Erik J Skinner

This week I bring to you another writing exercise of my own creation. I call it “Three Random Words” and here’s how it works: Open up a dictionary to any page, and point to a spot on the page without looking. The entry you point to is your first word. Repeat two more times to generate your three random words.

My three words: Hacker, Passport, Catapult

Now the fun part. Using these three words as inspiration write a piece of short fiction (no specific length).

Martin postured himself over his keyboard, eyes darting between his numerous monitors. At any moment he knew a brief but vital window of opportunity would open for him to execute his plan. A bead of sweat formed on his brow, his fingers gyrating in rythm ready to take action like a bobsled team readying an olympic run.

Then, like clockwork, there it was. The vulnerability in the company’s system that would allow him to make millions. All he had to do was what he had been practicing the last 13 years. Hack.

It was as if each keystroke was a sword strike in battle against a mighty beast who foolishly let loose an exposing yawn at a too predictable moment in the night. And just like that, success, meaningless bits representing real dollars migrated from the company to a private account Martin had set up under a false name. Transfer complete, bread crumbs swept up, connection closed, hard drives wiped. The only evidence of his actions, his bare minimum vital files for accessing the account later on a flash drive. He slips the drive into a bundle of wood carved stones and twine netting, an accessory to a model of a medieval catapult. The model packed carefully into his backpack, he bolted out of the apartment not even bothering to lock up.

At the airport, Martin nervouslyhanded his passport to the security woman. After a brief squint and bringing it real close to her face, she let him through to security. He places his shoes and backpack on the conveyor belt. The next guard commented on how sweaty he was. He said he had to run to make his flight in time: he still may not make it. The guard at the metal detector waved him through. Green light. Home free. Almost.

Another guard asked him if the bag is his. Yes. Of course it is. Does he mind if he looks inside? Of course not. Go right ahead. The guard pulled out the model catapult. Is this a weapon, sir? Technically yes. Shouldn’t have said that. A model of a weapon. Harmless. Could you please demonstrate for me?

Not wanting to draw further suspicion by refusing, Martin pulled back the catapault loaded with it’s false projectile, the bundled flash drive. He really should have made more than one piece of ammunition. Arm drawn back fully, he pulled the pin. Surprisingly Martin’s craftsmanship far exceeded his expectations and hurled itself across the way into the lap of suited man drinking a cup of coffee. What the hell is this? Uh, could you please…

The suited man unraveled the netting in curiosity to reveal the flash drive. Where did this come from? He locked eyes with Martin. Were you hiding this? He set his coffee down, a flash of his firearm holstered under his jacket as he stood up. FBI.