August 17, 2011



A short story of neo-fiction

Mikk and Drip work for the city.

They've been best friends since the day they met, Marf 36th, 3045. Over the years they shared many interests - tubby girls, vintage silk, and finding the freshest produce in town. They'd share ripe Zengarn Apples picked fresh off the trees growing out of the side of the cat museum and talk about their future while pulling carrots from the toilet garden in the new mall powered by hugs. Back then it didn't really matter where they'd end up in life, as long as they were together.

They had originally applied to be garbage makers, but when the clerk saw they had filled out their applications using a sugarcane quill with blueberry ink, they were immediately flagged and sent to Zone West for a then top secret municipal project. Opportunities for young bucks fresh out of water school don't come around that often so the choice to stick around was an easy one.

Training took the better part of a lunch hour and by the time the fresh week began the two faux brauxthers hit the streets with new responsibilities, new equipment, new belts, and new names. Mikk took the name "Penis" after the great liberator who freed the basketball players 250 years prior. Drip always liked him name so he dropped the "D" and added a "P". The woman working down in name tags had never tingled as fiercely as that afternoon when Prip put in the request. His daddy used to say "If you make the girls tingle, soon they'll want your dingle".

Their first call came that same day when the Priest of Police himself rang their bell and alerted them to a hot spot at a nearby domed barn. It was dark. Training was always so well lit! Hearts pumped and sweat said hello as they cautiously made their way through the barn looking like Frankenstein when he went anywhere. When they smelled it they knew they were in the right spot.

Unnatural. Thick. Somewhat desirable, then very desirable. Right outta the guidebook. The Great Masters said anti-freeze tastes like a cool summer breeze, but that don't make it right. They proceeded blindly into a large chamber, whispers in the dark. A low level sizzle could be heard, but where was it coming from?

"By the order of the Mayor and all his birds, we order you to cease and turn some lights on."

Prip knew it was an empty statement, but rules are rules. Surprisingly, the suspects obliged and the chamber was alight.

Three men. Four men? No, seven. Seven men, two units, three shelves. The calculations seemed quick enough to Penis but before he knew it an eighth man had him upside down by his feet. Prip wasn't faring any better, as two men proceeded to drag him to the bigger of the two units. It wasn't rocket math to figure out what would happen next.

The shortest man in the bunch attended the active unit and removed an alloy cage from it, moving its brown contents onto what appeared to be toilet paper laid out on a platter. Penis recognized the spread from one of the visions they were fed in training - fried bird and potato fries. A Class 5 violation punishable to either death or hung feet first from a helicopter for three weeks straight. He went for his flasher but was quickly detained by his captors and led to the shelves where he saw boxes of Class 4 cocoa strips and some other illegals he didn't recognize.

They got fed fried chicken and candy (which is illegal in the future) and they loved it so they quit.

It's not done yet, but I didn't want to rob you of a satisfying conclusion. The future. Live well. The end.

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