For a time i was a member of a writing group that had you adopt a character and write on specific topics... here are some of he results.
Character Name: Kara Thrace
Origin: Battlestar Galactica
Prompt: August 2006 prompt: Picture 1 (Broken glass)
Word Count: 460
Rating: PG
Shattered glass is everywhere… every turn every corner. I know instinctively its not really there… not here on this desolate rock. But, back home on its namesake… the last memories I have of the once beautiful cities are blocks and blocks of shattered glass…
Very little else was disturbed. It was eerie. Great cities now ghost towns. No people in sight, no birds, no bodies… just the sound of shattered glass crunching beneath your feet with every step.
It’s a strange irony that the image of shattered glass fits us so well now. We're a shattered people, torn and divided. Scattered across this strange new world… Not long ago we were united, searching for a common goal. Then we settled, lost focus, lost the drive. That’s when they came back and broke us once more. Scattering pieces of a once vast civilization to the winds…
Now we can't even look at one another… some have chosen to throw in the towel, to give their lives over to servitude. Others have taken to the hills and fight with every fiber of their being. Then there are those of us who are caught in between… neither collaborator no resistance… just prisoners.
Each day is going through the motions, just existing. Wondering if this will be the day my death warrant is signed, if today is the day I will tell him no and he will listen. Or will I kill him again? Its become a morbid ritual. At least once I week I kill him now… I don't even have to think about it anymore; yesterday it was with a butter knife at the dinner table. I know he can't die, not really. They just download him into a new body and he comes back again. He doesn’t even mention it, just carries on with trying to convince me this is where I belong, that he loves me… despite the fact he's died at my hands at least five or six times now.
Its almost become a way to cope, my only protest…
I look in the mirror…the glass is intact, but the woman it reflects is shattered. I don't know who I am anymore. He's breaking me down piece by piece… his love is so strong… so unconditional. I don't know how to deal with that. Instinctively I know he's a machine, but then again, he's more human than some people I've called a friend. More human than other's I've loved… Has he succeeded? Do I hate him so much because he's made me love him?
Outside the window the legions of centurions march along the street below. I don't hear the grinding of gears or the clamor of the metal… all I can hear is the crunching of shattered glass.
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