Tag Archives: future

1871. Good morning, Creative Writing Class

The Head of the Laboratory was an arch-bastard. His name was Regis. As his name suggests, he thought he was King of the Roost. He ruled the laboratory technicians with an iron fist. They hated him, but the laboratory had such an extraordinary reputation that everyone under the sun wanted to work there.

This was the laboratory that pioneered taking bones of long dead creatures, especially humans, putting them together, and bringing them to life. This might sound ridiculous but it is four hundred years ahead of where you, Dear Creative Writing Class, are currently sitting in your backward and immovable mind set.

Regis decreed that his bones should be reassembled and infused with life. He was not particularly enamoured with the thought of getting old, so he did himself in, and he left specific instructions that he was to be immediately reassembled.

I know what you’re thinking, Dear Creative Writing Class. You’re thinking that the laboratory technicians refused to put him back together. You would be wrong. Perhaps you’re thinking that the laboratory technicians muddled his bones up with those of a crocodile or something. You would be wrong. Perhaps they put his legs on backwards. You would be wrong.

No! What happened was this:

 

1855. Fate deals the cards

Olga stumbled across a free online webpage that would interpret the four tarot cards clicked on. The entire deck of cards was spread out, face down. Things hadn’t been going well for Olga recently and she was searching for something positive to cling to. She had been threatened by strangers several times in the past week because she had been seen going into a fast food establishment that was no longer considered woke.

Olga clicked on four cards, even though she thought that such things online were bogus hocus-pocus. The four cards when clicked on turned their faces up. An interpretation of the selected cards was proclaimed by a computerized voice.

The first card shows that you are insecure and do not know whether or not to accept a recent invitation to a birthday party. Go! Go to the party!

That’s true, thought Olga. I have been invited to Elaine’s birthday party at the solstice and I wasn’t keen to go.

The second card indicates what sort of gift you should bring to the birthday party. Nothing too expensive; nothing too ostentatious. Just a pleasant gift that the person would enjoy.

How right that is, thought Olga. I am so pleased I bought Elaine a simple peace lily in a lovely pot.

The third card indicates someone else at the party whom you meet for the first time. It could be a person of the opposite sex. The card indicates that they will become a significant person in your life.

That is so exciting, thought Olga. I’m well into the marriageable age and have yet to find Mister Right.

The fourth and final card indicates…

It was then that Olga’s phone rang. Hello. Hello, said Olga. It was Elaine. Could Olga email her the online address for party games she had told her about? Sure she could. She would do so immediately.

What a shame that Olga never heard the reading for the remaining card she had selected. Otherwise she may not have been murdered at the party by “Mister Right”.

1818. A bird’s-eye view

It had been an inconvenience. Owing to the huge amount of looting going on during the week that the government banned all cigarettes – just for the week mind you – it was dangerous to venture outside from early dusk to late dawn. “Stay inside” was the government’s cry. It was both a command and a warning. Those seen venturing out after six in the evening would be shot.

The curfew had at least one good thing coming out of it; there were no traffic accidents between dusk and dawn. For the whole week there were no deaths on the roads. Those whose lives had been spared because of the curfew naturally had no idea that their lives had been spared. If there had been no curfew they would be dead.

Of course, being a writer gives one a bird’s-eye view. We know who was spared and who was not. I’m telling you now: Elwin Frisby was spared. He had sat at home in a bad mood. Here he was nineteen years old, and locked up at his parents’ home on a Saturday night. A Saturday night! What a difference it may have made to his mood if he had been able to be told that if it wasn’t for the curfew he would be in a body bag lying on a shelf in a morgue somewhere.

There are other things we writers glean from our bird’s-eye view. Elwin Frisby eventually married Anita and they had three children. One of them was Cornelius. Cornelius became the greatest tyrant in the history of the country. Thousands died at his hand. He was a raging megalomaniac.

How much better it would have been if years earlier there had been no curfew and his father had been killed off in a car accident. But who was to know?

Poem 88: The stream that flows near my house

The stream that flows near my house
comes from goodness knows where
and goes to goodness knows where.

I never visit it with dull skies,
but some days when sparkles shake the water
the dog takes a bath.

Has the stream perhaps scampered passed death;
a wild pig’s corpse
or maybe a tatty rotting bird?

Has it greeted fish of every sort;
eels and trout,
and cockerbullies* cowering in caverns?

Have the rough, rocky tumbles
bestowed both cheer and fear
on this joyful jolly journeyman jongleur?

Today I see it hubbubs happily on,
forgiving its past
and singing only of tomorrow’s adventures.

* Small New Zealand freshwater fish.

990. When this generation gets old

990microwave

Don’t think that when the clever boys and girls of today get old, that they will have lost their ability to be clever.

Way down the track, miles from hence, Granny Boyle was angry; real angry. Some upstart-little-technological-savvy twerp had thought it fun to digitally go into the innards of Granny’s microwave’s electronics, and with the push of a button on a cell phone, make Granny’s microwave explode. Just as Granddad was using it. It killed him. Granny Boyle wasn’t simply sad; she was furious.

Getting her own cell phone, she started pressing numbers. Tap tap tap. Click click click. She pressed the final button.

“Hopefully,” said Granny, “that will have exploded the technological-savvy twerp’s phone and blown their head off.”

920. Futuristic memo

920memo

Hi Sweetie. We’re going to have to put grandma down. She’s 114 and keeps having babies.

I wonder when you take her in if you can get the cat done at the same time. It’s piddling on the floor. It’s been a good cat. I’ll be sad to see it go.

813. Happy New Year… again!

813year

It was New Year’s Day! What an exciting year lay ahead for Jocelyn! Her youngest daughter was expecting twins in March! A granddaughter was to be married in April! Jocelyn and hubby would celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary in July; they were going to Vienna! Jocelyn was putting in a fishpond! I know it’s a silly thing, but Jocelyn had always wanted a fishpond, and it was in the making! No water yet, she was letting the concrete “season”. Not to mention all the little delightful things that could happen in the coming year, such as going for walks, and camping trips, and… and… just smelling the flowers!

Oh what a happy day! The children and their spouses and all the grandchildren came for lunch! Jocelyn had prepared simply cold meats and salads.

Everyone had a great time. And so, Dear Reader, may you have a wonderful year too! This story goes to show that bad things don’t always happen in these tales. So many of you are so darn cynical, expecting me to kill everyone off in a story. But no one drowned in the fishpond, for example. That comes later. The fishpond’s not finished yet.

563. Wonder of wonders

562genie

Wonder of wonders! William was cleaning out the attic when he found an old genie lamp. William rubbed it and out steamed a genie via the spout. William couldn’t believe his luck. To begin with, he’d always thought the story of the genie granting three wishes was a load of bunkum.

“Not so!” said the genie. “But unfortunately, two of the wishes have already been used.”

“First there was Paula. She wanted to visit the Late Cretaceous Period and pick up a Futalongkosaurus’s egg for her eleven year-old dinosaur-loving son. Unfortunately, when she set out, she forgot to take the lamp with her and couldn’t return.”

“Then there was Mervyn. Mervyn wanted to experience a hot and steamy threesome. He died of a massive coronary a few minutes into the action.”

“And now there’s you!” said the genie. “What is your wish?”

“I wish,” said William, “to see the world as it will be in five hundred years.”

“Very well,” said the genie. “Good choice.”

William looked. The future was black and empty. There was nothing there. Not even a desolate landscape.