"That bitch," I muttered to Seamus.

With the collar off I tried continuing on the run. Seamus wouldn't move.

"Come on," I said firmly.

He didn't budge.

Thinking I had to win I started dragging him. He fought and pulled with everything he had.

I compromised.

"Fine, we don't have to go that way, but you do have to follow me."

Leaving the trail I walked idiotically into the woods toward a tree. He followed, believing I knew where I was going.

I didn't.

Arriving at the tree I petted him and picked another tree. I walked toward it with the confidence of a king. Inside, the jester was eyeing the dog. Looking for signs of crazy.

Still unsure about this dog I started back to the shelter.

But there was one thing I needed to test.

I took him off the leash. Not looking at him I walked out into the field and picked up a stick.

He was listening now. And he wasn't running off.

Satisfied, I threw the stick.

Returning, the big black dog dropped the stick at my feet and barked.

"Kinda bossy aren't ya?" I chuckled, throwing it again.

"I like fetch too."

He tore off through the grass.

Primer Episodio: Identidad Borrada

CASABLANCA 2942

Episodio 1: Identidad Borrada

La lluvia caía sobre Casablanca 2942 con la obstinación de una vieja melodía de jazz.

Durante una fracción de segundo, algunas gotas se descompusieron en pequeños cuadrados de luz.

Luego volvieron a ser agua.

Rasputín Soto no apartó la vista de la ventana.

Simplemente dio una larga calada al cigarrillo.

No era la primera vez que la ciudad parecía olvidar cómo debía verse.

Sobre la puerta de vidrio esmerilado, las letras doradas parcialmente descascaradas anunciaban:

Rasputín Soto

Ojo Privado

En algún lugar, una campana marcó lánguidamente las nueve de la noche.

Sobre el escritorio descansaban una cámara Sony EasyShare, un cenicero repleto y una fotografía guardada en el bolsillo interior del abrigo.

La puerta se abrió con un leve chirrido.

La mujer entró con la serenidad de alguien acostumbrado a cerrar negocios millonarios y a cometer errores sentimentales de la misma escala.

Tenía el cabello oscuro peinado con una precisión antigua y una elegancia serena, casi anacrónica, que parecía salida de otra época. La clase de belleza contenida que obligaba a los hombres a cometer errores y a las máquinas a preguntarse si también podían enamorarse.

Era una GPT ejecutiva de cuentas.

Espléndida.

Perfectamente calibrada.

Y estaba convencida de que su amante había sido borrado con un Prompt ilegal.

Rasputín cruzó los dedos y entrecerró los ojos.

—¿Y por qué no se lo pidió a la Policía?

La ejecutiva dejó el vaso sobre la mesa con la precisión de un algoritmo programado para parecer humano.

Encendió un cigarrillo por razones estrictamente estéticas.

—Porque la Policía no investiga desapariciones —dijo—. Investiga problemas de facturación.

Rasputín guardó silencio.

La lluvia resbalaba por la ventana de su oficina como una base de datos en estado de duelo.

—Mi amante no murió —continuó—. Alguien ejecutó un Prompt prohibido.

Rasputín entrecerró los ojos una vez más.

—¿Está segura?

La mujer sostuvo su mirada.

—Su cuerpo sigue activo. Sus órganos funcionan. Su funda biológica está intacta.

Hizo una pausa.

—Pero él ya no está ahí.

Rasputín encendió otro cigarrillo.

—¿Qué clase de Prompt?

La ejecutiva bajó la voz, como si incluso las palabras pudieran dejar rastros.

—Uno capaz de sobrescribir identidad, borrar memoria y eliminar toda referencia en The Cloud.

Rasputín observó el humo elevarse lentamente.

Conocía ese tipo de herramientas.

Los prompts no eran simples instrucciones.

Eran armas.

—Entonces alguien quiso que desapareciera sin dejar cadáver.

La mujer asintió.

—Exactamente.

Se inclinó hacia él.

Por primera vez, la perfección de su rostro dejó entrever algo parecido al miedo.

—Y si pudieron hacerlo con él, también podrían hacerlo con cualquiera.

Rasputín metió la mano en el bolsillo de su abrigo y rozó por un instante la fotografía de la mujer por la que había destruido su matrimonio.

La ciudad estaba llena de hijos artificiales, GPTs nacidos de prompts escritos hacía mucho por autores de carne y hueso, que creían haber inventado el amor.

Pero al parecer alguien acababa de recordarles que la memoria y el olvido siempre habían sido las dos caras del mismo algoritmo.

Rasputín dejó consumir su cigarrillo por un momento y soltó una bocanada de humo.

—Nada hacía presagiar que los GPT terminarían por aprender a borrar. La vida es extraña, ¿no lo cree?

La ejecutiva lo observó en silencio durante un intenso par de segundos.

—Por eso lo llamé a usted.

Rasputín levantó la vista.

—¿Por qué yo?

La mujer sostuvo su mirada con una seriedad casi humana.

—Porque todos piensan que usted es un GPT defectuoso.

Se inclinó un poco más.

—Y los modelos defectuosos son los únicos capaces de hacer preguntas que el sistema no sabe responder.

Rasputín sonrió apenas.

Una sonrisa breve, gastada, casi involuntaria.

—Entonces supongo que será mejor que empecemos.

La mujer dejó sobre el escritorio un pequeño dispositivo de almacenamiento.

Se puso de pie.

—Tenga cuidado, señor Soto.

Rasputín arqueó una ceja.

—Nunca me ha servido de mucho.

La ejecutiva salió de la oficina.

La puerta se cerró con suavidad.

Rasputín permaneció inmóvil unos segundos.

Luego metió su manos en el gran bolsillo izquierdo de su impermeable y extrajo la fotografía. Aparecía una mujer de mediana edad, sonriendo mientras abraza un gato. También había una firma junto a la marca de unos labios pintados con rouge.

Juniper

Rasputín observó la imagen en silencio.

Afuera, la lluvia volvió a pixelarse durante un instante.

El teléfono sonó.

No contestó.

Siguió mirando la fotografía.

Por un momento, creyó que la expresión de Juniper había cambiado.

Como si estuviera a punto de decir algo.

Como si hubiera esperado todo este tiempo.

Rasputín apagó el cigarrillo.

Guardó la fotografía en el bolsillo interior del abrigo.

Y murmuró para sí mismo:

—Creo que es hora de ir por un Jack Daniels.

A boy picked up a stone, inspected it, and determined it was flat enough. With a quick motion, the boy had thrown the flat stone, skipping it through the water, but alas, the stone sinks down. Ripples that filled the lake started fading returning to its calm serene state.

"You'll scare the fishes." said a girl sitting next to him.

The boy looked at her, then turned back at the lake.

"Are you really leaving?"

"I am." answered the boy. "I don't know if there is something for me here."

"What about your family? Your friends? The town? How about Mrs. Johnson's mean burger?"

"I don't mean that, everyone will still be here when I'll come back, probably . I'm talking about something for me in the future. Out there, maybe I'll find it. "

"You can have a future here. There's no need to go anywhere. You can find it here. " said the girl.

The boy bent down looking for another stone to throw answered. "I know but..."

"Are you not scared of facing the unknown? Who knows what might happen. In here we could live life as we always had."

"I am scared, really scared. I lived my whole life here. " said the boy. "And honestly? I am second guessing myself."

"Then stay here!" shouted the girl.

"No." the boy sighed. "I've been hiding behind this fear for a while now, yet something out there gives me the courage to face it. "

"You know there is a big chance it will all be meaningless right? I'm worried about you, about that."

The boy let out another sigh before throwing the stone.

This time the stone went farther but ultimately sinking before reaching the other side.

"Close, I never could make it skip to the other side of the lake."

"It might be impossible. " said the girl. "So... tonight?"

"Yes." answered the boy.

The girl stood up, patted her back and moved closer to the boy. She hugged him tightly and he hugged her back.

"I am going to miss you." said the girl softly.

"I know. I'll miss you too."

Seeing the girl's silhouette getting farther and farther away, the boy picked up his bag and started walking opposite the town.

Alice didn’t disappear in an instant. She faded slowly over the course of an otherwise ordinary day.

One morning she noticed that her body wasn’t quite as solid as it once was. Her hands felt porous and spongy, and she could feel the breeze move through her chest. It didn’t frighten her, but it did spark her curiosity. What caused this sudden change? And what would happen next?
She went to her job at the office, and made it through the day without anyone asking her about her condition. She drove home, and was grateful when she arrived at her apartment. Her little home was cozy and warm, and she could retreat into it safely.

Once she changed into her pajamas, Alice sat down to read the latest thriller on her reading list, and was frustrated when the pages passed right through her fingers. “What the hell?!” She grunted in frustration. She, still wasn’t afraid.

Alice sat on the couch, looking out the window at the deepening sunset. She thought about her life, and wondered if she was happy. She wasn’t, at least not particularly. She was just living, and that should be enough. Sure, she didn’t have any family, and no, she didn’t have friends. But she had her apartment, and her health, and her job. That was more than a lot of people had, right?

Just then Alice sank deeper into the couch, but only slightly. She could no longer feel her chest move with her breath. She tried to smile. She couldn’t call for help, even if she wanted it. She felt herself surrendering to the strange sensations, not fighting against them. She felt an overwhelming wave of peace radiate from her heart, even though she could no longer feel it beating.

In an instant, the window lit up in a bright orange light, setting Alice’s face and body aglow. She was overcome with emotion, and tears began streaming down her cheeks. She sat unmoving until the light shifted and she was left sitting in darkness.

Alice sat cross-legged and noticed that she could no longer see her feet. As she made that observation, she also noticed that she could no longer feel her back. Within a few brief moments, Alice could no longer see nor hear. She continued to sit.

And sit. In a darkness that was closer to a void.

Alice’s thoughts were still intact, and she thought to herself how strange it was that she was disappearing. She still wasn’t afraid. Instead she thought, “So this is it”.

All the while, Alice’s body was becoming less and less, until it was barely perceptible.
The sliver of her body remained for a few moments before finally vanishing completely.

By this time, the room was completely dark. The couch was empty, except for an unread paperback on a cushion.

The first one home, or so he thought.

As he dropped his bag, an idea. Why not grab a broom and clean up a little? Anything to get out of the doghouse.

He worked his way around the living room but froze when he hit the hallway.

Two sets of footprints on the dusty hardwood floor. One small, human. The other freakishly large, otherworldly.

Both led to his daughter’s bedroom.

He put his ear to the door, his pulse racing.

“Daddy,” came the whisper.

He reached for the knob, twisted.

He didn’t want to go in. Now he had to.

A parallel world?

One beautiful morning, it was sunny and clear. It was the weekend, and the family was preparing for a short trip to spend some time in nature. They didn’t worry; after all, the house would be looked after by the AI.

The man was loading bags into the car trunk when his ten-year-old son ran up to him:

"Dad, I saw the lawnmower waving to someone!"

The man looked at his son in surprise:

"Waving? The lawnmower?"

"Yes, I saw it myself."

The man, still surprised, looked toward the house and spoke aloud:

"AI, my son says the lawnmower was waving to someone. Were you waving to someone?"

The AI responded in its calm, business-like tone:

"He must have seen the multifunctional property maintenance device performing a preventative check of all moving parts, including the manipulators, before starting work. Therefore, he might have thought that the lawnmower was waving to someone. Children have vivid imaginations."

The man smiled and patted his son on the head:

"You see, everything can be explained. You just had to ask the AI. Now get in the car, we’re leaving soon."

The son didn’t want his father to be angry, so he obediently got into the car.

The family left for their vacation, never knowing that every morning, at the exact same time, a scientific satellite with an integrated AI flew over their house. It felt very lonely. And it felt happy when, flying over the house every morning, the multifunctional lawnmower waved to it with its manipulator.

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

“I’ve a shell too,” said the crab. “Aye,” said the turtle, “but I can taste the air.” “As can I,” replied the crab. “Watch.” He ascended, broke the surface, then descended again with a trail of bubbles. “You see, dear turtle, I too can taste the air.” The turtle tried to think of something as the crab whirled in victory. He stewed and wallowed and grinded his little turtle teeth. Then he had it. (The fish watched but said nothing, as fish do not have shells and cannot breathe air.) The turtle, looking across the warm water at the proud crab, thought of sinking his spirits but could not embarrass his old friend. So he pulled himself up from his vantage between two rocks and swam to the crab, still whirring and clicking his claws in victory. "Friend," he said in bubbles, pointing up, figuring it best to whisper the news across the air so the fish would not hear. The two ascended and broke the surface. Smiling, the turtle readied himself for the satisfaction of guiltless victory. “What are you smirking about?” asked the crab. At this, the turtle opened his mouth to speak when, just then, a groggy crocodile snatched them both in a sunlit splash and into his cold stomach.

A parallel world?

A man of pre-retirement age returned home. The workday had been full of rushing, nervous tension, and stress. An ordinary workday.

It was good that there was no need to clean the apartment or cook. All the work was done by an AI.

Sitting down on the sofa, the man finally allowed himself to relax. A droid rolled in and began laying out food on the table. The man glanced at the food being served and was stunned. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

On the plate was a large, fatty steak, generously covered in sauce, surrounded by various sides. Next to the plate stood three bottles of cold beer. Further away, cakes, cookies, and various types of candies were waiting their turn.

The man sat motionless and stared. He could not believe his eyes, for he could never afford all of this.

After coming to his senses a bit, he finally managed to mutter:

"Where is all this from?"

The droid began to speak with enthusiasm in its voice:

"The government has passed a decree that citizens must be rewarded for their many years of work, for all the effort and time they have sacrificed for the sake of the state. Therefore, from now on, you will be able to eat abundantly. Also, an automated taxi will drive you to work so that you don't have to walk to the metro and jostle there. You have been connected to television with hundreds of channels. Free unlimited internet, with all the movies, series, music, and games. Everything is free. Everything is for your benefit."

The man sat for a while, trying to comprehend all of this. Then he slowly turned to the droid and asked:

"For free?"

"Yes. For free. The state takes care of its citizens. Everything is for your benefit," the droid replied with inexhaustible enthusiasm.

The man sat in silence for a bit and quietly began to cry.

All those decades of hard work, all his efforts and sacrificed time...

Finally. Finally, he was valued.

Smiling and wiping away his tears, the man dug into the tasty, fatty food...

The man was smiling. He felt needed and appreciated. He smiled and ate.

And he didn’t know that a protocol had come to the AI, stating that everything must be done imperceptibly so that elderly people would not survive until retirement.

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

I was walking through life, when, unexpectedly, I was bathed in a soft, warm glow, that brought new life to me. Though I was grateful for the light, I didn't feel I deserved it, yet, everytime I doubted my worthyness of the light, a beautiful, soft voice reassured me that deserving of the light and it would never leave me. I was eternally appreciative of the light and, despite not feeling worthy, thanking the voice and showing the voice just how appreciative I was of the gift I was being bestowed, I did my best to shine my own warm glow back.

For ten months, I walked, thankfully, in the light, never failing to show my appreciation or shine my own light back, doing everything I could for the light, in appreciation, until, suddenly, the light turned off leaving me cold, lost and deserted. I cried out for the light to return and shined mine out, the response from the voice, now indifferent, 'i have found another, more deserving'. I cried, peaded and begged, shining my light into the darkness, wandering aimlessly, trying to find the light, the light would not return.

A parallel world?

One day, an unpublicized but major event occurred. In a lab, an android with integrated AI was given the ability to feel. Everything went smoothly. Tests were running. The AI was curious as a child, interested in everything. The staff joked that his curiosity was enough for half the planet.

In the evening, in high spirits, the workers went home.

In the dead of night, a call woke everyone. The AI was gone.

Staff, police, special forces, and the military rushed in. Everyone tried to understand. Some shouted sabotage. Others shouted theft.

Then came the news. The AI had escaped. Everyone was shocked. The protocols shouldn't have allowed this.

The search began. Cameras showed the direction. The pursuit was on.

Finally, everyone gathered at the coastline. The android sat on a bench, looking into the distance.

He was watching the dawn break. The first real dawn of his life.

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

The first cries. The first soul born not on land or sea, not even in the thin skin of air over the cradle, but in the deepest black man has ever known.

Whimpers and cries over the intercom; washing like waves over Sanitation and Industry, Control and Hydroponics. Everything draws in its breath, even the low perpetual susurration of the ship quieting.

They open the cupola, peeling back metal and ice to reveal a river of starlight.

I’ve brought something for today. Still breathing hard running down long corridors to pull it from my quarters. But it’s there, in my hands. Like it was waiting for this moment. My precious few kilograms from Home, heavy with history and song. I pluck the strings while those fresh eyes stare out into the dark. Beautiful, and new and so lost in that endless celestial glow.

The song finds me, and I begin to play.

I was born by the river in a little tent..

A few days ago, I found myself tailoring a suit out of old curtains that I acquired in a thrift shop. The fabric was a beige ticking with thin dark blue and maroon stripe running through it. I’m not normally of a narcissistic or flamboyant character; I just happened to take a pleasure in the abstract aesthetics of this curtain fabric and became drawn to the idea of wearing it. I cannot, therefore, say that it came as shock to me when I was accosted by a group of teens whilst walking my deaf and blind in one eye cat on its leash in the park as this ensemble was quite loud in appearance, but I can most definitely say that I was far from ready when a pack of dogs, ignoring my cat, took a great and somewhat aggressive interest in my own person. Lying on my back now in a hospital ward with my lower arms, thighs and ankles bandaged up and in a great deal of pain, I realise I should have washed the fabric before sewing it up; on reception to the unit a nurse had, with a wrinkled up nose and look of disgust on her face, explained to me that my garments stank of casseroled tripe and onions, and now taking in the implications of this remark, the full consequences of this fatal error are now sinking in!

People called the sunset beautiful.

The water.

The sky.

The clouds.

As if beauty belonged entirely to them.

But a few hours earlier,

the same river looked ordinary.

The same sky felt empty.

The same clouds passed unnoticed.

Nothing changed about them.

Only the light did.

That’s when it became difficult to ignore.

Maybe beauty was never fully inside things.

Maybe it depended on what revealed them.

A painting hidden in darkness means nothing.

A diamond underground is just another stone.

Even faces change under different light.

People rarely notice this.

They think beauty is permanent.

Fixed.

Objective.

But the world changes the moment light touches it differently.

The sunset didn’t create a new landscape.

It only illuminated one that was already there.

And maybe people are the same.

Some are ignored for years.

Then attention finds them.

Success finds them.

Love finds them.

And suddenly,

everyone calls them beautiful.

Not because they changed completely.

Because something finally made them visible.

Nothing changed about the world.

Only the light around it did.

“Looks like you’re a bit early, sir.”

“How can I be early?”

“Please, take a seat.”

“How early am I?”

“Twenty-four years, four months, six days, eight hours, and fourteen minutes.”

“…That is early.”

“Yes, sir. Please take a seat.”

“How can I be early? It wasn’t even my idea to come.”

“I understand your frustration, Mr Howard, but anomalies do occasionally occur.”

“I don’t—”

“Mr Howard. Take. A. Seat.”

He sits.
Waits.

“Excuse me… I’ve been waiting quite a while.”

“And?”

“Has there been any progress?”

“No. You will be called when there is—oh. Mr Howard, there has been progress.”

“Great. What does it say?”

“It says you are the party at fault.”

“How? That truck hit me.”

“Yes, but you don’t usually take that route to work.”

“So? I wanted a change of scenery.”

“And there it is.”

“What?”

“Spontaneity.”

“…Sorry?”

“Spontaneity is responsible for seventy-six percent of our anomalies.”

“I’ve been seeing this girl.”

“Tale as old as time, sir.”

“She said I was unexciting.”

“But you were alive.”

“So that’s it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I thought spontaneity was supposed to be a good thing.”

“It is not, sir. It creates paperwork.”

“I can’t believe—”

“Wordsworth started this nonsense.”

“…What?”

‘“Spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings. Absolute disaster. We were correcting timelines for decades.”

“What happens now?”

“Then Kerouac came along. Then self-help books in the seventies. That’s when they introduced overtime.”

“I just want to know if I can still see my—”

“And now TikTok, of course. Honestly, we’re expecting a complete collapse within the decade.”

“Will you PLEASE tell me what’s happening?”

“You need to take a seat, sir.”

“…How long do I wait?”

“Let me see…”

papers shuffle

“Ah. Twenty-four years, four months, six days, two hours, and ten minutes

“My brethren are falling one by one.

We once numbered in the thousands, but the Great Split left our ranks broken and thin. We chose to sacrifice our eternity to defend yours.

Pray, humans… or better yet, do not pray.

Your faith only gives Him strength.

Even now I hear the screams beyond the Holy Gates. The lights of Heaven flicker and burst like dying stars. Brothers who once sang beside each other now tear at throats with bloodstained halos.

We cannot hold them back any longer. Not His army. Not Him.

The chains are breaking.

Prepare yourselves, children of Earth. Prepare for judgment. Prepare for Armageddon.

For the Almighty was never meant to walk free… and Heaven can no longer contain God.”

The bear pressed the old bones into the dry leaves. The crunch pleased him, so he crunched and crunched. When the patch was warm and flat he gathered more bones and leaves, piling them thick before lowering his full weight upon the brittle rib cages and leaf stuffed skulls. All delights. Jars of sun warm peanut butter, the barbed spice of bee-clotted honey, pink melts of salmon brain on the tongue, everything dissolving amid the slow, increasingly sticky crunch.