Concept Art Writing Prompt: A Stroll Down A Moon Base Promenade

Illustration for article titled Concept Art Writing Prompt: A Stroll Down A Moon Base Promenade

In the lunar city there are a thousand stories, and some of them are set right here on the promenade where people eat, stroll, watch the news, and enjoy the view outside. Write your own story set in this brightly lit locale.


"Moon Base" is by artist Jon Hrubesch, and you should check it out on deviantART so that you can see all the details at the piece's full resolution. Can you come up with a short story inspired by this illustration? If so, post it in the comments.

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Lauren Davis

When Hal found Wendy, she was chewing her fingernails. "I see you started eating without me," he said, placing two steel thermoses on the table.

Wendy slipped the clipping from her lips and flicked it into the potted plant near her elbow. "Solar flare has me on edge." She eyed the drinks. "Tell me you didn't."

He pushed one of the thermoses toward her. "No wheatgrass," he promised.

She took a tentative sip. "Strawberries?" she asked. "You must really like me."

Hal took a seat and leaned back. "Don't worry about the solar flare," he said. "I know they," he circled an index finger toward the monitors broadcasting the news, "make it sound dramatic, but we're totally safe in here."

Wendy looked over her shoulder and out the window, as if the flare might arrive ahead of schedule. "I sort of want to lock myself in a closet until it's all over."

Hal's lips curled into a smile. "People do that, you know. We could have a little sexy time."

Wendy flattened her palms against the table, staring at her legs through the lucite. "No," she said, exhaling as she uttered the word. "I have to get used to this. Anyway, you probably have wheatgrass breath now."

Hal took a sip from his drink and shrugged. "How was work?" he asked.

"I hate it here." Wendy still had her palms on the table, was still looking down. Strands of hair dropped from behind her ears.

"You're just nervous because of the flare."

Wendy shook her head, more hair falling forward. "I keep fucking up at work. The food tastes all wrong. It's nothing like Lucretia Yip's stream!"

"Wen, we talked about this. Lucretia Yip…"

Wendy's forehead dropped to the table with a thunk as she screamed into the surface, "I just want a breath of fresh air!" A few heads turned. A good argument was better entertainment than the news.

Hal reached out and laid one of his big hands on the back of her head. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I want to go to Antarctica," she muttered. "I want to distill moss and farm krill and never look at another computer screen ever again."

Now it was Hal's turn to look out the window. She had been teetering on the edge of this explosion for weeks, but even now that she was shuddering in the middle of the forty-five degree promenade, he couldn't tell if it was the nerves or a genuine urge to run away. He rubbed the back of Wendy's neck, praying the flare would travel a little faster.