Pixabay image by Brigitte Werner

He fought in battles.
Until lady luck lost.
Broken and battered.
They brought him in.

Fighting for his life.
Body parts to be replaced.
Drugged; then asleep.
His soul tormented.

From the melting furnace.
Liquid metal poured out.
Knitting flesh and metal.
A new dawn of Frankenstien.

The artist uses a scalpel.
The flesh endures pain.
Gears twined with muscles.
Perfection sought after.

The robotic hand, deadly.
Imagine the crushing of skulls.
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde enters.
But Frankenstien rules.

This human was tough.
But now, unstoppable.
Programmed with commands.
This one exceeds beyond.

Before me, he stands.
Polished bronze with gears.
And ripples of muscles.
This perfect bronze warrior.

Into the reality of dreamscape.
A future within a realm.
This vision before me.
Awake, Bronze Gladiator.

By C.E. Pereira
(19-5-2019)

This is written for May Speculative Fiction #Writingprompt hosted by D. Wallace Peach at…

It’s time again! Thank you for this prompt Diana! I’ve decided to let my imagination run freely! Come with me! Let’s open this time capsule together!😉

Written in response to Diana Peach’s prompt: May Speculative Fiction #Writingprompt

Pixabay image by Brigitte Werner

I stroke the blank page in fury. He was an intruder in my dreams after all.
For months he would visit me every night, no days off, or holiday, or any disappointments!
I would open the door for him every time.
The nonsensical segments of a sketch progressively became more refined.
I am creating life from a blank page.
His curls were midnight black.
His shirt was torn apart.
His prominent bones in his shoulders and face, and a thickness to his skin.
His chiseled and rippled muscles across his chest…
He was a dreamy part of my imagination, simultaneously a love and an unreachable man within my…

Hot.  Flames singed at his flesh.

Pain. His arm ached when he tried to cover his eyes, and his side throbbed with constant, stinging pain.

Alfred whimpered and remained lying down.  “Oh God,” he asked, “My God, why did you forget me?”

“Forget who?” asked a voice.

The light in the room changed as an old woman with wild, grey curls sticking from her messy bun pulled a curtain open.  She placed a hand on Alfred’s head, taking the chance to examine him.  She grabbed a pen light and tested his pupils’ dilation.  “Hmph.  That bootup was supposed to be a test.”

Alfred’s rapid heartbeat and breathing slowed.  “Where am I?” he asked.  “I take it I’m not in Hell?”

“Depends on how much and what kind of Hell you believe in.”  She flipped a switch, and the gears behind Alfred slowed.  The hot fire dimmed.  “This is The…

This story is a response to the May Speculative Fiction Prompt by Diane Wallace Peach

It has been a long time since I started feeling this weird thing in me. I am becoming more ruthless. I started feeling less and less empathy for people. I am not sure where this is coming from, how it started, why it started. But it sure freaks me out. Not feeling sad for a kid who fell and hurt was not my thing. Now, this has become my usual reaction. Or rather, I have become reactionless. Heartless.

Sometimes, I still feel some pity for people and whenever I feel this, it makes me happy. But then, I remember the other times when I do not feel this and become unhappy again.

I think about this change in me all the time. Maybe I should not. Maybe I can sit down and just watch a…

Diana Peach May Speculative Fiction #Writingprompt

METAMAN104

It was bad enough that they made him sleep in

bails of hay and have no connection to the outside

world, but the half chest and new arm were

alarming. This hadn’t been part of the deal. He

was desperately trying to hang on to the last breaths

of his former life and it was getting increasingly

difficult by the minute. As he stared down at the gold

plating and began examining the intricacies of his

new arm, he got lost in, thought? He could feel

strange twitches of memories? He concentrated.

These were strange and powerful longings.

He knew somehow these yearnings would

never cease, though his desires were fading.

He remembered a word. Love.

He vaguely remembered, feelings? hurt?

these….

were… important… thought?

passion?  

pain?

name…. Love.

Patricia. Pat ricia.  Pa tri cia, Pa………………h.

©J.E.Goldie May 12, 2019

-Meta (from…