Monday, March 21, 2016


The Writing Prompt for today is:   Droidnoir

Droidnoir 1.0 (apologies upfront for the crappy formatting, the Blogger app sucks, thank you Google. I will fix this later.)

Mr Pickles. Such a damn stupid name, that is what I told him. It. Heck I don't know what you call a Droid. Let's just go with him.

We stood in a dark alleyway, mr. Pickle and I. Weed steak Dr place all day and seen our Target go in, now with the dreaded quiet just before the action started. Bullets flying. Screens. Probably blood. And then it would be quiet time again.

Pickles check the side arm, flipped open the chamber, eyed the round, and then slapped it shut again. His yellow eyes looked up at me and then dimmed as he switch to night mode. "Ready boss," he asked in his metallic voice.

"As ready as I'll ever be," and I cocked the shotgun, a double barrel side by side that have been in my family for well over four decades. "This could get ugly. Keep on your toes in there pickles."

His faint yellow eyes winked at me and then he turned and silently rolled down the alley way. He had dropped rubber wheels from the underside of his feet so that he can move as silently as possible. I followed behind, the soles of my shoes making considerable more noise.

I watched my partner roll down the alley , looking a bit silly in his trench coat and fedora. I told him he looked a bit goofy in his costume but pickles said it added to his aura and persona when he questioned people. They were always put a little bit off guard by the fedora and trench coat and many times he claimed this helped him get the information he needed. Looking at him now from behind you really couldn't even tell that he was a Droid.

Pickles stopped in front of the door and I watched as he swung his arm out a small plate flipped from a hidden spot on his wrist to end up in front of his fists. This would act as protection for his digits in what he was about to do. With lightning speed he swung his arm, and his entire torso, and slammed the fist into the door. With a loud crack the door splintered at the hinges and at the door handle, and flew into the room on the other side.

Before I could react pickles charged into the room his wheels moving over the door just as it landed.
.   .   .

This story was written in about eight minutes.
Word count:  403

About the 8 Minute Writing Prompt:
The 8MWH is a habit forming program where your aim is to simply write something for eight minutes straight each day, over time this will become a habit. The goal is to provide practice with writing and thus make you a better writer who can put words on paper easier. I plan on posting a short phrase and image each day in the morning and later that evening posting my story. Due to the time limit these will often be incomplete or possibly even suck. 
If you would like to join me, post wherever you like and add #8MWH to your post. Please remember that your stories can be about anything and the writing prompt may be a title, a phrase in the story, or heck, not even used at all in the story. It is meant to serve as nothing more than an inspiration.

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