Tag: dystopia

The Blood

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Hallways of history’s horrors, collected to remind future generations of the evils of the past.
Never again, we all say.
Gunfire!
Get down. Now.
Get behind something.
We see two men, guns drawn.
A guard. And a madman.
Both fired.
Each man falls to the floor, blood flowing from where they’d shot each other.
A madman with a lifetime of hate, his blood slowly mixing with the guard’s blood who had stopped him at the cost of his own life.
He sees the dead stare, and then their blood together.
Black. White.
If only this were the last to spill.

Get a clown

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If you need a birthday clown, you look in the Yellow Pages for one.
On the other hand, if you need a demon clown, you draw a pentagram with silly string and sacrifice a balloon animal.
It’s not easy spraying a decent pentagram with that stuff, but with a little practice and a steady hand you’ll have your clown army of darkness.
Why you want a clown army of darkness, I won’t ask. I just teach these summoning spells. What they’re used for, it’s not my problem.
Here’s a can of silly string, a balloon, and my spellbook.
Good luck.

The quiet city

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Downtown is quiet, abandoned for the holiday.
We get out our skateboards and own the sidewalks and streets for a day.
If we tried this during the workweek, we’d chased by the cops. Maybe even caught and arrested.
No cop cars. No sirens. No noise at all but the sound of our wheels grinding up the pavement.
At the end of the day, we get in our cars and go home.
It takes hours to get home, dodging and weaving the skaters and thrashers filling up the neighborhood.
They work Downtown, so they’d rather stay out here.
Goddamned clueless amateurs.

Kill Wilson

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Every prospective assassin is given a run through the simulation to determine if they’d fit into the agency.
They are handed a note that says “Go to the Foster Building and kill Wilson. Do not check in until you have killed Wilson.”
There are three people in the Foster Building with the last name Wilson, two with Wilson as a first name.
If the assassin does some basic research, they’ll figure out which is the right Wilson to kill and pass the test.
Those that kill all five fail the test.
And blowing the building up is a huge no-no.

group therapy

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every time i hear someone say that i’m as crazy as a shithouse rat, it pisses me off.
i’m far, far crazier than a shithouse rat. in fact, in group therapy, when i was put in a room full of shithouse rats, the shithouse rats all cowered in a corner while i just sat there and grinned.
one by one, i bit their heads off and ate them. their crazy skulls crunched between my teeth, like rat-flavored candies.
now the doctors just drug me and tie me up. but to be honest, i’ve never been a fan of group therapy.

Brickle Me Elmo

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She goes absolutely everywhere with that Elmo doll.
Those two are inseparable.
Five year-olds do that kind of thing. Clinging to your toys,
But when they’re sixteen, that’s when you should be concerned.
So, am I concerned?
I’m not.
Try not to be surprised.
You see, Staci emptied out the doll’s head and put a brick in it.
So far, she’s brained two rapists and a mugger.
“Self defense” worked for the DA. No charges filed.
That’s my girl.
I wish she’d let me wash it. The dried blood and bits of scalp don’t quite match the red fabric fur.

Munge’s Menagerie

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Through an error in programming, Professor Munge created a robot that could read, but was incapable of writing or expressing words in audio form.
Over the course of a year, Munge’s lab produced a series of mechanical oddities, such as robots without ocular sensors but powerful image processing and analysis capabilities, or the exploration robot with a single articulated limb with which the robot could barely drag its bulk around a pen surrounded by rails.
Students would come by to gawk at the cruel menagerie, some laughing, but others worried. Or weeping.
“Compassion,” said Munge. “Cannot be taught. Or built.”

Edison The God

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Thomas Edison invented a time machine.
Some say it was really Westinghouse. Others say Tesla.
Nobody sees them anymore. Imagine that.
With his time machine, Edison brings back advanced medicines, powerful weapons, and amazing technologies from the future.
He recruits the most powerful minds from the past.
Edison is unstoppable.
With his unsurpassed knowledge of science, he has rendered himself immortal.
We call him “The God of Menlo Park.”
Why he keeps coming back to here instead of remaining on his journeys, we don’t know.
It’s sentimentality, I suppose.
He frightens us, and we have no choice but to obey.

The Beavers

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Hey, be careful when you go inside.
It’s dark in the house.
The power was cut off a week ago.
Sure, we pay our bills, but the electric company has yet to fix the fucking lines.
Beavers chewed down the poles. Then they dragged them off to the river to build a dam.
It’s a big river. They needed a lot of wood.
Power poles, telephone poles – the beavers took it all, leaving us in the dark and without phones.
Nice and quiet now. So we go down to the river in the evening and watch the beavers build.

Stick it to The Man

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Things are always getting worse for me and Joey.
Joey lost his job. My hours are getting cut back. The apartment’s a wreck.
Nothing ever works out for either of us.
Joey’s always saying we gotta stick it to The Man.
But Joey never says how we’re supposed to stick it to The Man.
What glue sticks it to The Man?
Do we use staples and thumbtacks?
And what exactly is “it” we’re supposed to stick?
Joey says I’m too literal.
I say Joey needs to provide concrete examples.
He shrugs.
Is this how The Man sticks it to us?