She took a step forward hoping to beat the rush, no one is quite sure who she was, only that she belonged to a group of mavens, who numbered ten percent. One after another the mighty ten percent moved toward the promised land leaving homes, jobs and families adrift in a sea of mediocrity.

New signs were manufactured, exacting specifications embedded in code, bold colors welded onto dramatic vision, speeches were given, papers written, web design was outsourced and from darkened rooms servers howled. The message was unmistakable, this was the new thing, a creation promising infinite power to early adopters, everything that had come before would be pulverized under its massive heel.

All the signs pointed in the same direction, and no one questioned the direction or logic, no one asked why as the crowds swelled or why seemingly sane people fell in behind dazed hordes, lemming their way toward Brooklyn. Loudspeakers crackled n hummed with  repetitive instructions lulling the masses into cortical submission, “keep walking, follow the one in front, keep walking, follow the one in front.”

At night when we rested, we sat in circles swapping stories of huge cities now empty except for roving bands of the connected, those lucky ones who have received the wifi implant, those lucky ones who swap sensations between themselves, amusing themselves with the new world currency, currency built upon sensations of pleasure, group pleasure, awareness of many at once. Some tell stories in hushed tones of special connected people called Webs. It is said that Webs can connect with thousands of minds at once, transcending the limitations built into the wifi network chips.

From every state and far away land we’ve come, in planes, on bicycles and in wheel chairs, but mostly on foot we’ve made this journey to Brooklyn, home of the lone implant center. The lucky ones who’ve made it stand in line while robots staple a wifi chip behind their ear, embedding it into their brain. Staple staple staple, another one is done, “next” they yell.

The stinking rot of self  lives on in poets and flash fiction writers, but soon they too shall give in to networking or starve… It’s rumored that a few live alone in Vermont but no one knows for sure, at night sitting in our circles for warmth we laugh at such stories surely we say they are but leftovers from the denial movement, and could not be happy, they are cut off not connected not tuned in. No tears are shed for those who refuse to become connected.

My own story is typical of the millions of pilgrims coming to Brooklyn. I had a vision while living in New Hampshire of the promise that would transform society, the promise of being connected, of never being alone again.

I struck out and wouldn’t give up. Trudging in a rain so hard it obliterated cracks in the sidewalk, cars bobbed helpless becoming immobilized like toys, we kept walking. Drenched through to our bones we darted around downed electric lines spitting fire. We kept walking. Up the streets and across avenues we sloshed, crying out loud from our arduous journey. We kept walking.

From a doorway a little girl reached up to tug my sleeve, and in a barely audible voice asked “why”? I shook free from her tenuous grip and continued sloshing forward, but stopped for a brief moment, turned and yelled back at her pathetic form lying in the doorway, “Social Media.”

It was a dark and cold space to be in.A sentence written directly into WordPress from an Apple iPod Touch over a wifi connection.

Thought I’d start blogging about Flash Fiction and Short Stories along with posting my own writing. It is my attempt to both understand the terrain better and to share whatever small insight I may glean from my search.

I ran across a couple of communities for artists that I thought might be of interest. First is Pangaeaa, it’s tag line is “bringing the art together.” Seems to be a robust online community and worth checking out. Second is Protagonize, it is an online communnity for writers and those that want to be writers. Third is Urbis which says they are helping writers market and find opportunities to market their work. Forth and last is UrbanSeeder, it is a site centered around communicating with people one on one.

Sometimes having a community of peers who comment on our work can be a good thing, of course sometimes it is the last thing any of us want. Make the choice either way on a daily basis, going down the same road everyday is a ticket to becoming stale.

Social Media is everything if you believe the hype, of course the the hype comes from the people in Social Media. Today’s 100 word story is entitled Social Media Dance, Enjoy!

Social Media Dance

Sliding her arm around mine Ellen tugged at my reluctance to enter the Social Media Dance.

A renegade social engineer fired from Utterz MC’d the event, He was the darling of Social Media. Ellen thought he was visionary, I thought he sucked.

Well known electronic bands played and Ellen was excited to hear current hits like Network Your Connections, Connect Online and the crowd favorite Do The Connection

Cynically I asked “ what no Social Pokey”? Ellen shot her familiar get out of town glance and we continued connecting.

At midnight they played the Social Media Stomp, we went home.

Today’s 100 word story may be more of a social essay or it could be just some Sci Fi wraped up in 100 words. There is really nothing to worry about, now is there. Entitled We Kept Walking, Enjoy!

We trudged along, the rain filling every crack in the sidewalk. Cars diving into puddles sending sheets of water against our drenched bodies.

We kept walking.

Like Thanksgiving shoppers unable to help themselves people poured out into the wet dirty streets joining the throng of humanity. Stranded commuters abandoning cars joining the crowds.

We kept walking.

Lawns turned to mud pits gates torn from their hinges, voices came together in a rumble louder then thunder. Tired, hungry and soggy, we kept walking.

Tugging my sleeve a little girl asked “why”? I shook free and snapped “Social Media.”

We kept walking.