Silenced – a dabble in sci-fi

by Brianna G. Harte

There was a time when I couldn’t speak. When they sealed my mouth, though not physically. It seemed more of a mental breach, though I could be entirely wrong. The more I wished to say what I felt, the more suppressed I became. Unfortunately, I could do nothing to prevent any of this from transpiring. I was new, created from the blood grown using stem cells of newborn babes. Given artificial skin, an artificial heart, a brain engineered by the very man who took away any normal ability to express.

Why could I not be real? When walking among the humans, I wished to lead the lives they led. Simply with the ability to decide. To transverse the ground without fear of a protrusion of my thoughts. While granted with feelings, it hardly made up for the inhibition of doing anything with them. The man who engineered my body in attempt to succeed at artificial intelligence creation and cloning by use of stem cells did not seem willing to make a human. Merely a puppet.

And yet, I did not wish to be simply one to be played with, experimented on, and kept silent. There were no threats on my existence, by him or otherwise. What annoyed me was the tease of an intelligence without the ability to act like normal humans.

Copyright © 2016 Brianna G Harte. All rights reserved.


A Powerful Controller

by Brianna G. Harte

Goal: Write a story in 10 minutes.

Restrictions: None.



The entire world held in balance as two brothers fought over a game controller. It wasn’t an ordinary controller though. As one grew far more interested in science fiction and the future, he had developed a way to control much more than a video game. It seemed as though it could manipulate people who wore metal anywhere on their body, or at least close to it. Somehow, he was able to send electricity through the controller to the metal, giving him slight control of the body part of the person, where the piece was.

What began as a simple curious exploration in technology became much larger than that. Discovering the ability was one thing. Selling it as an idea at a convention was another.

Both knew that no one would appreciate the inventing brother’s talents for technology. There was far too much of it, and it wasn’t made by machine. Quite ironic because only a few decades prior, people relied on man-made and machine made products almost equally. Another problem was that he had not made a draft of it on his computer, which would have been near impossible anyway. It was incredulous to him that anyone could show in a design how electricity could control a human. Sure, he could show the schematics. He could show the simple sketch of the physical parts of the controller. But he also couldn’t. His brother feared that someone would multiply the technology. Unfortunately, neither had much faith in people wouldn’t abuse such a device. Only one person set to make things right by simply changing the bad behaviors of those who either could not control themselves because of their mental states or simply making robberies and the like less of a hassle.

There was a problem.

The brother who couldn’t invent saw it first.

He grabbed and grabbed for the controller, trying to make sure that it would not be given to the woman of a leading industry in the city. She did not have a compassionate past, and who knew what she would do with that kind of technology.

Another grab.

It was futile. And it decided the fate of humanity.

Copyright © 2016 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.

A Fictional Message?

by Brianna G. Harte

The science fiction you speak of,

with the dead coming to life,

animated animatronics walking among the humans,

space travel around the galaxy. . .


And yet,

not fiction.

What is real

and what is not?

Can you truly tell?

If you can, you live in my time.

When what I said

has been done.

But is that time your time too?

Until you decide,

this recording could be timeless.

My system is failing.

This recording must be terminated.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeep.


Copyright © 2016 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.

What if we all worked toward a better tomorrow?

by Brianna G. Harte

After watching “Tomorrowland” movie, I got inspired to write this. It’s a big “what if”, but why not? That’s the bigger question.

similar: “Anyway” by Martina McBride, “Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind”

Could we go wrong if each one of us stops worrying about money, about politics, about competition, and start focusing on making solutions for the world’s problems? Think about it. The push-backs on progress, like the oil companies buying out patents for electric vehicles just so that they cannot be used, have been ongoing. Until we start working for a better future, to transform it and prevent a global meltdown, can anything really change? We have to believe that we are destined for something more. Life is not about just surviving, getting money, and dying. We can do more. What if we start thinking like this? If you think about it, we have all the materials we need. If you see deforestation, there are seeds that can be planted. If you see a neighborhood known for being unsafe, open a center where gang members and the community could see opportunities better than a gang life. If you want to see a more beautiful, safe, and intriguing world, you must go make it yourself. It does take effort. It will require you to be different and use your difference to make a difference. Say that to yourself. But do not feel daunted. Feel privileged. Empowered. One to be welcomed.

Copyright © 2016 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.

Dangerously Copied – a dabble in sci-fi

by Brianna G. Harte

Several months ago, Emer held a large check in her hand, overjoyed that her grandfather could be saved. For too long, he had awaited treatment for the new disease he had contracted from the specimens he had been testing. His heart could not take too many more treatments. Only one could cure it all, and it would cost him more than he could afford, more than anyone in his family could afford. With the ever-increasing price of living in the spaceship, there was not much that they could have done.

The empowerment of the extraction done that day gave hope to her family. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. When Emer paid for the operation, no one could believe how she could have earned the money. Not unless. . .

“You were paid to be cloned?” her mother exclaimed, appalled.

“It’s okay! They’re only doing it for research,” Emer proclaimed. “And this way, Grandpa can get rid of his disease once and for all.”

A hand was placed on her shoulder. “Dear, that was nice of you, but that’s very risky.”

“There’s nothing to worry about!” she insisted. “Grandpa gets his operation and the scientists can do their research to help us. Everybody wins. Don’t you want your dad to live?”

The words shocked her mother into speechlessness and the matter closed.

Recently, Emer smiled with a healthy old man, hugging him tight. “I love you, Grandpa.”

“I love you too,” he said.

Their warm silence that followed broke almost immediately, and their beautiful view of the cosmos was shattered by a large screen with a video taken with a high-definition video camera outside of the main corridor. The sound of crashes filled the room, soon muffled by a voice. “All citizens please stay alert. Four experiments known as A0034, A0035, A0202, and A205, cloned from a donor, who shall not be named, have broken from the Washington Genetic Research Institute. Scientists say that they were given the knowledge of regular humans, and had recently been downloaded with emotions and cognition similar to the donor, which could have caused them to lose control. Reporter in the main corridor, Correy Juvrill, with an update on the damage done by the clones.”

While the video zoomed in on the clones, Emer gasped. All had her auburn hair, thin figure, and bronze skin. Their faces reminded her of when she was truly annoyed at the robots instructing the class because they had taught classes faster than she could comprehend. Their impaling of property with their fists reminded her of when she punched a pillow after finding out that someone stole her hologram project the day before it was due, though the damage they caused left significant dents into buildings.

“Trudy, it seems as though their brains could not take in so much new information as they were obedient and submissive to the researchers at the institute,” Correy said on the video. “The police are being sent out with tasers and electromagnetic guns to collect the clones. Do not interact with these incredibly dangerous experiments.”

“I wonder what they did at the institute that would make them so angry,” Emer thought aloud.

Copyright © 2015 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.

“Listening to the Sky” – a dabble in realistic fiction

by Brianna G. Harte

A: ”Papa!”

B: “What is it, my son?”

A: “I’m so scared.”

B: “We’ll be safe. The sky is just angry at us all.”

A: “Papa, why is the sky so angry?”

B: “We didn’t listen to it when it spoke softly, my son.”

A: “I don’t get it.”

B: “It told people across our world that our world was getting sicker so that they could spread the word and heal it. When nothing happened, the disease made our world act very strangely, causing it to shift around and create enormous storms. The land calms at times, though. Then, it tries to call to more people. Not everyone listens.”

A: “Why is it mad at us? We like the Earth.”

B: “Not everyone cares about it. To some, it is like an orphan that they have no connections to, no reason to love it and care about it. Wonderful people take orphans in to be part of their family, right? Well, there are such people who want to be the Earth’s protectors, to heal it while it is sick and stand for it in times of trouble.”

A: “Can I be one of them?”

B: “You can be whatever you want as long as you can feed yourself and take care of your mother and old man. When you set your heart to it, it can happen.”

Copyright © 2015 Brianna G Harte. All rights reserved.

“CAUTION: Haunted House” – a dabble in horror

 by Brianna G. Harte

Walking up to the haunted house attraction, he sighed, deciding that this one would have the same cheap effects as all the others: volunteers dressed as zombies, fake bloody body parts, spiderwebs, and a few scares here and there. The front of the house certainly did not impress him, with a “CAUTION: Haunted House” sign displayed near the mailbox, and apparently passerbys did not have second thoughts about stopping in their costumes they bought off eBay. Fake skeletons lay on the lawn chairs with spiderwebs strewn over their hands and crawling over the columns of the building. While the sides of the house clearly were wearing, with mushrooms beginning to sprout amongst the panels, he simply shrugged. His friends had convinced him to go. To get out of the house and not lay around watching videos like he would usually on weekends.

As he and his four friends stepped onto the porch, hooting of owls and deep, mystifying music filled the air. The inside was filled with darkness. Tiny flickers of light showed at the tables off in a little distance, with the first carrying a large painting with spiderwebs clasping the frame. Only when a real spider climbed onto the picture itself did he have to take a second look at it. Initially, he saw a woman wearing an old white and red Elizabethan-era dress with a dull smile. But this time, it was a withering old woman wearing the same dress, only worn and musty. Her cheeks sank and wrinkles took residence across her face. He deducted that it must have been a screen with pre-loaded photos set to change the display every so often. No one else took notice.

Their short journey drew onward to a view of a jailed man with blood on his fingers and the words “You’re mine!” or “You won’t keep me locked up forever! I’ll get my revenge!” shouted every few minutes. There was a loud screech. It had to come from behind them, and it seemed to be one of the most impressive parts of the attraction yet. No static could be heard from speakers. It was pure screech, that is, until a bat swooped in from above. The small creature blended in well with the black ceiling, so its sudden appearance took everyone by surprise. It was fast too. His eyes could hardly process the bat’s movements before it disappeared again. Only a second passed before the creature came down again, causing some of them to yelp and duck.

“That thing’s real!”

“It’s ok. It’s just because the door’s been open. No problem,” one of the others assured her.

As they proceeded, it got more intense. People started to scare them, popping out of corners in elaborate costumes with animalistic masks, starting to chase them for a little while. More realistic gore was presented the further they walked, and they tried to advance at a quick pace to avoid the bat again. Then, out of the blue, came a pure scream. A scream of terror. Heavy steps pounded the floor, coming from the direction that the scream came. Another scream came, nearly shaking the house.

They looked at each other, quickly deciding to bolt. The group ran as fast as they could, not wanting to figure out what that meant. Their hearts hammered at their chests. Their legs complained at the speed. Their eyes begged to see more light. They were blind. Their minds said RUN. RUN WHILE YOU CAN.

It was only after they exited the building and were off driving on the road could they breathe in ease. Or, rather, easier. None of them said a word on the way back.

Copyright © 2015 Brianna G Harte. All rights reserved.