Prompt: Cravings
((Open post ^_^))
*The morning sunlight was warm and pleasant on Simmons' face as he leant against a large rock, seated on the ground by a quiet brook, eyes closed. His peace was disrupted, however, by a quiet buzz as his phone registered another prompt. Picking it up, the man checked the screen, then exhaled softly, too content in the sunlight to hurl abuse at the gadget. And really, it wasn't his phone's fault.*
To crave. To have a great or eager desire for something. To yearn. You need the basic requirements for survival. You crave for more than that. Cravings aren't bad, in and of themselves. They spur you onward. Desire is what makes you work for your goals. But desire needs to be tempered with reason. It's when you let your desire lead you that you get into trouble.
*Glancing at his phone, the ex-agent muttered dryly.* I suppose you want to know what I crave.
When I was younger, I would have died for my father's approval. Forget all his lectures about national security and the safety of our planet. I did everything he commanded because I wanted to hear him say he was proud of me.
*Simmons shrugged, leaning back against the warm rock.*
Sounds like a real Hallmark movie, doesn't it? The kid does good, the dad realises he's been a jerk, and everything is alright. Sunshine, roses, hugs and puppies for everyone.
*He snorted.*
Yeah. Right. I got older and gave up pursuing that particular daydream. Chose to go after something more attainable. Keeping the Earth safe seemed like the reasonable choice. I'd been preparing for the task all my life anyway. And for a while it was good. I was doing something that had meaning, meaning enough for me to put up with assorted government types trying to pry into our business, or catch a little reflected glory by toadying up to us. Not that it would have worked. When you're part of a top secret organisation, any big achievement gets buried, fast. Your colleagues will congratulate you, and that's it. Maybe you get a commendation, and they buy you a coffee and a nice cake. It's the way it is. None of us expected any different. None of us liked coffee either. It plays havoc with the ulcers.
That craving didn't change after I got removed from Sector Seven. If anything, I worked even harder, trying to get the masses ready for what might come down on their unprepared heads, trying to mitigate the fallout once news of the Cybertronians leaked in a way no coverup would be able to hide by sneaking videos, soundclips, theories into circulation, so that when things blew up there would be some who could say, 'hey, we kinda knew it was coming, it isn't so big a surprise'.
Then I got dragged here. And while I'm here, I have a different set of priorities. I crave a way out. I crave information on our situation. Data that I wouldn't be able to get on my own as a human in robot-land.
*A sigh as he gazed off into the distance, muttering softly.*
I crave a damn sandwich.
*Glowering at his phone, he shuts it and slides it back into his pocket.*
Anyway, if I had any doubts before, this just settled it. You, you unseen, unheard, unreasonable entity, are evil. You drag us here, dump us somewhere with basic necessities and random luxury items, then ask us about cravings?
I'll tell you what else I crave. I crave a chance to find out where you're holed up so I can march in there and give you a piece of my mind!
*The morning sunlight was warm and pleasant on Simmons' face as he leant against a large rock, seated on the ground by a quiet brook, eyes closed. His peace was disrupted, however, by a quiet buzz as his phone registered another prompt. Picking it up, the man checked the screen, then exhaled softly, too content in the sunlight to hurl abuse at the gadget. And really, it wasn't his phone's fault.*
To crave. To have a great or eager desire for something. To yearn. You need the basic requirements for survival. You crave for more than that. Cravings aren't bad, in and of themselves. They spur you onward. Desire is what makes you work for your goals. But desire needs to be tempered with reason. It's when you let your desire lead you that you get into trouble.
*Glancing at his phone, the ex-agent muttered dryly.* I suppose you want to know what I crave.
When I was younger, I would have died for my father's approval. Forget all his lectures about national security and the safety of our planet. I did everything he commanded because I wanted to hear him say he was proud of me.
*Simmons shrugged, leaning back against the warm rock.*
Sounds like a real Hallmark movie, doesn't it? The kid does good, the dad realises he's been a jerk, and everything is alright. Sunshine, roses, hugs and puppies for everyone.
*He snorted.*
Yeah. Right. I got older and gave up pursuing that particular daydream. Chose to go after something more attainable. Keeping the Earth safe seemed like the reasonable choice. I'd been preparing for the task all my life anyway. And for a while it was good. I was doing something that had meaning, meaning enough for me to put up with assorted government types trying to pry into our business, or catch a little reflected glory by toadying up to us. Not that it would have worked. When you're part of a top secret organisation, any big achievement gets buried, fast. Your colleagues will congratulate you, and that's it. Maybe you get a commendation, and they buy you a coffee and a nice cake. It's the way it is. None of us expected any different. None of us liked coffee either. It plays havoc with the ulcers.
That craving didn't change after I got removed from Sector Seven. If anything, I worked even harder, trying to get the masses ready for what might come down on their unprepared heads, trying to mitigate the fallout once news of the Cybertronians leaked in a way no coverup would be able to hide by sneaking videos, soundclips, theories into circulation, so that when things blew up there would be some who could say, 'hey, we kinda knew it was coming, it isn't so big a surprise'.
Then I got dragged here. And while I'm here, I have a different set of priorities. I crave a way out. I crave information on our situation. Data that I wouldn't be able to get on my own as a human in robot-land.
*A sigh as he gazed off into the distance, muttering softly.*
I crave a damn sandwich.
*Glowering at his phone, he shuts it and slides it back into his pocket.*
Anyway, if I had any doubts before, this just settled it. You, you unseen, unheard, unreasonable entity, are evil. You drag us here, dump us somewhere with basic necessities and random luxury items, then ask us about cravings?
I'll tell you what else I crave. I crave a chance to find out where you're holed up so I can march in there and give you a piece of my mind!