Write a story that takes place 100 years in the future. This is just a bit of silliness, because that’s the way today is rolling.
When the sun had stopped raging and the waters had fallen back to the seas, there was nothing left on earth but the scorched corpses of a people lost for ever. It was many moons later , when sheltering from a sun storm, a small group of nomadic aliens had landed on earth. The group had stayed and vowed to make it their home. They had found a book, buried beneath the rubble, in heavy gold font they read the words ‘SCRIPT’ and assumed it must be the bible of the ancients. A small reel of film was untouched by the ravages and lay hidden in a silver box beneath the holy book. Using a transponder screen they were able to view it. These were the only images left of the ancients that had perished. The small people were in charge, far cleverer than the oldies. If this is how the ancients lived then let it be so they had vowed……………
Lisa pulled the visor down, scan checked her iris over the destination screen and blinked in the acceptance code. She plopped herself back against the seat and tried to relax. She’d had a headache all day and it was only getting worse. When she was sworn in as president, she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. At eight she was already considered a risk for the presidency, a little too old and stuck in her ways. Plus her dubious family connections were against her. Never the less, once all the do nuts were counted she’d won the election by a jam slide. She only had a few years before she would be sectioned to the retirement castle with the oldies and she was damn sure she would make her mark first. She knew she was named after one of the ancients for a reason, and this was it.
The monobus lifted suddenly, she felt the thundering build-up of pressure in the engines as it quickly hit light speed and lurched to the side juddering free of the docking rail. She hated the crude G-Force shields on the public transporters but her own hub was still in the shop, the second time this month. She closed her eyes against the static sweeping over the visor screen and tapped it a couple of times to try and clear it. Nothing. “Damn radiation storms again”, she mouthed checking the sax case was still locked and pushing it back behind her legs on the floor.
In another part of town, in the old section of Springfield underneath the crumbling nuclear plant, a ragged band of rebels were meeting in secret. The Government police force, the Cyclops, were staggered across various buildings opposite. One eye focused on the door way ready to laser anyone who left. The latest shoot to kill policy was a swift kick in the butt to the rising rebellion. ‘B’ gripped his replicator and tapped in an order for food. He was too hungry to think straight and needed a grease hit to kick start his cholesterol level. It was already dangerously low and his heart rate was very nearly close to normal already, damn he needed grease, and quick.
The black market burger trade was thriving in the old town. Rat, squirrel, snake, you could get it all, thanks to the illegal Milhouse replicators. The government had banned them nions ago but if you had the where with all they were easy enough to pick up. B inhaled the congealed liquid that soaked his glove; he breathed in and sighed against the heady aroma of forbidden meat. He devoured the Krusty burger whole and felt the buzz seeping into his blood stream. His heart shuddered in his chest, he lost a beat, his skin went clammy and he staggered back unsteady on his feet. He fisted his hand and threw it in the air yelling out “Eat my Shorts” as a grease spot splattered on his shirt.
He looked across the crumbled ruins sensing the tension rising in the group. The lego bricks were strewn all over the stoned flooring and Major Nelson was struggling with the large war plan laid across the makeshift table. He’d make a mark, position some men then use the wet cloth to wipe them off the aqua mat and start again. B’s baby sister was sat in the corner, rocking on her knees. She was sucking a large sugar coated dummy, savouring her fix; she was an addict and always had been. He looked across at her but she was already high, the heady dose of sugar already hitting her pupils. He was worried about her. He kept it to himself. He had to.
Above ground, in the church of the Sacred Kwik-E-Mart, the head of Homer the Weird was already animated and booming to the crowds. The aisles were quickly filling up for Sunday service and the air was buzzing with the latest propaganda pop-up tarts that had been handed out all over town. The real rebellion was underway. With the government busy chasing B and his 2 foot rebels the oldies had started to meet en mass. For years, a select band of grown-ups had been secretly studying the ancient texts and the small reel of film from before the ‘Great Big Bang’. Things were about to change……………………