Tag: dystopia

The Wife

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The old man’s lawyers called his wife.
“We’re on vacation,” growled the wife.
“We’re concerned,” said the lawyers. “Now that he’s been found guilty, the fine your husband faces is disastrously large.”
“Are my assets safe?” asked the wife.
“No,” said the lawyers. “What’s yours is his. Everything goes.”
The wife pondered. “Is there a way out of this?”
“He’s guilty, but not sentenced,” said the lawyers. “If he dies before sentencing, the judgment vanishes.”
“And you get paid,” said the wife.
They gave her sugar pills. She gave them his heart medication.
She woke up a very rich widow.

Robbing the Dead

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Haven’t you robbed enough from the man?
His home.
His son.
His strength.
His life.
Body’s not cold yet, laying on the couch, they’re talking about taking one last thing.
“He’s got one of those dick implant pumps,” Catfish says. “Good model, too.”
“Cut it out, and we’ll sell it in Mexico,” says The Bitch.
They go into the kitchen, looking for knives and a bag.
Don’t need to be delicate when the man’s dead.
“Wait,” says The Bitch.
“Yeah,” says Catfish. “This ain’t right.”
“No,” says The Bitch. “Put him on the floor. We can sell that couch, too.”

Observer Twelve

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Observer Twelve kept his seven eyestalks glued to the monitors flicking through signals from Earth, taking notes as interesting things came up.
Four buildings full of Observers were dedicated to keeping tabs on this information-rich corner of the galaxy, a constant source of amusement and concern.
One day, the endless chaos of entertainment, news, sports and sex polarized into panic and desperation.
Then, nothing.
All signals ceased.
Some Observers were reassigned to other units, but most were laid off. Earth had been a rare gold mine of signals.
Ex-Observer Twelve spat and cursed the “Iranians” for ruining a well-paying gig.

Robots kill robots

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“Robots kill robots,” chanted the robots as they marched, rolled, tumbled, and hopped into the arena.
The crowd roared, thirsty for blood.
In the last three seasons, they got it. Robots had to consist of 50% organic components by weight.
And not just “dead” weight, either. No useless blood like earlier models used. Critical functions had to be wired through the meat and gristle, forcing the engineers to take risks and make difficult choices.
One engineer went so far as to sacrifice his own brain for his creation.
He’s over there, on fire.
Should have used a monkey, poor soul.

Murder Offer

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Usually, door hangers offer pizza or Chinese. Two bucks off, free delivery, fifteen dollars minimum order. That kind of thing.
This wasn’t one of those. It was an offer for discount murders.
They quoted rates for various circumstances. Like security considerations. Chronic health problems. Or they’re pregnant – that kind of thing.
I dialed the number and got another dial tone.
Two minutes later, my phone rings.
“Who needs killing?” asks a voice.
“My neighbor’s dog keeps barking late at night,” I joked.
A week later, I got a bloody collar and the bill.
Funny. I don’t sleep any better.

Par Of Dice

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“God does not play dice with the universe,” said the old professor, “He plays dice with the Franelli Brothers in the alley.”
Joe, Luigi, God, and Tony were huddled around a pile of money, some beer bottles, a pizza box, and a pair of dice.
God picked them up. “Baby needs a new crown of thorns,” he muttered, and threw.
“Why do you let bad things happen to good people?” I asked.
“Because they don’t pay up,” said Joe.
Luigi laughed and looked at God. “Is we forgiven?”
“Yeah, yeah,” said God. “Pass the bones, Jack. I’m feeling lucky tonight!”

Struck Noon

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Every day at twelve, the clock struck Noon and the town went mad.
Fights and burnings – you name it. If there’s something wrong that a soul can do, when that clock strikes Noon it happens.
They tried to burn the clock tower down, but stone doesn’t burn. No door at its base, either, nor could they climb up it.
They tried ladders. As they reached the top, it was Noon, and they smashed the ladders to toothpicks.
Pits dug to undermine it or blast it up never got deep enough. Sledgehammers broke on the stone.
It’s almost Noon.
Listen closely.

Virus Scam

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After years and years of progressively malicious computer viruses and worms, the anti-virus program manufacturers finally managed to make deals with computer manufacturers, Internet service providers, and governments that installation of their software was not only necessary, but mandatory by law.
It was right around then that the activity of virus writers dropped off. What used to be a constant cat and mouse game of escalation between those trying to punch holes with exploits and those reinforcing them became a ceasefire.
Eventually, it became a formal partnership.
After all, without barbarians at the gates, who needs the gates? Or walls?

Know It All

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Something snapped in Daniel’s mind. He went from inventorying office supplies to killing everyone in cold blood.
The carnage at the office was worse than you could possibly imagine.
As he stood over his trembling soon-to-be-ex boss, Daniel fumbled through all of his pockets.
“What are you looking for?” asked the boss.
“I’m looking for the bullet with your name on it,” said Daniel. “I swear I had just a minute ago.’
“Maybe it’s already loaded in the gun,” said his boss. “Did you check?”
Daniel checked. Sure enough, it was.
“You fucking know-it-all asshole,” said Daniel, aiming and firing.

Spooky Golf Course

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You’d think that a golf course built on a graveyard would be creepy, but once you get beyond the shock of spectral caddies and zombie groundskeepers it’s actually pretty nice. And a challenge to boot.
I have yet to lose a single ball there. No matter where I whack it, my caddy finds it. Isn’t that great?
You’ve got to be careful with summoning a caddy though. Light the candles in the wrong order or pause at the wrong moment during the spell, and you might end up summoning Satan.
He’s a lousy caddy. Chews club heads, keeps score wrong…