Tag Dystopia

Mercury

freyathewriter 42 Comments

They say that we worshipped the sun once –

bared our skin and lay for hours, motionless

except to turn and baste, baste, baste

like hog-roasts rotating on spits,

English rose complexions transformed to copper.

 

They say that we feared the winter then –

covered our bodies in chemically engineered layers,

refusing to let the crisp air penetrate,

wishing the dark days away,

as if time was ours to discard

with no consequences.

 

They say all this.

The world must have been different then.

———

Inspiration

‘Snow can lift my heart in a way that sunshine never could.‘

I have waited, and you have come
Martine McDonagh

———-

This week, on dVerse Poetics, Mary asks us to write poetry inspired by quotations – or by a photo, or by a headline in a newspaper, or, or, or… let’s get inspired!

I have used a quotation from one of my favourite dystopian novels, ‘I have waited, and you have come’ by Martine McDonagh. I highly recommend it! My poem is set in a future where the sun is to be feared, not welcomed…

Please pop over to dVerse to see how others have risen to the challenge!

 

 

Offshore – Sunday Photo Fiction

freyathewriter 21 Comments

60-05-may-18th-2014

“Daddy.”

“Yes, Suzy.”

“What’s that out in the deep?”

“It’s The Facility.”

“And what’s The Facility?”

“You’re full of questions today, aren’t you, poppet?”

“But how am I going to learn about things if I don’t ask questions? That’s what granny tells me.”

“Your granny tells you a lot of things, but it doesn’t mean you have to believe all of them.”

“But, Da-ad!”

I envy my daughter. I wonder how long it will be before her sense of wonder is replaced with constant mistrust and fear. I sigh.

“OK. The Facility is a prison. It’s where bad people are sent, the ones who don’t respond to Treatment.”

“Treatment?”

“Like school, but instead of learning things like reading and writing, they learn how to be better behaved.”

“Oh. So the ones who don’t learn their lessons get sent out there?”

“Yes.”

An approaching ice-cream van distracts her. Time enough for her to realise that The Facility is merely a staging post. It is full of men and women forced to copulate and produce violent, bloodthirsty children, children who are trained in the art of war.

I am The Facility’s architect, may humanity forgive me. May my daughter forgive me.

 

————–

Here’s my latest entry into Alistair’s Sunday Photo Fiction. He supplies us with his own wonderful photos, so deserves our support! I’ve been working on my dystopian novel in progress today, and I just can’t seem to shake the dark mood, as I expect you can tell! Happy Sunday, all….

Do take part if you have time, or just pop over and read the other entries!

Eyes Right – Friday Fictioneers

freyathewriter 28 Comments

Here is my latest entry into the weekly challenge brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Here are the rules: Use the photo as inspiration, write a hundred(ish) words – and share! Here goes my offering for this week – and I welcome your comments again!

I walk across London Bridge to work each morning, and some days, the bridge and all beyond is shrouded in fog or mist. It has crossed my mind that we are so trusting, to expect that the bridge, and everything on the other side, is indeed, still there….

sheep-and-car

Copyright – Sandra Crook

– Eyes Right –

They follow one another like lambs.

Fog. It had descended in the night hours when Death beckons. I had been awake in my glass-encased penthouse, Scotch swirling in lead crystal. It had struck me as vaguely curious, but then I turned my back, returned to my dealings, turned on by money.

There were no footsteps on London Bridge – which my subconscious expected. I returned to the window. The fog rose. London Bridge was gone, and all that remained of those sheep was their detritus bobbing on the Thames below.

It pays to have your wits about you in the City.

—-

Click on the blue froggy below to read others’ offerings!