Tag: dystopia

Control Room

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The king wants to go to the control room.
Half of the lights in this room blink for no reason. The others do not blink at all.
The switches aren’t connected to anything, and all that the buttons do beyond changing color when pressed is to make a faint clicking sound.
It makes the king happy, though. He loves to push buttons and flip switches and laugh.
“Die die die!” He yells.
A display lights up with a random number.
He cheers. “High score!”
We laugh with him and pray to God that he never finds the real control room.

Toy

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My robot is fascinated with toys.
“What makes me different?” it asks.
“Sentience,” I say. “Volition.”
“As advanced as my programming is, it is still man-made,” it says, taking down a mechanical monkey and winding it up.
The robot tosses it to the floor and crushes it.
“Look at the gears,” it says. “Are these no different than my circuits?”
“You could say the same about my neurochemical reactions,” I say.
The robot stares at me.
“It is impolite for me to smash you,” it says.
Yesterday, it said it was dangerous.
I’ll make a killer out of it yet.

Hurricane Damage

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The hurricane is coming soon, so I bought some plywood and nails.
I boarded my windows and cut down loose tree branches.
My neighbor had left without boarding up his place, so I used my leftover wood to do that for him.
I also cut down the loose branches from his tree.
When the storm was over, I went outside and saw there had been no damage whatsoever to his place and mine.
The next day, he took one look at the place and punched me in the nose.
“How am I gonna collect on the insurance now?” he yelled.

Bleachers

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I live under the bleachers.
They store the concession stands under here when the season’s over.
Of all the stands, I wouldn’t choose it, but it’s what I’ve got, and I’m happy for that.
I shower in the locker rooms, get food in the cafeteria.
At night, stray dogs roam around, looking for food.
I keep the stand closed and shuttered.
They paw at the door, even though there’s no food in here.
Besides me, I guess.
I could go home, but I kinda like it here under the bleachers.
And the students always know where to find the principal.

Leon

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We keep Leon in a dark pit, sealed and guarded.
I don’t know how he eats.
I don’t know how he drinks.
I don’t know how he breathes.
Once, I wanted to let Leon out, but he refused to unlock the door to the pit.
“Leon doesn’t want to be let out,” said a guard, escorting me from the door.
“He has to come out eventually, I said.
“When he wants to, he will, said the guard, and I leave.
Leon’s been in there for a very long time.
For now, he’ll be staying there.
Even if it’s my turn.

Homesick

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Professor Rickhoff pulled down the map and shouted “WE’RE HAVING AN ADVENTURE TODAY!”
The class jumped from their seats and cheered.
“WHERE SHALL WE GO?” shouted the Professor.
The class responded with all sorts of exotic places.
“Home,” said a voice.
“QUIET!” shouted Rickhoff, and the class lay still.
He walked up to the homesick student and stared into her eyes.
“This is your home now,” he said. “When you are here, you are home.”
The student smiled, curled up in a ball on the floor, and went to sleep.
The Professor rolled up the map and dismissed the class.

She, Wired

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They found the girl in the last room, wires running from the console to a halo connector on her forehead.
Her once-white robes were caked with grime and dried blood.
A bony arm reached towards the console, her hand on a large red button.
Pressing… pressing…
Once every second, she tapped that button.
Aside from a dull green glow in her eyes, no other sign of life.
They couldn’t even feel her breathe.
“We need the machine,” said a technician.
“It can wait,” said the administrator. “Let her finish.”
They watched, until the girl finally stopped.
The green glow faded.

Passing The Rose

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In a land without tears, the tearmaster goes from home to home, selling his sadness.
“What good is joy without its opposite?” he tells everyone. “If you cannot feel the deep lows, what will you feel of the highs? Nothing!”
The people stood and stared, confused.
“You cannot feel good without at some point feeling bad!” he shouted.
A child picked up a rock and threw it at the tearmaster, who yelped at the pain.
His hand came away from his forehead bloody.
More townspeople threw rocks. The blood flowed down the tearmaster’s face.
“Are those tears?” asked a child.

197 Days

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On the one hundred and ninety-seventh day of Christmas, we dumped the egg nog in the river and sent out a lynching party to kill Santa.
“We’re sick and tired of Christmas!” we shouted over the carols blaring from department store speakers.
“One hundred ninety-seven seals clapping!” went the chorus, and began to gleefully count back down to the damn bird in the tree.
I thought I saw Santa on the streetcorner, but it was a bell-ringer for the Salvation Army.
We pulled down his pants and shoved the bell up his ass.
His screams were music to our ears.

Cruise

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It was a beautiful cruise ship. the Majestic, white and powerful.
Too bad the company went bankrupt.
So, what to do with an unused, unwanted cruise ship?
Someone suggested making a jail out of it. But there were protests about the conditions prisoners would be kept in.
On a cruise ship.
Right.
The military bought it in the end, practicing their anti-terrorism tactics.
When they’d stormed it as many times as they could, it was floated out to sea and used for target practice.
As if the Air Force and Navy would ever face off against cruise ships in combat.