Tag: dystopia

Liberated

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We were liberated by the British.
The Americans, they bring doctors. They bring food. They bring water. They bring medicine. They bring trucks and jeeps. They talk and they cry.
The British, they bring nothing. Not even clothes.
I ask one for food, and he turn his back on me. He get into his jeep and drive off with other soldiers.
I cannot eat freedom. I cannot wrap myself in freedom.
We wander in the street, the forest.
We do not know where to go or what to do.
It starts to rain, and we open our mouths to drink.

Maggots

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I was in the hospital, laid up with a broken leg when the word got out that zombies were on the loose.
No guns. No machetes. Just fire extinguishers and the occasional bone saw.
That’s when it hit me.
“Maggots eat dead flesh,” I said. “Release a bunch of maggots and they’ll eat the zombies.”
The nurse went down to the stockroom and brought out three trays of maggots.
“Is that all?” I asked. “I was hoping for huge barrels full of the things. Maybe fill a moat with them.”
No.
Bar the doors. And pray the army shows up.

Ringing

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Tom lets the phone ring for a while before picking it up.
“Robots give up after four rings,” he explained. “If my friends really want to get me, they’ll let it ring ten or eleven times.”
The phone rings. Twice. Three times. Four times. Five times.
“What about robots who are your friends?” I ask.
For just a moment, Tom’s look gets dark. Angry.
“I have no robot friends,” he says.
Maybe today, but it wasn’t always the case.
Somewhere, deep in a lab under New Mexico, a mainframe caked with dust and spiderwebs.
Memory banks silent, filled with sadness.

Small Safe Town

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There aren’t many secrets on an orbiting research platform.
It doesn’t matter how big we build these. Even a few thousand onboard, it’s still like a small town. Or a research center.
Word passes fast.
It’s also hard to keep secrets about problems with the space station. Everybody is critical to keeping this machine running.
Those that aren’t, they can still sense trouble. Engineers needed for their experiments are busy doing something else.
Plus, when it’s something navigation-related, everyone notices different views out of the windows.
We’re all packing, preparing for evacuation.
But smiling. Like a small, safe little town.

I Killed The Moon

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Look at this knife.
This knife is mine.
I threw it at the moon.
And killed it.
Its blood raining down.
Dead.
Police station.
Jail. Behind bars.
Arrested for murder.
Other cells hold drunks. Hookers. Thieves.
I am the only murderer.
“Why did you do it?” asks the cop.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I had a knife. It was there. It followed me home.”
This angers him.
“Why did you do it?” he shouts.
I really don’t know. All I know, is that I killed the moon.
Every night, my victim up there in the sky.
Still following me.

Helpful

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All our company’s technical support is moving to India.
It’s not because they are cheap workers.
It’s because they really like to help others.
Boatloads of them show up at our ports, asking if they can help with anything.
We send them back, and they offer to help with that, too.
“We’ll call you if we need any help,” we say.
They waited for the call, but we never did.
So, they started to help themselves.
These days, they’re the ones turning back boatloads of our people.
“We offered to help,” they say. “But we think you’re beyond help now.”

Training

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Instead of getting laid off, we’re being repurposed.
Today’s training session is for turning us into plants.
The trainer goes from seat to seat, jabbing us in the foot with a nutrient spike and then tipping a watering can over our heads.
One guy is being prepared for lawn duty, so they’re dowsing him with a hose outside.
Unlucky bastard.
I don’t like getting hosed down on a regular basis, but it’s a good promotion from what they had me doing before.
You can only take so much shit heaped on you, even if you’re supposed to be a mushroom.

Predetermined

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You can’t change fate. Everything is predetermined.
From the beginning of time to the end of time, everything has been planned for.
Even the roll of the dice has a set outcome.
Don’t bother trying to escape from your fate.
This doesn’t means you should just sit there and let things happen.
Because the times you make happen, well, those were fated to happen, too.
The fact that everything happens according to a plan means you are completely absolved from the results of your actions.
This is what I’ll be telling the judge about those seventy-eight murders you committed.
Psycho.

Floating

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It rained hard for a day, and the bayou looked like it would overflow, but it didn’t.
We watched tree branches and other junk flow with the water.
Then, a dead body. Jeans, jacket… face down and not moving.
Well, okay. It was moving downstream.
Around the bend, another body floated by.
Two bodies.
Instead of calling the police, we placed bets.
I bet on the first body. It had a good head start.
But the other one was coming up fast.
Mine got caught on a tree branch, and the other won.
Only then, did we call the police.

The Chip

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I work at this place, maybe you’ve heard of it… Cyberdyne Industries?
Anyway, I needed an expansion chip, found one sitting on a workbench, turned out to be from the head of a Terminator.
Now it’s trying to take over the world every time I sync it.
I called tech Support and told them this, plus, it’s getting lousy reception. They told me to reboot it.
Now my downloads are faster, finally fast enough to take over the whole world.
Relax – they’ll come out with a 4G model next year, I’ll do the upgrade, and we’ll all be free again.