Tag: dystopia

And back again

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The princess needed to smuggle gold from one castle to the other without thieves knowing.
Ruplestiltskin was long banished into nothingness, but his spinning-wheel remained.
So, she spun the wheel backwards, turning gold into straw.
She sent out the straw with farmers, and then the princess with her spinning wheel afterwards.
Brilliant, she thought.
The next day, the carts were loaded up with the straw and sent out.
Soon after, the princess began her journey.
Midway there, she found that bandits had struck the caravan, bodies and straw scattered in all directions.
She wept for the gold, and started gathering.

The Gamblers

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Vinnie and Joey liked to gamble.
They were always betting each other about this or that.
Especially about their hits.
What kind of hits?
They were hitmen, you see.
Joey liked to play How Much Money Is In Their Wallet?
Sure, they always split the take, just like they split the contracts.
One day, they took a contract, but the hit didn’t happen.
By the time they realized he’d skipped town, Joey and Vinnie were picked up.
Right before they were tossed off the roof of the building, Vinnie said “I bet you five bucks I hit the ground first.”
Joey grinned. “You’re on.”

April 1917

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At first, I thought the letter was dated April 1917.
Then, I realized it was addressed to someone named April 1917.
What kind of last name is 1917?
A trip to the Post Office confirmed their identity and the clerk at Window 3 asked if I had opened the letter.
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, at least you’re honest about that, the clerk said, and a set of tongs held by a pair of thick rubber gloves extended from the wall. “Just place the letter on the tray and we’ll get you decontaminated shortly.”
Damn postman. My name’s 1918, not 1917.

The Field Manual

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To be caught behind enemy lines is a dangerous thing, but as long as you have a flute, you’ll be fine.
The Army Field Manual has all sorts of unusual regulations like this one:
Leaving guns out for the Bullet Fairy to reload.
Smearing mud over your eyes to make you invisible to your enemies.
Licking a jeep’s steering wheel to make it start.
I’m on my third highlighter already.
Maybe it’s some kind of sick joke? Someone’s pulling a prank on me?
Then I look at the publishing credits: Published In China.
I wonder when the invasion will be.

Poland

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It’s rare to find a travel agency these days. Websites have all but eliminated the industry.
Maybe it’s just an old habit, but I still go to the travel agent downtown.
I think it’s the desks, the window displays, and posters that draw me.
One in particular. It’s a beautiful valley scene, and below is written: “The Nazis were cruel fuckers and Poland is beautiful.”
Every other travel poster has a beautiful scene and the country or city name, but my eyes keep getting drawn back to the Polish one.
Maybe, when all the Nazis are dead, I’ll go there.

Boiling Point

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Doctor Odd only received one F grade in his life.
His chemistry teacher asked “What’s the boiling point of mercury?”
So, he built an orbiting doomsday laser and performed experiments on the planet Mercury.
The next day, he presented his results.
“I meant the element, not planet,” she said.
She gave him an F. The class laughed.
Odd vowed revenge and transferred to a different high school.
He didn’t wait long to determine the boiling point of the old teacher, her class, and that entire damn school.
He never again got less than an A, or reason to boil again.

Did we deserve that, Gus?

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Gus is the Punishment Officer in our neighborhood.
Every neighborhood has a punishment officer. Ours is Gus.
Do something bad, and Gus will punish you.
He enjoys punishing people.
He has keys to every door in every house so you can’t keep him out.
He has night-vision goggles so you can’t hide from him.
His dog Wilbur can sniff you out from a block away.
But he can’t get to us here, in my treehouse fortress.
We’re sealed in from the outside world.
There’s nothing he can do but…
What’s that noise? Do you hear a chainsaw?
Damn that Gus!

Mr. Twelve

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On either end of the table, Mister Midnight sat.
One was a man in a cloak with a silver hourglass.
The other wore a zoot guit, tapping a silver cane.
Neither worked with The League Of Heroes, so they weren’t on the registry that prevents these situations.
Their lawyers drafted up an agreement, trying to avoid a embarrassing superhero fight.
“What if neither of you were Mister Midnight?” they suggested. “You be The Dark Hourglass, and you’re After Hours.”
The heroes thought, smiled, and shook hands.
The lawyers got the papers signed and returned to The League of Evil headquarters.

Crime In E Minor

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The detective looks at the body and says “Round up every violinist.”
He is holding a smashed instrument, and his conclusions would be sound if he were correct about one thing: that is a viola, not a violin.
They dust it for fingerprints… none at all.
I wore gloves, you see.
Yes, it was me, dear reader. I am the murderer.
And that is my viola.
The violinists come in, one after the other, but each has an alibi.
It is a year later, he is no closer to solving the case.
Good.
Because my new viola thirsts for blood.

Cough And Dagger

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The Dark Days are here.
I see their faces in the shadows, handing cough drops to each other.
There’s something in them. I just know there is.
No, I don’t know what it is. They won’t let me in the lab anymore.
I hear whispers: “Keep them medicated, keep them under control.”
I am offered the coughdrops at every corner, and I palm them to fool the others.
But now, their eyes are starting to glow green.
I can’t fake that, so I’m fleeing the city.
And then… I cough a single cough.
They hear it, growling, and I run.