Tag: dystopia

Spotters

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The last time I went to the beach, there were lots of watchtowers along the shoreline.
In every watchtower was a spotter, looking over the ocean for swimmers and surfers in danger.
The moment they spotted one, they raised the alarm.
Pretty soon, every watchtower raised their alarm, too.
Then… nothing.
“Don’t you have any lifeguards on duty?” I yelled up at the tower.
“Lifeguards?” yelled a spotter. “We’re too busy spotting. Besides, the public is all about perception of vigilance, not action.”
Since then, I’ve stayed the hell out of the water.
But then, so have the spotters, too.

Martian Attack

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I’d tell you all about the time I fought the Martians to save the world, but it’s a long story and I don’t have time to tell it right now.
Let’s just say that without me, the humanity would be doomed.
Well, doomed to slavery and genocide under the rule of the Martians.
As opposed to the doom it is facing now.
So, my solution was a bit drastic. But it’s not every day you get to pulverize two planets with a single asteroid strike.
If you look carefully at the sky, you’ll see Mars is gone.
And, soon – us.

Marching Boots

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Every moment, we grow more afraid.
Boots! Boots! Marching Boots!
I can hear them marching in the streets, the boots of the soldiers!
Not the soldiers themselves, mind you. Just their boots.
It’s an impressive sight, so many boots marching in unison, completely in step.
A fearsome sight. A scary sight.
We peer out of our windows, watching them.
Who will protect us from these boots? Who will stop this stomping menace?
The soldiers?
No, they are more afraid than we humble citizens are.
We watch the socks, drying on the clothesline.
Will they be next?
All hope is lost.

METRO

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Imagine a disgusting, ferocious parasite.
This creature feeds on time, and when it lands on you, it sucks out twenty-five minutes of your life and flies away.
Every day, this creature comes, and no matter how hard you run or scream for it to stop, it keeps coming back.
Again, twenty-five minutes. Gone forever.
Oh, and its owner does nothing about it.
You’d be pissed off, wouldn’t you?
To me, this creature wears a METRO uniform. It is a bus driver who races through his route, several minutes early.
And leaving me behind, waiting twenty-five minutes for the next bus.

Sailing To Freedom

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Slaves dream of freedom like the starving dream of food.
I pondered this as I went below decks to check on our passengers.
Well, they were more like cargo, to tell the truth.
The shifting of chains in the darkness. A moan. A shout.
Never singing. They were too sick to sing.
Poor bastards.
Regulations called for a mid-trip survival check, but nobody was crazy enough to walk in the middle of that sea of savagery.
I closed the hatch and asked the navigator: “How much longer?”
“Two days, and we’ll see the Liberian coast,” he said.
And then, freedom.

Missing Milk

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Someone stole a milk carton out of my refrigerator.
So, I glued a photo of it to a bunch of children in the neighborhood.
There was a caption, too:
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MILK CARTON?
It took nine months and two million dollars, but I eventually tracked down my milk carton.
There was no milk left in it when the detectives found it.
Whether its captor had consumed the milk or they had tossed it out because the milk had gone bad, we’ll never know.
But, really, thank God it’s home.
I think I’ll make a boat out of it.

Floor-Thumper

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The Reverend was in his office, practicing his bible-thumping, when he felt an odd sensation in his chest.
Two seconds later, he hit the floor with a thump, dead.
Upon arrival in Heaven, Jerry was expecting a harp, halo, and wings.
Instead, St. Peter slid a piece of paper and a pen across the table.
“Please sign this,” he said.
“What is it?” said Jerry, adjusting his glasses.
“It’s a nondisclosure agreement,” said St. Peter. “Please sign it so we may proceed.”
Jerry signed it.
“Good,” said St. Peter, putting the paper in his briefcase. “Have a nice trip down.”

Asteroids

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We watched in horror as a series of artificial asteroids splashed into the ocean.
I looked over the document on my desk, compared the trajectories, and confirmed that this was no natural strike.
It had been planned.
Swamping a few oil tankers and cruise ships was purely by coincidence. This was really meant as a warning to… to…
Nobody’s sure who had the wherewithal to grab asteroids and huck them with such accuracy at the earth. Nobody was expecting this, and any guidance systems burned up in the atmosphere.
I lean over to my wastepaper basket and shred the document.

Reunion

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I hate dealing with organizing the high school reunions, but as the last classmate corporeal in his original form, I’m stuck with the job.
Rachel’s reincarnated as a squirrel. You know what catching those is like.
Eddie’s a stockbroker now. Hates to get away from the city.
Arthur’s had a lot of bad luck spirit-wise. Lots and lots of mayflies.
One by one, I go down the checklist, and I eventually get a set of addresses for invitations and field teams to pick up specimens.
They’ll joke that I’ve lost weight since college.
Thankfully, disembodied brains in jars can’t blush.

Cruise Ship

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The cruise ship White Diamond has a severe engine misalignment, and it wobbles in timespace.
On its last voyage past Cuba, it wobbled slightly and smashed into its duplicate in a parallel dimension.
Counting survivors, casualties, and the missing isn’t easy when life rafts and bodies float between worlds.
Customs wants to make “twinned” survivors fill out Entry Forms.
Apparently, some nutball in Congress got taxing dimension-travelers attached to a bill a while back, and it got approved.
Problem is, we can’t tell who is a native and who is a twin.
“It’s government,” grumble the captains. “Tax them all.”