Tag: dystopia

The Prince Of Scars

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We called the old man The Prince Of Scars.
He was brought to the hospital last winter, frozen solid.
We stripped him and put him in a tub of warm water, reviving him slowly.
His body was completely covered with painful creases, knots, deformations, and agonizing twists.
“What happened to you?” I asked him.
“Life didn’t pass me by,” he moaned. “It took one look at me and tore me apart.”
He didn’t say anything else.
We couldn’t get a name off of him and his fingerprints were long destroyed.
He left that morning.
Think he’ll be back next winter?

The Champ

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It is the Fourth Of July.
Thousands of miles from the Coney Island Boardwalk, Hodo blindly crawls on the cracked earth, flies buzzing in and out of his nose.
There is no food.
There is no water.
There is nothing but dirt, flies, and death.
A pack of hyenas catches his scent, and Hodo doesn’t feel them as they tear into his flesh.
Back at Coney Island, the winner of the hot dog eating competition congratulations the runner-up.
They laugh, throw up on each other, and laugh again.
To Hodo, the pool on the ground would have been a banquet.

The strange coffee

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Mary watched the last drop of coffee slide out of her cup and on to the floor.
There was a sizzle, then a whiff of steam. The drop of coffee burned through the tile to the basement.
Mary looked at the coffee pot, swirling it carefully. She’d used a free sample she’d received in the mail.
After a moment of panic, she realized it hadn’t burned a hole through her.
She went into the bathroom and checked to make sure.
After she got dressed again, she shrugged and filled another cup.
This time, she added sugar, igniting a massive explosion.

Van Helsing

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Van Helsing delivered the fatal stake to Dracula’s heart and laughed.
As he boasted at the local pub, the townsfolk reacted not in gratitude, but in shock.
“Are you saying you killed that nice old Count?” the barkeep asked.
“He paid my son’s way through college,” said an old woman. “And had the hunch in his back fixed, too.”
Before he could respond, Val Helsing’s wrists were locked in irons.
“What for?” he said.
“Murder,” said the constable.
“But Dracula was already dead!” said Van Helsing.
The excuse didn’t work with the judge either.
Van Helsing was hung at dawn.

Talk is cheap

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It used to be that talk was expensive. Only the nobles and politicians could afford to say anything while their servants and peasants were condemned to silence.
Some say that Hiram Gabsalot invented talk, but he didn’t: he just came up with a new industrial process to make it downright cheap.
Pretty soon, everyone was talking all the time. (Some people even talked in their sleep… something unheard of in the days when talk was as priceless as gold!)
The nobles and politicians eventually stopped talking altogether, choosing to use spokesmen to add to the constant barrage of meaningless drivel.

Calling names

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Every boy in my kindergarten class is named John and every girl is named Joan.
The other five classes are the same.
We check with the other schools in the district and they are reporting the same thing.
You’d think someone would have noticed this with the birth certificates, but nobody noticed a pattern or raised an alarm.
Normal name distribution in the district, normal migration patterns for a developed country.
One boy’s eyes flash blue for a moment.
Then the others. They all smile.
Where did these kids come from?
And where did all of the normal kids go?

The shock

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Today, we fill our bodies with drugs to make up for reckless lives.
In the world of tomorrow, futurists say there will be nanobots making adjustments, repairs, and corrections.
At what point do we stop being ourselves and end up at the mercy of machines?
Does it matter who controls the machines?
Does it matter who dispenses the drugs?
What raw animal instincts are we prisoners to?
Perhaps we never have had any control over ourselves?
I feel a spark and my vision flickers for a bit.
I feel better now.
That shot didn’t hurt at all. Thank you, Doctor.

So hard to believe

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It’s hard to believe that Macy is gone.
Nobody in the room can believe it. Not even Sarah, who still believes in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus.
“Someone needs to believe this,” I say, and I dial 1-800-BEL-IEVE.
It rings twice, and then: “What don’t you believe?”
“Macy is gone,” I say.
“MACY IS GONE????” shrieks the voice. “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
The shrieking subsides after a minute, and I hold out a cell phone emitting sobs and whimpers.
“Now do you believe that Macy is gone?” I asked the group.
“No,” said Sarah. “In fact, that voice… it sounds like Macy.”

The Chicken Channel

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The cable is out.
Ever since the conversion to digital signals, the cable has been rock-solid. And…
It’s back? That was pretty quick.
Usually, it takes hours. That was just a few seconds.
For a moment, I swear I saw…
A chicken?
We have a digital recorder, so I rewind the tape… Hah, all these anachronistic terms.
Anyway, I go back and…
A chicken. Staring out from the screen.
It is a powerful, bold chicken. It is a majestic, God-like chicken. I am ready to do as it commands.
And I am filled with the overwhelming urge to eat… BEEF!

No Clue

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From the moment I was called on, it was obvious: I had no clue.
Everybody else has a clue, but when Teacher asked where mine was, I said “I forgot.”
The other kids, with their bloody knives and smoking guns and fingerprints, laughing at me.
Shrinking into my seat, the laughter just gets worse.
I snapped. I went on a murderous rampage with the various weapons in the classroom.
When the smoke cleared, I was the last alive.
That’s when I realized… I had a clue after all.
Many clues.
Sitting there, on the desk.
I give myself an A.