The Waning of the World

Microstories

I make no excuse for the grim subject matter. I always write like this when it’s raining and I have to take the dogs for a walk. It soothes my soul to imagine exploding bodies and desperate last battles against horrifying creatures (story of my life).

I call the current zeitgeist “the waning of the world.” There are too many people. Everything costs more. We’re at a weird stage where we think that replacing poisonous gas-burning cars with cars that run on batteries that use poisonous rare minerals mined by very poor people in far away countries is a good thing. Covering my favourite landscapes with industrial windmills is thought to be an improvement in the quality of my life. Banning books and attacking libraries is the new wave. (My gut tells me that this is only a sign of its inverse — that fewer and fewer people see books and libraries as worth defending.)

The worst thing is that the New York Times yesterday recommended Jerry McGuire as a good, much-lauded romantic comedy, one of the 50 best movies on Netflix (admittedly a low bar). On the Times’ say-so I wasted two hours of my life on that over-acted, stereotyping drivel. So much for the value of mainstream media.

So here are two little stories that reflect the current mood.

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Body Parts

Rochelle Ann came back from the clinic the second time with just one eye and $80 New Currency. She had one eye, and I still had one eye, and we both still wore the surgical patches, though we knew from watching others that the surgical patches would eventually get dirty and drop off, and there would be nothing there but the eye socket stitched shut. It was the new look, and like all the new looks before this, you got used to it. Gens with Lotto money bought colourful eye patches or invented other more decorative ways of concealing the damage. I saw a woman once who had tattooed an eye over her sewed up eyelid. It seemed eery to me, disturbing. Rochelle Ann said we were lucky we had the $80 plus what was left from my surgery, which meant we could still pay the rent and buy food. And, of course, the health care we received when we entered the HPP (Harvesting of Parts Program) was second to none except for that available to HGOs (High Government Officials) and WGs (“Dub-Gens,” short for Wealthy Gens) who lived in the tower tops. We also lived tax free in subsidized housing, courtesy of the program. In other words, we were still MC (Middle Class).

Zombie Attack

Traisch hefted his trusty Russian-made neutron grenade launcher and did a 360 check noticing only a figure down the cul de sac by the Simpsons’ driveway. The Zs generally attacked at nightfall. It was twilight, not yet fully dark. He had eight neutron grenades left, seven for the Zs and the last for himself. Generally, the Zs could not turn human particulate into another Z. Atomized, he would be safe from the Lazarus Effect. He would be dead but impossible to reanimate.