Big Stories in Two Little Sentences
In an overpopulated genetic-entropy-lacking dystopian future where people no longer use their stomachs and do not eat, after the now deceased “eater” anti-hero has poisoned all but the pregnant woman’s intravenous food sources.
His recorded message is heard over the hacked airwaves “have your babies. let them eat.”
We have killed the angels before they had time to teach us the following things:
how to smile, how to love, how to tie a shoe, how to pet a cat, how to forgive, how to forget. We are calmer now then we once were , because we have finnaly came to the righteous conclusion that our race is now rightfully absolete.
Did you know that Albert Einstein secretly built a time machine so that he could travel to our future and secretly study physics in my physics class? I felt shame when I found out, because I had graded him an F.
Today, she might just drink a cup of coffee, smile at the corner shop flower girl, visit the museum of Extatic Arts and dance around the telephone pole for fun. Tomorrow, she will have enough time to worry about time and her future-if there will be one.
I look back in to the past to attempt to solve modern problems in order to alter the future.
What have I been doing for the last three years?
Mostly stealing my future away.
The future flops out in front of me like a wrinkled carpet.
Hey look – lions.
I think the future is coming.
Listen, can you hear that squeaking noise?
Even my sales copy is a message of love for my future wife.
Why do you think I hate people messing with it?
The future me came back and read my stories.
Then he just laughed and laughed and laughed.
My past was awesome and my future will be too.
Right now could use a little work.
Envelopes keep arriving from the future with best-selling books in them.
I’d type them out and submit them but man, typing is hard.
Once, for fun, I picked up the phone and dialled a number that was like 30 digits long.
A woman from 2204 answered, made some cryptic remark about ant people and then the phone went dead.
Will the me of ten years hence look back and grimace?
I bet he’ll not like “hence” sitting there like a clod.
The very instant I finished my time-travel machine a whole bunch of me from various times in the future turned up and started having a big argument over who got to tell me what.
In the confusion I stole most of their wallets and snuck off to the future.
Hooray for the future! Who would have believed someone would sleep with you because of a blog post?
Hitting the window of the time machine, raindrops blurred Charlie’s view of the condemning faces watching him depart, and he felt the flow of the controlling medicing. He knew he would soon stare into his younger, fearful eyes, feel his own cold grasp around his throat, and, paying the price for his crimes, his breath would mingle with old air, fading at last into the darkness of the night’s past.
We built the machines and sent them off to fight for us.
The machines met, got along really well and now keep saying things that are getting quite worrying.
I hid behind a fence and watched the patrol cruise on by.
The resistance is building and soon we will strike back at our furry masters.
I roamed a post-apocalyptic wasteland, fighting off flesh-stealers and night-breathers and seeking, always seeking the pure water of God.
What did you get up to?