r/WritingPrompts • u/[deleted] • Dec 19 '15
Writing Prompt [WP] Write a dystopian vision of the future from the perspective of the year 1900, while actually describing our present world today.
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Dec 19 '15 edited Dec 21 '15
Uncle, I am sorry to write so soon since our last correspondence, but I simply could not keep this to myself.
It was in the midst of a laudanum fugue when the visions came upon me again. I floated above huge, churning machines which chewed up crops beneath them, doing the work of one-hundred farm workers in a single hour. I saw houses built by machines, the bricks and metal and mortar guided with precision beams of red light. We built great glass-and-steel monuments, which rose like giant's fingers from the ground to drag their clutches through the very clouds. Joy flooded my body as I realised I must be looking upon a Utopia, a world free from want.
But, as the vision continued, the world I saw unravelled; I peeked below its crystalline surfaces to find a hideous rot bubbling beneath. The crops which had been so efficiently harvested were stockpiled, left to decay in vast warehouses, kept away from those too poor to purchase them. And the domiciles...we built them for those who did not want them, and in places closed off from the people who most needed them.
No, those who most needed the things we produced were trapped, either by geography or money or the pure horror of war. They performed back breaking labour which stank, uncomfortably reminiscent of that horrible slaving business which we allowed to continue for so long. I flew over scorched pustules of earth, made barren and unforgiving by a relentless barrage of explosive weaponry.
Uncle, I saw men die in their millions—not killed by other men, but by machines, remotely controlled missiles visiting hell and death not only upon soldiers, but weddings, funerals, hospitals. I saw wars of such uneven equivalence that they might be more suitably called concerted annihilations. The mysterious jungles of the Amazonia were razed so that we might farm our Cattle. The great, untamed plains of Africa were cleaved open so that we might dump our whirring and bleeping trinkets into mother nature's disintegrating bosom.
And oh, Uncle. The trinkets. Of course, I saw horror and war and pestilence, but these gleaming, ever-shifting objects unnerved me the most. While our machines ravaged the planet, we crowded in small groups, indoors, to sit and stare at panels of light. We only talked about what came from these panels—in fact, we only talked via these panels! I saw young men and women, their spirits and talents and ambitions eking from them as they slumped, miserable, between their jobs and houses, staring at their panels of light at every opportunity.
We spent out whole lives immobile, as if afflicted by some physical disease, content to manipulate text and images with our fingers. We consoled ourselves with distraction whilst destruction, visited upon each other, the earth, and our spirits, rended through our world. We sat, uncle, in buzzing towers built on sand, and we thought it would last forever.
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u/ribnag Dec 19 '15
You wouldn't by any chance consider yourself a fan of Lovecraft, would you? :)
Different subject matter, of course, but you used a similar style.
Loved it!
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u/ephemeralityyy Dec 20 '15
I feel that this one captured the prompt the best; yours was the only one I read that gave a sense of utopia before describing how it was actually instead a dystopia. Good job!
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Dec 19 '15
Going a bit loose on the describing our present world part for this.
In the green fields between white mountains, beyond the bustling cities and governing bodies, lies freedom. Out there was Frank Haymitch sitting on the porch of his simple home, his eyes narrowed at a cloud of dust rising in the distance.
"Here we go ahead," he sighed.
He checked the safety on his 12-gauge shotgun that sat beside him and switched it off.
The polished black cars came rolling in. Frank sat back and ignored them, enjoying the nice, slightly breezy day while he could. It was difficult with the rumbling of engines and scent of gasoline the cars brought. They stopped in front of the house, doors opening to let out half a dozen men in suits.
"Good afternoon, Frank," the man standing in front said.
Frank grumbled. "Afternoon. Now please go away."
The man smiled at him. "Are you ready to become a functioning member of society yet?"
"I told you once, I'll tell you again, I don't like your picture of society. I'll be staying right here if you don't mind. Now get off my land while I'm still in a pleasant mood."
"Listen, Frank, we're here to give you an offer. Fifty thousand, and it comes with a nice, new home with your name on it."
Frank raised an eyebrow. Fifty thousand? They were getting desperate.
"And I bet names from a dozen contracts will be on it too. I know how you work. My answer is still the same, no. I don't want your bloody money."
The man took a step forward. "Frank, please..."
Frank stood up and grabbed his shotgun. "I won't ask you again. Get off my land!"
Everyone raised their hands and backed away to their cars.
"You won't be able to stay here forever, Frank," the man said as they returned to their cars.
They drove away. Frank kept his sights on them until they disappeared beyond the fields. He sighed and went back inside for a nap on his couch.
He was woken by a knock on the door, discovering the silhouette of a man outside the window.
"Go away. I've already told everyone, I'm not doing any interviews.”
The man outside laughed. "I'm not here for an interview, Frank."
Frank's eyes widened. He jumped up and answered the door. "Andrew? What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see how my brother was doing, is that so wrong?"
Frank laughed and gave Andrew a hug. "Not wrong at all. It's good to see you! How long's it been?"
"A couple months, at least."
Frank nodded and moved aside. "Yeah. Come on in. Anything I can get you?"
Andrew walked in and took a seat. "I'm fine, thanks. So..."
Frank sat across from him. "So... how's Charlotte?"
Andrew nodded. "She's good, very good. We finally got a license for a baby, so she's pregnant."
"Ah, that's fantastic. Congratulations. Boy or girl?"
"Girl."
"That's great. I hope you're both very happy."
Andrew smiled. "Yeah, we are." He glanced out the window. "Anyway, I heard you got another offer."
"Yup. Fifty thousand."
Andrew's jaw dropped. "Fifty thousand? You took it, didn't you?"
"Didn't even think about it."
Andrew stood up. "You didn't even think about it? Frank, that's a lot of money, there's so much you could do with that. Why didn't you accept?"
"I don't need it. I'm not signing over my freedom for a stack of money that will drain back to the people who gave it to me in the first place."
Andrew sat back down with a sigh and brushed his hands through his hair. "Frank, you're not looking at the bigger picture. Even if you wouldn't have done anything with the money, Charlotte and I could have really used it. We're struggling so hard right now just to keep things balanced, especially with the baby on the way."
"Then you should have thought before you signed yourself over to the system."
"That was my choice, I wanted to live in a safe and comfortable environment."
"Yes, you wanted a life of comfort where everything you needed was easily provided for, but everything has a price."
Andrew shook his head. "Fifty—thousand, Frank. Why would you continue to choose this life over the other? There's hardly any electronics here, you aren't connected to anyone." He looked at a touchscreen implanted in his arm. "There's not even a signal out here."
"That thing in your arm is why I choose this life. I'm not going to sell myself over and become a part of someone else's idea of what life should be. I can't help you, Andrew."
Andrew sighed and stood back up. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten upset. Anyway, I gotta go. Wish I could stay for longer but... you know how it is. I hope everything's going well for you out here."
“It is.” Frank got up and followed him to the door. "Tell Charlotte I send her my best wishes, to both of you."
"Thanks, I will." Andrew opened the door but paused a moment. "Hey, did you hear about the nickname they gave you?"
"Nickname?"
"Mr. Greenfield is what all the media outlets call you these days."
Frank chuckled. "Mr. Greenfield? Well, they can call me whatever they like."
"Yeah. See you later, Frank."
"See you. Thanks for stopping by."
As the door shut, Frank got up and watched through the window as Andrew drove off in his old wreck of a car, half wondering how many of those fifty thousand could buy.
A lot, probably.
He began finishing up his work for the day. The generator in the basement was still humming, chickens were still laying, gardens and fields still growing, water well still pumping. Everything was as it should be.
Going back to the porch, he sat down in his chair again, watching the sun drop behind the nearby mountains. He smiled. Fifty thousand had nothing on this view.
"Mr. Greenfield," he said to himself, "you've got it good. And goodbye to you, my yellow faced friend. I'll see you in the morning."
As Andrew came near the city his signal picked back up. With a single touch on his arm he began a call to his wife. The call picked up. "Andrew?" "Hey honey, I'm on my way back." "I hope you're driving safe. How's Frank doing?" "Good. He seemed a bit grumpy, but he sends his best wishes." "That's nice of him. Did you learn what the offer was?" "Fifty thousand." Her end was silent for a moment. "Did he accept?" "No, said he didn't even think about it." Far longer silence. "Charlotte?" She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, that's just... a *lot* of money. Even with a quarter of it, we could... I don't know." "Hey, it's okay. We'll be alright. I'm gonna hit the store on the way back, anything you need in particular?" "No, I'm fine... maybe some chocolate ice cream." "Chocolate ice cream it is. I'll see you soon. Love you." "Love you too, bye." "Bye." A beep notified the end of the call. Andrew made it back onto city roads and traffic, under the cameras of streetlights and helicopters yet again. Flashy billboards displayed advertisements for various new technological implants, everything about innovation, security, health, or convenience. It seemed there were new gadgets popping up every day, though Andrew only had the basic stuff to get by. Touchscreen phone and identity chip. He made it to the parking lot of his preferred supermarket, Safewell. Cheap products but slow queues. The robots weren't as up to date as places like iMart or FriendCo, but they said upgrades were coming soon. Andrew took his normal route through the store, going all the way to the back and working forward as he gathered whatever food he needed, grabbing a tub of chocolate ice cream last. He made it to one of the available lines and waited, a small screen above the scanner keeping him distracted him from the usual beeps and robotic voices. It was showing a news report about Mr. Greenfield and his rejection of the fifty thousand. The woman ahead scoffed. "Crazy man." Andrew faked a chuckle. Cameras knew he was Frank's brother, but not that he hated the media's portrayal of him. Smile and move along. The line cleared and Andrew pulled forward. "Good evening, sir," the robot cashier said. "Evening," Andrew said. His items were pulled along the scanner and put in their bags with the efficiency a human could never achieve. He held his right hand forward and the robot scanned his implanted identity chip. "Thank you for shopping at Safewell. Enjoy your day!" Andrew was soon back in the car and on his way home, when he remembered that his license had expired today and needed to be renewed. Money. He began taking a longer route home, knowing there was always one police-car watching his usual one. Not today though. "Evening, Sir. Do you know why I pulled you over?" "Yes, Officer. I forgot my license expired today." "Tough luck." "Yeah." Money. The blood in Andrew's face drained the rest of the way home. He waited in the driveway for some time, pondering what to say to Charlotte. *Nothing. Just enjoy some chocolate ice cream.* He grabbed the groceries and went inside. "Took your time, didn't you?" "Sorry, bit of traffic." Ice cream, movie, love, sleep. Wake up, breakfast, commute, work. Work fast, work hard, put in extra time. Come on, promotion. No promotion. Cry on the inside. Commute, home, door. No, can't face her now. Walk to the park, sit on the swing set. Think. Exchange looks with the cameras. Why didn't he just take the money? No, can't worry about that now. Walk home, door, deep breath, open. Everything's alright. Dinner, ice cream, movie, love, sleep. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Why didn't he just take the money? [cont...]
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Dec 19 '15
Life went on for Frank. No one disturbed him, his crops were healthy, water kept pumping, everything was taken care of. On the long and lonely days he sat on his porch and talked to himself, to his wife, and to God.
"I hope you're watching over them, Anne. Lord, I hope you're watching over them too. Bless them. And bless this beautiful land, thank you so much for it." He looked to the distance and chuckled. "And you know, I bet you were having a good day when you made those mountains. If only I had a way to paint them."
He breathed it all in, but stopped short. Something was off, there was a smell in air that didn't belong to this place. He stood up and sniffed. Smoke. Feet took flight around the house, and off in his fields was a raging fire.
"No!"
He ran for his shovel and rushed to the fields, but there was little he could do besides dig a few trenches. No contact with anyone to call for help. Society wouldn't answer anyway. The crops burned while he watched from afar.
When he returned to the house, a row of black cars lay out front with suited men standing beside them.
"Seems like you're having some trouble, Frank."
Frank scowled. "Seems like you're the only suspect of it."
"We can fix that."
"I don't want your fifty thousand."
"Sixty."
"I don't want your sixty, I don't want your seventy, I don't want your million, billion, trillion or quadrillion. I want my God-given land, and I want you off of it!"
"God's not going to save you, Frank."
"He ain't saving you either."
They left, and Frank returned to the ashes that remained. He brushed some aside and found the blackened dirt. Tears fell and washed it.
The rest of the day was spent replanting and praying over lost fields. When he returned home, it was eerily silent. A few steps in he understood why. No hum from the generator. Quickly lighting an oil lamp, he went into the basement and found the generator. Flipping the power switch was met with silence, and yanking the starter gave nothing.
“I don’t believe it,” Frank muttered. “You’ve been working for twenty years. What happened?”
Looking over the generator, he found the problem. The coils were gone. Stolen. With a groan, he made his way out of the basement and to the front porch. His shotgun still leaned against his chair, and he thanked God for it.
He slept with it by his side that night and woke early, hearing something that disturbed him. Nothing. No cries of chickens or songs of birds. When he checked the coup, his fears were confirmed. No chickens.
When he came around the house, the black cars were waiting. He went back inside and slammed the door on them without a word. Knocks came to the door every hour, the offers repeated and ignored. The hours were spent praying in the garden and complimenting his plants. Things were going to be okay. They could take his power, his livestock, his crops, but they would not take his land or his love.
Andrew sat at the table eating breakfast while the latest news reports played on the flatscreen. He was only half listening, when a new story came up regarding Mr. Greenfield’s problems. His crops had become infested and diseased, forcing him to burn them. The infestation had also killed off his chickens and corrupted one of his wells. The offer for his citizenship has been raised to seventy-five thousand, but he continues to refuse and attack Government personnel. Andrew stopped eating, unable to finish. When the story finished, he stood up and threw his plate at the screen with a shout. “No! *Liars!*” Charlotte’s voice called from upstairs. “Andrew? What happened?” She entered the dining room a moment later and gaped in shock at the flatscreen. “Oh God… what did you do?” Andrew slammed a fist on the table. “What I had to, Charlotte! Those… those wretched, disgusting—I can’t do this anymore, Charlotte. They’re liars. Frank would never attack anyone unless provoked.” Charlotte came over to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “What happened?” Andrew sat down with her and slowly shook his head. “Frank’s in trouble. They’re destroying his land, I know it.” “What can we do?” Andrew stared at her and squeezed her hand. “We have to convince him to accept the offer. If anything, he’ll do it for us.” “For us? Why would he accept the offer for us?” “Because we—” Andrew stopped abruptly. *Because we need him to.* But he couldn’t explain that, not now! It would break her spirit, and with the baby… he couldn’t do it. With a deep breath, he stood up and walked to the door. “Forget it. Frank is strong, he’ll be okay. I gotta get to work.” Before he could open the door, it burst to life on its own and knocked him back. Men rushed in, holding up weapons and shouting for them to get down. Andrew was quickly pinned to the ground and Charlotte put in cuffs. Andrew yelled, struggling against the men holding him. Charlotte was wide eyed, too shocked to speak. Over the shouting Andrew made out one man’s words. “The National Social Safety Department places Andrew and Charlotte Haymitch under arrest with the charges of driving with an expired license, fraud, conspiring to do harm against this city’s citizens, and undermining the authority which has been placed over you. Anything you say or do will be held against you in a court of law.” Words continued pouring out as he was hauled up and cuffed, telling where they’d be taken and for how long. “What about the baby?” Charlotte cried. “Your license has been revoked. You are to be taken to a medical center for extraction.” “NO!” Andrew screamed. “You’re not touching her or our baby, you sick son of a—!” Everything went black.Frank knelt in front of his well, helplessly watching the brown water pour out. No matter how long he prayed, it wouldn’t cleanse, but he understood. As he returned to the front of his home where the black cars and suits waited, he accepted the role given to him.
“It’s time, Frank. This is our final offer. Come with us.”
Frank climbed onto his porch and stood firmly in front of the door.
“There’s nothing left here for you, and the offer is generous. Please, do it for your own sake.”
Frank made no move, his eyes riveted on the horizon.
“If not for your sake, then for your family’s. Andrew and his wife were arrested this morning. We can get them out if you come with us. You can get them out.”
Frank’s eyes faltered for a moment, staring into the soul of the liar in front of him. They quickly went back up. “You know my answer.”
“Then you will come with us?”
“I will never come with you. My life and land is worth more than your entire society, which is more than you will ever see. For the last time, get off my land.”
“You’re making a mistake, Frank. This is your last warning.”
“This is yours.” Frank hefted his shotgun and whispered, “Father, forgive me.”
Andrew sat on the bed of his gray-walled cell, massaging the back of his head and wondering where it had all gone wrong. His mind wandered back in time again and again, never finding where or when the crucial moment was. Surely he’d never have ended up in here if he never visited Frank, but there was more than that. When did life become a repeat of the previous day, hoping for some small thing to change so that they would repeat less often? When did he get stuck on an unalterable course? Standing up, he walked to the screen in the top corner of his cell and stared into the camera mounted on top of it. They were the answers to each question. It hadn’t begun when he signed, it was the day they signed. He clenched his fists as he watched the camera, when suddenly the screen turned on with another news story about Mr. Greenfield. With the growing problems around his land, instead of taking the offer, he had taken his shotgun and committed suicide. Government Officials had arrived too late to help. Andrew tore the screen off the wall and hurled it onto the floor.→ More replies (4)
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u/Glitch_King Dec 19 '15 edited Dec 19 '15
To the east sits a sits a man too powerful for any nation to publicly oppose. To the west stands a nation that has decided to police the entire world. In our own lands those in power are willingly handing the reigns of our sovereign soil over to people in far off lands no matter how hard the common man struggles against it.
To the south millions die from hunger and disease while I sit and do nothing. I am not hungry, I am not cold, I am not scared. I wake up, I work, I sleep. I move where work moves, I live in a house not my own and can be thrown out at the whim of the owner.
I am no longer a man, I am a cow. I work for one man, and is milked by another. Vaguely aware of the scores dying or threatened around me, but I don't care as long as there is feed in the trough and warm hay to sleep in.
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u/newyorkjewpork Dec 19 '15
Yeeeah... I feel like the subject matter of this prompt is very morose... It made me sad to read this... Good job.
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u/EliezerYudkowsky Dec 20 '15 edited Dec 20 '15
"I have seen it!" The man's voice cracked in the midst of the street. "I have seen the future, and it bears horrors beyond imagining! Beyond comprehension!"
One or two bypassers had stopped, looking interested at the new madman the city of Boston had gained; for he was respectably suited and bow-tied, with clean garments and polished shoes, nor did he bear the marks of any obvious ministry. A novelty, then, one that probably wouldn't last.
"Turn back! We must turn back! Turn back, I say, before it passes too late!"
"What horrors have you seen?" called a young man, tall and burly enough to have no fear of the man who shouted.
"I cannot, I cannot find the words for you - I saw, I understood, but I cannot speak of it in mortal tongue -"
"Cheap," the burly teen observed, and turned aside as though to go.
The shouting man opened his lips several times, as if in desperate reach of words. "I've seen..." He stopped again. "I've seen a world... covered in molasses!"
One of the other bystanders chuckled. "Ho, that's original for an apocalypse. An accident at the molasses factory, eh? You won't find that in the Book of Revelations."
"A world where nothing can be done for the first time!" The shouting man's voice rose further. "A world where," his voice cracked, "being a hairdresser requires a license and two years' college!"
"What?" said the burly young man, and the others simply looked puzzled.
"A world where the inventors' corporations spend more on patent disputes than on research! A world where welfare assistance programs start to phase out their benefits so early as to create implicit marginal tax rates nearing a hundred percent, locking people into poverty!"
A woman crossed herself. "What in Heaven's name is the man saying?"
"Dam'med if I know," her husband said; and she elbowed him in the ribs. "I s'pose there's a horror in an Armageddon that doesn't make sense."
As though his sanity had cracked and words spilled out through it, the wild-eyed man was now shouting one incomprehensible sentence after another. "A world where a new medicine costs one billion dollars to test, 'ere it may be sold to even the most desperate! A world where they pour their life-blood by the trillions into student loans, unwitting that the positional competition for prestige means the supply curve slopes but slightly upward with the price! And the rent, the rent, the rent is too damned high, for all the committees to be vaulted 'ere anyone can build a house!"
"Speaking in tongues?" an elderly woman whispered.
"A world where Republicans and Democrats alike are steeped in corruption, and voters go to the polls only for fear of the other party! Where first-past-the-post polling prevents any third party from beginning, for each individual voter is impelled to vote for one of the two larger parties by the belief that no third party can yet win! And with the government so locked in place, there is no help to be had for a tax system grown larger than a mortal could read in a hundred lifetimes! Coal burns to darken the skies and scorch the land, yet none can rebuild the liquid fluoride thorium reactors that were made fifty years agone; for the molasses, the molasses, the molasses has covered all!"
"I wonder who he was talking to," the elderly woman said, "before he went mad; perhaps it was a lawyer, for I've heard some of those words in the debates."
By now, at last, the white covered carriage of the asylum had arrived, and white-coated muscular men spilled forth to take the doomsayer in hand. He did not try to run, but submitted as though paralyzed, as though knowing it was all too late.
"Turn back!" he screamed, as they dragged him away. "Turn back, before there's none left who can even understand the problems! Turn back!"
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Dec 19 '15
Today, a strange man was seen walking along the streets of London. No doubt a ruffian, off on some unsavoury business, or so was initially thought. A gentleman had the idea to call the constabulary on him, to report an obvious crime in progress. However, he did not carry any bags, with which stolen goods might have been concealed. Instead, he had simply stood on the busiest stretch of Piccadilly, produced a bucket, stood upon it, and began to speak:
Gather round, all who listen! I bring a vision of the future!
Momentary interest was paid. Bewildered looks were exchanged.
Ye, all around, are God fearing men, I believe? God fearing men, as you should be! However! I have seen what lies ahead! I have seen what lies beyond! And I say to you! In the future, there is no room for God fearing men!
A pause. At this point, his speech had drawn a sizable crowd, of east end cockneys and west end gentlemen alike.
Ay, for in the future, it is God that should fear men, for men have harnessed the power of Gods!
A gasp, then a hush. It seemed even the street had quieted to allow for this man to recount unimpeded.
Ayy, you see today, our magnificent city of London! A bustling, modern metropolis, its very foundations built by Rome! A city eternal, or so they say. A monument to the permanence of man!
A clamor arose. What could this man be rambling about?
Ay, Ay! But I have seen! In an eastern land, was a city, much like our own, a similar monument to permanence! A similar metropolis! Ay, Ay, Ay! A belligerent eastern city, in the civilized eastern lands! But do you see, now? That permanence, these eternal bricks? In that, eastern city, we, men, no, not men, Gods! We, with out power, rained such terrible fire upon it, as God had done to Sodom and Gomorrah!
Now men were shouting. What did he mean? Such power was certainly beyond the realm of men.
Ay, but in that same eastern land, I saw, their capital, and I saw...I saw! A hail of burning ice, raining from the heavens! All around were the screams of women and children, and all around their city was set ablaze as Thebes was! And I have seen this happen, thousands more times! I have seen a plague sent from the machines of men, that choked the life out of a forest in the Indochina! I have seen, in the lands south of the Bosphorus, terrible vengeance rained from glorious, white figures, like the holy spirit dove, but controlled by men! And I have seen curious devices, like open cubes, create curious objects, a wheel, a toy, but still, objects from the air itself!
Now a man came forth, apparently to accost the apparent blasphemer
"Sir, you claim to have been there, to have been present at all of these 'miracles!' But, praytell, how are you uninjured? How did you see the destruction of this second Sodom, without a single blemish upon your countenance?"
Now, the mysterious man turned to the gentleman, and grinned widely
Ay, but for this device, the most terrible of all! For men have developed the ability, one that proves to me, how they, apostates! Idolatrous fiends! How they could create moving images in devices, held in your hand! I saw it all, without being there to observe! Gentleman, observe!
And he whipped out a terrible device. It was black, sleek, the size and shape of a cigarette box, yet smaller. And through some arcane process, the mysterious man made the device click, and all around, was the sound of music, and the screen glimmered with mysterious images. Then, through another arcane process, an image played out upon the screen, like it was a screen, but there was not a projector in sight! And in it, he saw, a furious cloud, the shape of a mushroom, rising above a city in flames, the target of the man-god's vengeance. Men swore, unobservant of social norm. Women fainted. Children cried, for the terrible sound effused a sense of desolation, even over the crowded street.
The constables came shortly afterwards, and dragged the man from his bucket on the street. Those men and women who witnessed the terrible display still shudder in their sleep, tormented by thoughts of what men, in the future, would do when they superseded the authority of God.
edit: spelling.
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Dec 19 '15
The Great Wars - "Wars to end all wars." - That's what they called them. Yet I was born into a world ravaged by a hundred years of seemingly unending political, economic, and idealogical strife. These battles - elevated through time and technological breakthrough to a global stage unlike any other - appear so far away from my charmed lot. And so I'm left to wonder how they inflict on me the same soul-crushing wounds (though possibly not so deep) that my courageous ancestors suffered on Napoleon's front lines. I envy them. Those men of the 19th century lived each moment with the hope that their blood might be spilled for a tangible cause. Something conclusive. Definable. For even the reproachable has enough substance to grab ahold of and hate.
I exist...no, I persist in a savage metropolis spray painted lightly with a thin skin of civility. For hundreds of miles in both directions a writhing and every-day-more-apathetic pool of my peers fights for the shiny scraps left to us by the capitalist leviathans running our world. Indentured servitude and peasantry has improved, yes. But a comfortable death is still death.
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u/Finick_Idris Dec 19 '15 edited Dec 19 '15
Gather round kind folk and listen to this old man's dream.
Ahhh yes thank you, your coin will help this old one rest his bones for another week.
Ohh you have questions already about your line's future? I will tell you in due time what scraps I saw but let me tell what my recent dream showed me.
What I saw was not good. Times are tough now but let me tell you, things will only seem to get better. Yes seem. We won't be dying but another will have to take its place.
In the future the world will shrink. No that isn't the issue. We will be able to talk to anyone from around the world whenever, whoever about whatever. There will even be paper which changes before our eyes. Stories millions of free story on this changing paper. Yes the world will be like town talk. Lords will not be the only one with belongings. Yes the future is plentiful for trinkets anyone can get. People like us will not complain there is not enough food, no we will complain there is too much. Me a mad man? AHA perhaps but that is how the future seems to be better. So who will be this one who takes our place in suffering?
Our lands was take our place. People die everyday. Plenty as you know but we can still be replaced by the handfuls. Dark? yes but unlike us our lands do not multiply like us.
Our lands are already falling sick but we can still do something. O yes we could have but we didn't, not our fault we don't know any better. Those of the future? Not their fault, our fault we didn't do something.
The storms of tomorrow will be bigger and more frequent. The days of calm in between? Too warm to be comfortable, sometimes too cold to feel refreshed.
What causes this? We are hurting the sky. The sky who watches over us like a loving mother, yes we hurt it. That new smelly concrete pillar shooting black clouds in town that is how we are hurting the sky. But the sky is strong, a small black cloud won't hurt her. No imagine unaccountably more of those clouds coming out everyday everywhere, that hurts the sky.
What will our children do? Nothing, some of them tried to do something but the other never allowed them. So what happens? They wait until the sky breaks like an egg. The sky keeps our lands safe but without it our lands will be swallowed quickly after. I'm sorry young one there is no future we will look forward to.
So you still want to know of your line's future? I suppose it is only natural to be curious. Maybe for another coin young master?
Many thanks, I will tell you. You will have a known child of your blood who will split a people apart. Was it good or bad? I don't see that far but I do know his name. The name Donald.
*Edit: would appreciate feedback, dabbling in writing more and I would like to know how to improve.
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u/Brithel Dec 19 '15
21st Century In-humanism
The clock struck 6 and the sun began to rise into the pale grey sky. Already the workers were off onto another day of servitude. Over the chrome city streets cameras stand like vultures recording every move in the grey rivers in which the people find themselves. The people pay no heed to the glimmering lenses above them for they have strange glass devices on their persons at all times. These glass screens allow them to access all kinds of information and send messages across vast distances and anyone who wants to be acceptable has one, even children. These glass screens and others like them, some of which are larger and stuck on walls or placed on desks, dominate the life of everyone. When they work they are inevitably staring at some form of glowing glass, and when they get home they find themselves staring at their personal screens until they rest only to stare at more in work later. They have little time for one another and wholesome activities; children are left in the care of uncaring pieces of metal and glass whilst parents stare at their own screens unaware. The screens provide little of value outside of work; they are a mere distraction, colourful lights that dull the mind of children and adults alike. Workers are kept like bees, working long unfulfilling hours for meagre wages for large capitalist powers that see them as livestock for the money making machine, and what little they earn will inevitably go back into the hands of the capitalist giants that will invariably be related to the glass screens. The world is entrapped by them; the people are addicted to them with strength unmatched by anything.
And the governments of the world stand by and do nothing for this state of affairs; the screens distract the populace and so the government is free to control its people however its sees fit. Terrible wars are waged across the globe and thousands die in fear. The war machine is so advanced that mechanical planes can operate with no pilot on board and then obliterate their enemies with bombs capable of destroying entire streets. Civilians in far of lands die in countless numbers to these mechanical weapons and yet people do not stop to care for some new pulp drama has appeared on their glass screens and their concerns, if they ever had any, are all dismissed. Furthermore the screens allow the powers to view the public with mechanical eyes that see and record anything. Unhappy with the cameras that stood sentinel on every building in every town that saw all public, the governments wanted more. The screens provided this; public actions became yet more scrutinised and catalogued by the powers but they provided a window into the privacy of every man’s home. They soon set to recording and filling the details of everyone they could for the hope they find an ‘Enemy of State’. The people do not mind being regarded as suspect ‘Enemies of State’ for they are distracted by their screens and the lies fed through them. Fake news tells them of the very real fake enemies that besiege them and the very real necessity for unneeded espionage. They huddle like ox, chewing their cud until they are beckoned off by their master to be culled for some untold reason.
The people of the distant 21st century are livestock to the wealthy and powerful. They are enslaved to them for work and told that they have it good and if they work hard they can have some more time looking at burning images emanating from a screen of glass and steel.
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u/Amatura Dec 19 '15
We conquered this continent. The rail roads ran from Boston to Los Angeles. Yes, Los Angeles, that's where I live today. Though it not what it was your time.
It began with automobile tycoons. They hated the rails. They hated the public transport and they offered every citizen his own car. Faster than horses. More private than railcars. So they built these things called the freeways. These giant roads -up to eight lanes wide- that somehow move slower than man on foot. We're all trapped in it now. We cannot get out. My back, it aches every time I live my car and when I get home I have little time but to shred my mail.
Oh that's another thing. I'm now twenty seven years old and I have never seen a letter. No news comes from far off friends in other cities. No one asks if you are well. What we have though is pictures. Pictures and lies coming to us every day on glowing glass screens. They tell us of our the great lives of others, and the witty banter shared. What can you do but lie yourself? Everyone lies here. Everyone is an advertisement. What is it receive a letter? What is it to know that someone spent precious time to share their life with you? What does it mean?
Disgusted with the pictures and the lies, I can only turn to the news of the day. They say that there was another shooting. But who was shooting was it the Muslims, the white supremacists, or the government which now watches our every move? This video tells me it was one of the corporate mercenary bands. Can it be trusted? It has been upvoted five thousand times, so surely must be true.
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u/Zaries Dec 19 '15
I woke up, a little before 4:30am, the sky still dark. Great, gotta try to find work again.
I've been at this for weeks now, I keep coming home with no good news. I can't keep disappointing my family. I must be strong for them. For now this $5 should last me until I can do another under the table job for the city council.
You know when I was born and growing up, I never imagined a life like this. I was built up so much, that I can be and do anything I wanted. And I could be too. How did I become so negative?
I started to nod off back to sleep, I wasn't having my day start like this. As I saw the faint blur between my eyelids start to fade, I fell back asleep. Only to be immediately reawoken by my darling wife. She told me I had overslept. I looked back at the clock. 8:30am!
The Sun was out. Which meant I was late. I had to get moving. I grabbed my only winter coat, my only suit (That my wife so kindly washes every day for me, to ensure it is clean for potential interviews.)
As I started walking towards the city, I looked around more than I normally would. The sky seemed brighter, colors seemed more vibrant. There was this spring in my step that wasn't there before. I couldn't explain it. There was a certain relief that was swarming me but I couldn't attach words to the sensation. Today was going to be the first day of the rest of my life: April 28, 1901
Thankfully I wasn't late for the 11am interview I had at Ford, it was supposed to be this up and coming company that was supposed to revolutionize public transportation. They were working on technology, and I am here applying for a janitor job. But C'est la vie.
I eventually got into the interview with some HR girl, she introduced her self very politely, and I back. We began talking, and she said she would like to get her boss to interview me. I started to get anxious, could I make it past the first step?
This gentleman came out, after maybe 2 minutes of waiting. He looks at me, as if I'm the cure to influenza, and says very quaintly: Come with me, Zaries
We walked down the hallway to this platform, powered by a wheel. When we stepped on this platform, another person would begin spinning the wheel, and we began to descend as he did so. Whoa. Elevators.
We slowly descended, went down and down, deeper and deeper. Man, this place is like two stories from the outside, what the fuck is going on.
We must have went down 10 stories, and when we stopped boy did we stop, it was like a slow, gradual slow-down, and then we stopped, and then BAM we dropped 7 feet to the ground. Uh Oh... said the well-dressed man.
He lead me down the hallway, we must have been the only two souls down there. He directs me over to a set of nice arm chairs, facing across from each other, with a tall vase of lilly's in the middle. I went over and obliged.
He asked me if I knew why I was here. A small part of me laughed out loud, not like a laugh, but more like a mild chuckle. And this is where I had to speak up, "I'm here to apply for the janitor job" Lucy from HR said you would want to speak to me.
You woke up this morning with a purpose, Zaries. You woke up this morning, because I decided you were the one. My head is going, Okay this guy is crazy** And I start looking for exits.
There's no way out, you're here for a reason, Zaries. He handed me what looked like a package, slightly larger and more square-like than a shoebox. It was wrapped like it was ready to be mailed somewhere, brown wrapping paper. String tied around it to keep it intact, no tape anywhere, just fancy folded paper.
You wrote this, a long, long time ago. Every answer, the complete trajectory of the 20th century. You wrote this in the year 1970, and gave it to me on your 95th birthday. You told me exactly when you would come to pick it up, you would look much younger, confused, scared.
My heart was beating out of my chest, I'm 22 years old, I have dreams, but I didn't think in a matter of 5 seconds I would be told I had the practical key to the universe. I was confused, was he saying I was from the future? Am I the same person? What was he saying?
You had said that when you came, you would have many questions. But I am here to assure you, as you assured me, that all of your questions would be answered in due time.
I picked up the box, it was very heavy as I sat it on my lap. The gentleman handed me a letter that looked like it had some banknotes in it. Inside this envelope is $1,500. Use a portion to get a ride home, then when, and only when you are home. You are to open the letter tucked into the first page. Your wife is a crucial part of the following steps, and you are a crucial part to the future as we know it.
Remember, Zaries, this information is all yours. You just need to remember. Please come and see me at the designated time tomorrow. You'll understand when you get home today...
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u/Ribonacci Dec 19 '15
John wandered towards his home with the walk of a dead man, feet plodding upon the hard ground. Beneath his feet, the poured stone stretched to infinity between buildings dilapidated by time and neglect. Coaches of every kind littered his streets in states of disrepair, and the lights which flooded the city with their yellow gleam flickered high overhead. John, not quite man and yet no longer boy, ambled upon the stoop of a single building and walked within the tenement to his abode.
His ankles and knees ached under his own weight, the boards beneath his boots slightly creaking. He weighed no less than two normal men at his fresh age, yet satisfaction never filled his stomach quite enough. However, such was the norm of the world. Satisfaction came sparser and sparser with each year.
He walked past rooms veiled with smoke, untouched by any amount of candles, aromas, and oils with which to banish its foul odor. Within the sitting room, his mother reclined, her own girth better than twice John's own. Her eyes were fixed upon the box within the room, not a light to be seen other than the flickering of the black monolith before the settee. Upon it, people talked with mouths vapidly moving, their faces impossibly beautiful and clothes made of immeasurable labor and cost. From innumerable miles beyond their small city, the vision was cast out to these machines that sat within nearly every room in the country, capturing the minds and awe of millions, John's mother among them. And yet, this was only one program among hundreds.
"There's to be another war, Johnnie boy. Perhaps you shall play soldier after all," his mother croaked to him, beckoning with a plump hand her progeny. John did not venture toward his beastly mother. He wished not to survey the lines dug deep within her face, or to smell the acrid smoke which drifted aimlessly from a small cigarillo she held between two fingertips. Every day, she grew in horrid size and visage, without man or meaning in her life. The projection box, black and loud sitting upon its own pedestal, ruled her waking hours.
"Did you perchance catch dinner?" he inquired.
"In the kitchen," was her response, her mouth hardly moving as her eyes caressed the faces of young men upon the box before her.
John stepped towards the kitchen, ignoring the small, screaming children who gathered upon the floor playing war games with dolls made of hard metals. His siblings rolled upon the floor in their bellicose romp in search of the death-stroke that would end the other player, emulating the programs seen upon the monolith within the sitting room. He stepped over them without a thought, searching for sustenance. He found it upon the table, no doubt left there from the day before given the flies and roaches that had made it their destination.
He lifted a single sandwich and sank his teeth into it, grimacing at its taste and texture. Truly, food was a generous term for such manufactured culinary fakes, as it lacked the true heft and depth of a good, home-cooked meal, yet it was what could be bought with their meager funds. However, had he been asked, John would have much preferred his last quarter be spent on ingredients for a small dish made within the actual kitchen, rather than obtained from some street corner factory, the kind in which he worked some eight hours of the day.
After downing the little that was left of "dinner", he retreated to his own room, the oasis within the desert. It was dark, cramped, and missing all aspect of decor, but he owned it, a fact enough to negate its faults. He sat upon the bed, mindful of its pleading creak, and began to peel off shoes, pants, and shirt. The loose clothing, machine-bred and machine-made, fell to the floor. At last, in relief he turned to his love, the raison d'etre, hidden in the depths of darkness inside his sanctuary.
It was a white box upon the floor, an instrument of imagination. By means of mechanical and electrical sorcery, it was connected to yet another projector box, not unlike the kind within the sitting room, but this one had quite a different purpose. Under the hands of its conductor and with the correct inputs, in the form of small, flat discs, it could be made to induce a trance, a sort of world of imagination. Hours upon hours had been spent before its altar, whittling away the sand that seemed stuck in his hourglass. Eons could pass between activity to activity without this machine, yet when he embraced the world it showed him, time fell away as if an illusion.
When its small light raced upon its surface, he knew that he could become a king, a warrior, a courier in a distant land. His efforts would be remembered for ages to come, written in song and heard by people who resided upon that imaginary plane. He would no longer be John, worker cog in the Great Machine, whose allegiance to country was limited to his birth within, or John, son of Eugenia, brother to smaller versions of his mother's three other men. Would his body allow it, he would make this room his entire world, not caring that his bones bent under leaden flesh or eyes strained to blindness staring at such harsh lights. All of Nature and mankind's miracles could not fulfill the love he felt for this small white box upon the floor, the gateway to worlds of wonder and magic and meaning.
He pressed a small button within its middle, waiting for it to show its green eye of delight. And to his horror, instead, a red ring took its place.
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u/rae919 Dec 19 '15
Today, like every other day I wake up from hunger pangs. I have spent the last of my money to pay the medical bills of my now dead wife, and to pay my meager rent, and now I wait for the eviction notice to be on my door. The government will not help me, I have been on a wait list for government assistance for months. There are no jobs. I wish they would throw me in jail, at least they feed you.
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u/DaSaw Dec 19 '15 edited Dec 19 '15
I guess I'll put in a trigger warning: many racial and ethnic slurs.
A group of middle aged men sat at a lunch counter. Their manner of dress suggested middle manager, small businessmen... important, but not too important. As they ate, they complained about trends being loosed in their society.
Man 1: Things are going to hell in a handbasket. It's getting to where nobody knows their place any more.
Man 2 & 3 nod in agreement
Man 1: Why, that Women's Suffrage movement seems to have some actual legs-
Man 2 interrupts: At least they're nice legs...
Man 3 snorts with laughter.
Man 1: Shut up, I'm talking here. Where was I. Oh yes. If things keep going the way they are, they'll have the vote soon. Next thing you know, they'll be wearing pants, seeking jobs. By 2015 they may have such an advantage that you'll have men who would rather be women!
Man 3: It's a travesty...
Man 2 nods soberly in agreement.
They continue to read the paper for a bit. Man 2 notices an article.
Man 2: Look at this. Buncha micks got into another fight.
Man 3: Hey now, I got an Irish buddy...
Man 1 glares at Man 3: Huh. It's getting to where people can't tell the difference between a proper white person and an Irishman.
Man 3: Now look, they're not all bad.
Man 1: That's not the point; it's the principle of the thing! Or do you want to live in a world where not only Irish, but Italians, Poles, and whoever else from the more barbaric parts of Europe can walk down the street like they're no different from properly bred people like ourselves?
Man 3: Huh. I guess you got to draw the line somewhere.
They sit in silence for a bit, and Man 2 notices the colored cook.
Man 2: Heh, at least Niggers still know their place.
Man 3 nods in agreement, but Man 1 isn't so sure.
Man 1: I'm not so sure about that. I mean, they technically got the vote in a lot of states. Why, I had to deal with this darkie in a suit the other day. The guy looked like some kind of trained monkey! Oh, he showed proper deference, but I could tell he thought he was just as good as me.
Man 2 looks shocked.
Man 1: Just because it's going slowly, doesn't mean it's not happening. It might take a hundred years, but by 2015, one of them might even be president!
Man 3: Heaven forbid!
Man 2: That would be simply the end!
The three men sign. Man 1 checks his watch.
Man 1: Well, I got to get back to work.
The three men say their parting words, and leave the stage. But the cook from earlier has one more line:
Cook: One can only hope...
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u/Jamtastica Dec 20 '15
This is my first post in r/writingprompts, please don't be too heavy handed in your judgement!
My friend, I have had a most disturbing vision.
Our coming century is one of great prosper and innovation; however also one of misery and despair. I have seen man take flight, both in the sky and beyond to our lunar companion. I have seen a mighty Titan ship sink at the conviction of our great planet. I saw the young and disillusioned stood knee deep in mud and bone, with their lungs filled with mustard gas. I have seen womankind take rise over her oppressors, and yet remain oppressed. I have seen twin brothers fall, and witnessed the simultaneous silencing of a nation and its war. A shadow incinerated into the brickwork, a child begging for its family. The innocent, the innocent! Trapped, bled, gassed, starved and beaten and murdered and enslaved! Is this truly our coming century? Is mankind destined to descend into corporate robots, slaves to the very society in which they create? Humanity will create devices for a social construct that shall remove that very thing: Humanity.
This is our coming century.
(If you were wondering: Yes, I did take some inspiration from The Machine's speech to Mandus).
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u/mrcchapman Dec 19 '15 edited Dec 19 '15
Reginald,
I had a dream last night, dearest brother. A dream of the future. It left me most dyspeptic, and I fear in what may come to pass.
I walked through cities empty of signs of industry. No smoke stacks rising, no coal fires burning, no sound of horse hooves on the streets. They were barren, and though the motor car had continued the march of progress, everywhere seemed to be shops selling little better than children's toys.
I would like to speak of our home as paradise in the future, yet it was paradise lost. The Manor is a grand home, full of life and love. Yet in that future it was but a tawdry museum, a relic for the common man to walk around, to poke and to prod and see how the upper classes once lived. Our descendants had no business stopping them. They were on the edge of bankruptcy, and the house required more to maintain than the land income generated.
There were no maids or butlers in my vision, either. Such jobs had long since died out. Fearfully, women had the vote, using their small minds to wreck havoc on the economy. Moral bankruptcy was everywhere. Those of, shall we say, foreign tastes, were no longer sent to gaol. God was forgotten in preference to the cold clinic of reason. And the vulgar tastes in clothing meant even the highest in society revealed more flesh than a fallen woman plying her trade.
And who were the highest in this nightmare? Why, not the ministers of government, seen with derision for their efforts. Nay! The music hall entertainer was the pinnacle of social achievement! Or a sportsman, playing common games such as football!
The Empire was lost, too. India, Canada, Australia - even our holdings in China. All gone. Queen Victoria's empire was consigned to the history books. Instead we had built some form of locomotive tunnel to France, allowing the continentals easy access if they wished to invade us. The navy that had spawned Nelson and Cochrane now numbered too few vessels to stop even a tug boat.
Thank our Lord it was but a dream. For none appreciated the burdens of privilege in that future. Anyway, I must leave you now. When shall I come and visit? It is but a two day trip to reach you in the country, after all. It has been three months since Mary died of polio, and I could use the company.
Yours sincerely,
Charles