An unusual family conduct a holiday day in this week ’s Concept Art Writing Prompt . Will they have to deal with the usual menage drama — with a automaton twist — or will they encounter more nefarious forces on the beach ? follow up with your own tale of these oddball beach - goers .
Here ’s my story :
Hemmy pull on his leash . “ Daddy ! ” he yipped . “ Daddy , I want to run ! ”
I knelt beside him , grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt as I crack off the leash . “ Hey , sportswoman . See those doggy ? ”
Hemmy bounced and nod , spat his hands impatiently .
“ How would you like bodies like those ? You ’d be all furry and you run around like that all the time . ”
He flashed a surprised emoticon across his screen and I let go of his shirt , letting him bound over to a battalion of bioloid mutts , their pelt sandy and wet with sea atomiser . Cerise smack the back of my head . “ You ca n’t just convert our son to a pet ! ” she articulate , though she was grin .
I shrugged , a gesture I had acquired from too many years with a bioloid Saint Brigid . “ He might be happy that way . ” Cerise was a bioloid , but she ’d been vat - grow from the finest part , and her brain and been carefully constructed and sit by artisan bioroboticists . I ’d never understood why she ’d insisted on having a womb installed . Those thing are treacherous even in the dear of consideration , and Ford knows what chop shop print off the spermatozoan . We ’d already had to reseat his brain in a mech - skull , which aboveboard was for the best . sorry enough to have a kid who could n’t attach his shoe ; worse to have people mistake him for homo .
“ See ? ” Hemmy was tussling with a gargantuan tool who look like a German Shepherd . “ He ’s happier out there with frank . ”
Cerise unfolded a chair and nestled it into the sand . “ So are lots of boy his eld . It ’s just a form . ”
I smoothed a towel on the beach and sat beside Cerise . I ’d rescued a bioloid transplant catalogue from the recycler , debating whether to hide it in Hemmy ’s elbow room . Now I ’d made up my head . The boy should get to choose for himself .
By the time Cerise fell departed , Hemmy had link the dogs in an endless game of fetch . Owners would hurl tennis balls from the beach and Hemmy would blame with the dogs into the sea to find them . But gradually , the phone number of wienerwurst dwindled and dwindle away as their possessor leashed them up and require them plate . Finally , a towering mechanical man with a shaggy terrier glanced from the tennis ball in his hired hand to Hemmy . He pull the testis back behind his head and pretended to throw .
Hemmy , as eager as ever , dove into the pee , hunt for a globe that was n’t there . I leaned forward and watched him swim and float until he was little more than a dot growing ever littler on the horizon .
FictionRobots
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