So I recently discovered reddit's writing prompts sub which has provided me a bit of a laugh, but more to the point, it's given me a starting place or an idea to base a story around. And that is the hardest part of writing for me; thinking of an idea that I don't automatically deconstruct as being ridiculous or idiotic or not realistic.
Anyway, the first one of these I have written below. The stories I write will generally be pretty short, about one or two A4 pages written by hand (I write by hand to get away from distractions). As always, I'd appreciate any feedback you have - comments, questions, tips - anything. Let me know in the comments below.
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'The year is 2052, the moon is now a giant Coca-Cola advertisement. Tell the story of a person whose one goal left in life is to destroy this abomination in the sky.'
The Red Moon
There it is. There it is again. AGAIN! Every night that... that abomination, that monstrosity, that insult to humanity,,, is there. Staring back at me. It's enough to make you sick.
If there's one thing that represents everything, everything that's wrong with the state of the world, that's it. Not the garbage island that's just been sold to developers. Not the fact that the stock exchanges are just algorithms owned by the point-1 percent making trades. Not that Africa is still impoverished now, in 2052! That goddamn red moon.
It seems like some sort of joke really. How did we, as a society, allow Coca-Cola to turn the moon - our moon! - into a giant billboard. Well, the same way that any civilisation does something myopic, I guess. People thought that the government had run out of money, that the bureaucrats had maxed out the credit card, and mortgaged the futures of us, our children and grandchildren, and our grandchildren's children. Then Coke offered them a way out - a bailout.
All they wanted in return was the moon. Just that. Just the thing that inspires people to push the limits of what's possible; explorers, scientists, astronomers. And now look at it. Now what does it inspire? Go to your nearest vending machine and consume. Consume so we've got enough money to buy the next planet from the next government.
I should know, I designed it. It was state of the art. Cost a mint. But it's ruined me. At the time I told myself I was just doing my job, but once it was finished - once I saw what I had done - I felt... empty... corrupted. The money I got paid didn't fill the emptiness. Neither did the drugs, or the strip clubs or the sex. And when my wife found out about those habits, well she didn't stay around long.
I was in a hole. A dark depression. Until I had an idea - a dangerous idea. One little spark of inspiration. One singular goal to destroy what I had made.
And that's how it has come to this. Sitting here, at my computer, watching the blinking line at the end of the code I've worked tirelessly to write. It's beautiful. Elegant. It's ready... Am I?
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Exhaling brokenly, John executes the program and moves to the window to watch. He looks at his watch and counts the minutes that pass.
"Should be right... about... now"
On the lunar surface, a field of luminescent mirrors reflect the trademark red and white logo. The actuators controlling them begin to whirr. The mirrors shake back and forth in all directions uncontrollably. Faster and faster. The violence of the motion shatters the concave surfaces. The actuators overheat underneath. One by one, the mirrors begin to break off the stalk-like structure they are attached to. They float slowly along different trajectories towards the silent, meteor-pocked landscape.
John watched on from his study window with tears in his eyes.
"We built you... but we can destroy you," he muttered under his breath, "I think I want a Pepsi".
