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Literature Text
“So this is the new keyboard you’ve been working on?” said Mr. Barker, head of Asterisk Communications.
Paul nodded enthusiastically. “You can see it’s in the shape of an arch, surrounding the typist…”
“And instead of each letter appearing only once, they appear in several places,” said Miranda. “Making typing much more user friendly.”
Paul pointed out various keys. “It can be used for other languages than English too. There’s é, ů, ç and so on. Everything you need for every language that uses the Latin alphabet.”
He looked up beaming.
“It really is superior to the QWERTY layout in every single way.”
“Well, excellent,” smiled Mr. Barker. “We’ve already got orders coming in from all over the world…”
Paul was slumped over his work station. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe the top row of our keyboard spells out rude words in 47 different languages.”
Miranda sighed. “It’s not all bad.”
“Really?” said Paul.
Miranda shrugged. “We did both manage to type out our resignation letters in under 30 seconds.”
Paul nodded enthusiastically. “You can see it’s in the shape of an arch, surrounding the typist…”
“And instead of each letter appearing only once, they appear in several places,” said Miranda. “Making typing much more user friendly.”
Paul pointed out various keys. “It can be used for other languages than English too. There’s é, ů, ç and so on. Everything you need for every language that uses the Latin alphabet.”
He looked up beaming.
“It really is superior to the QWERTY layout in every single way.”
“Well, excellent,” smiled Mr. Barker. “We’ve already got orders coming in from all over the world…”
Paul was slumped over his work station. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe the top row of our keyboard spells out rude words in 47 different languages.”
Miranda sighed. “It’s not all bad.”
“Really?” said Paul.
Miranda shrugged. “We did both manage to type out our resignation letters in under 30 seconds.”
Literature
Escaping with style
There were no blaring sirens or flashing lights as I dashed down the corridors, but there might as well have been. Data streaming across one side of my goggles told me that I had successfully triggered the alarm when I took the hard drive stack. I knew I had four and a half minutes until the security forces arrived. When I reached the security door I was already sending signals to my devices connected into the system. A crude video relay looped images of the empty corridor into the security camera feeds. The data mining box cut the stream of keyword-laden signals with which it had been scattering the building system’s attention. Grinning at my own ingenuity, I hit the unlock button. How many other thieves would have got in by manipulating the mood of a building’s computer systems? But then, how many other thieves understood the emergent emotional states of high end electronics? This was why I'd been hired. The door failed to hiss open. Frowning, I slapped the button again. Still
Literature
sweaterse
when you've a love
in repose,
all quiets
are woven together.
all worries and
worships and
weathering
kept, cared,
covered.
every summer
warms, every winter
draws closer.
and the silences
sweeter than
heaven.
Literature
FFM 2020: Grow
“Papa, don’t forget to do your injection.” Cara calls from the other room, and tilts her head around the corner of the door, just to check. Her father sees her, and rolls his eyes, his face creasing with old laugh lines. “I won’t forget.” Which is what he always says, but she knows better, and leaves the living room lights on because otherwise he’ll just fall asleep in his chair. “You’re meant to take it on a schedule.” Always the same exchange, every night. But she’s glad for it, because it means he’s still here. He grumbles, but to her surprise he gets up, grimacing with pain as his legs creak beneath him like old wood. Every day, the disease reaches a little further, takes over a little more of him. The medicine helps, but he has to take it regularly or it won’t work. Sometimes Cara wonders if it’s some subconscious thing. Maybe he wants to die. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe, it’s all of those things. She knows plenty of people live for years with the treatment, and manage to have
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172 words.
Written for Flash Fiction Month 2016: Day 9.
The theme today was Mad Experiments. And I used the One Word Prompt: qwerty (noun) - "a standard typewriter or computer keyboard — called also QWERTY keyboard."
*sighs* Never mind. Tomorrow is another day...
Written for Flash Fiction Month 2016: Day 9.
The theme today was Mad Experiments. And I used the One Word Prompt: qwerty (noun) - "a standard typewriter or computer keyboard — called also QWERTY keyboard."
*sighs* Never mind. Tomorrow is another day...
© 2016 - 2024 SCFrankles
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That ending though...
