io9 has a regular feature they call Concept Art Writing Prompts. They post a piece of art and invite readers to submit stories based upon the illustration. I've started writing short—often aiming for very, very short—stories as a warm-up to my real writing.
This is another one based on a piece by Christian Bravery.
No one had believed they'd really do it. They'd cautioned, they'd warned, they'd threatened, and all they'd gotten in return was mocking laughter—when, that is, they weren't simply being ignored. So one day, they showed everyone. They finally went Galt.
The cheers as they pulled away were almost deafening. The thrill of satisfaction each and every rugged individual there felt as they considered the existential horror facing those they'd left behind to fester in their own wretched, ignorant filth was glorious.
Once the initial jubilation subsided the tiniest bit, someone called for champagne, and was utterly flabbergasted by a markéd lack of immediate response. They looked around, perplexed as to why their order hadn't yet been taken—why, in fact, their desire for champagne hadn't been properly anticipated. Where was that stupid waiter, anyway? The maître d' would get an earful about this, of that there was no doubt. Speaking of, where was the maître d'? Or, for that matter, the cook? Or the busboy...or...a janitor or firefighter or peace officer or nurse or plumber...
It slowly dawned on them there there may possibly have been one teeny-tiny flaw in their masterplan.
"Say...does anyone know where the brakes on this contraption are?"
The silence was even more deafening.