Inklore's Storyverse

She wakes up in a very strange place that looks like a restricted hospital for the infected, her memories a jumble of puzzle pieces. Could it be that the strain of virus that built her genetics is now killing her too? It is definitely what the AI monitoring this place suggests along with some radical measures for survival. But before she agrees to anything, she is going to explore.

The place looks deserted – no ways in or out. There seems to be no people, but strange creatures roam around, and the AI’s intonations and manners change occasionally like its personality is not settled. However, the more the urgency to escape grows, the more reasons there are to stay. Will she remain herself throughout this ordeal? Will she even live…?

(…) I was hit by the power of a short scene – without a prelude, a background, with only a hint of the future. It is not less immersive, perhaps even more, because it is in a sense undiluted action and emotion. It is at times hellishly hard to make the scene clear, especially in science fiction, when you need more brush strokes to ground the reader. But it is more satisfying when it works.
And it is an amazing way to preserve all the ideas of the thousands magical things that come into my head. There is always a possibility that I will write more about that world someday. Or, maybe, I will leave the reader with just a cut of the protagonist’s life – like a short reel or a picture on Instagram. Or a very vivid dream, which you did not see till the end. When I think of the conglomeration my flash fiction can become one day, I have a strong visual image – that of a photographer’s portfolio with thumb icons of myriads of shots they made. Sometimes a big picture equals a diverse collage of many small images. Sometimes a reading experience is a snowstorm and you catch one fluffy snowflake to examine its pattern.