Flash to Pin the Tail on the Donkey

The Gamer's Dream Win ~ or Nightmare

         She strained to hold her cranium upright while perched on the center dais amidst the raucous vibrating clatter of mechanized accolade. Finally, after ten solar cycles of finishing place or show, she had won the "Sensory Deprivation Contest" Only the most proficient coders were even offered the opportunity to compete; and many didn’t make it through the contest, logging off in ignominious defeat after but a lunar turn or two. A few even went ballistic and had to be "Caged" to keep them from haphazardly scheduling extermination of terrestrial drones, or as the coders called them to allay the boredom, nonsensical snipes. She always ran the boring calculations to locate the least productive colonies before uploading the extermination coordinates.

         A metallic screech announced the raising of the Video Screen, and all the coders opened wide their eyeballs to focus on the vivid colors that almost managed to seep through the liquid crystal monitor. She successfully fought the urge to blink as the Master Coder pulled the colors to form and announced first her victory, then the prize.

         For her valiant coding efforts, she would be named a Sub-Master Coder with all the perks incident to that position – after she completed the physical endurance phase of the challenge. She would spend the next "Fifteen Years" outside the pod, knowing "No Home" , just like the post-apocalypse primitives whose ancestors resisted the Master Coder’s admonishment to board one of the elite pods when the uninitiated sent missiles helter-skelter around the planet, without thinking that virtual destruction would have been more fun, allowing them to play again instead of committing mineral and animal resources to fertilizer dust.

         The pod opened and closed rapidly, and her eyes followed the contrail across a hazy blue sky until it was but a "blurred image" , then stepped off the pod, promptly tearing her latex foot covers on a non-virtual rock. She watched a non-virtual drone approach, preceded by its pungent aroma. Realizing this would be her arena for the next fifteen years, pitting wit against brawn, she accepted the proffered hand of the drone.

         She smiled, realizing she was consigned to spend the ensuing years in a real-time adventure of "Snipe Hunting" provided, however, none of the ballistic losers decided she was fair game.


Word Count: 385

A bit of Flash for Day 3's Donkey for ~

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