Scrapbook - 8/19

And another eight months of silence. Oops. In my defense though, I've barely gone to writers group, since it was almost an hour away until recently. But I've moved again, and it's at a reasonable distance. So, let's check out some more scrapbook tales. Given how much stuff I have to post, I'm just going to date them instead of number them from now on.

Also, I'll be splitting the mini-stories across several posts over a week or so. Some have ongoing themes, others are entirely one-offs.



Theme: unusual speculative scenarios

You are a cyborg. What kind? Describe the experience.

They say the flesh is weak. That the machine is strong. You never quite realize how stark that difference is until your own fist punches through a brick wall like it’s paper. Certainly in a literal sense it’s a true enough sentiment. Limbs of steel are more constant in their performance, will probably last longer, have great capacities for strength and endurance because they don’t get tired.
        The lack of sensation takes getting used to, though. You don’t feel the breeze on your leg hairs, a hug becomes just pressure on your chest. I suppose you could get synth-skin grafts, but those are hard to come by. So you trade the ability to feel in your extremities for unparalleled strength. You know exactly how much you can lift, exactly how fast you can run, exactly how high you can jump. Running the numbers in your head, parkour becomes as easy as walking.
       But the environment can destroy the machine far more readily than it could flesh. Simple rain becomes a threat. You have to lubricate parts yourself, your body doesn’t do it automatically any more. The neural interface might glitch and you lose control. Not much strength to be had if your legs randomly seize up.
       Flesh. Machine. Both are weak. Both are strong. Both are nothing compared to the strength of the mind.