I’m making a slight deviation from the usual monthly written story to bring you a video of me reading Pumped Up Presidents as part of the Virtual Futures Near-Future Fictions Series.
The spark for this tale of future presidents was a piece I saw from Futurism on In-Ear Translators.
Take a look – I hope you enjoy it.
And, don’t forget…
Eating Robots and Other Stories is out on 31 May 2017.
photo credit: txmx 2 – via photopin (license)
The morning sun streams through the cracks in the blinds. Soft and comforting. The exact opposite of how I’m feeling.
I woke up convinced that the room was full of chattering people, but the only person in the room is lying next to me. The beautiful and wonderful Rabbie.
It’s another day of therapy and a flock of ghosts are clinging to the inside of my skull, refusing to be expunged. I hate it when our bedroom’s invaded like this, spoiling the haven of love we’ve built over the three intense months we’ve been together. And yet, the more I try to think only of Rabbie, the more the memories of past lovers occupy my dreams.
He moves in his sleep, pulling the duvet tighter. I want to know him better. To know him as much, if not more, than the others. But, we’ve agreed there are no shortcuts. Time, and time alone, builds what we want.
A memory of a stolen kiss tugs at the periphery of my brain. I know it isn’t real, that it’s someone else’s. A snippet of a past lover grafted on to my soul.
“Intimacy with your lover on a scale previously impossible.” That was the promise and my first time was when I was seventeen. Madly in love – maybe lust – and very drunk.
I remember thinking, why not? Continue reading
Christopher’s neck was bruised where they’d held him down while forcibly removing his arms and legs. He’d fought them hard, but it had been pointless; here he was, dumped by the side of the road in an old damp car seat, helpless and homeless.
Tears were rolling down his face and he could do nothing about them.
How could it have come to this? Less than a year ago he’d taken an affordable loan from a company that owned massive driverless trucks. He’d replaced his arms and legs with prosthetics to become a highly paid and highly sought after new-breed trucker with enough strength to load and unload the huge cargos.
Now look at him. Useless. Slumped on a dirty seat in the gutter with the small begging bowl the bailiffs had graciously left in front of him.
A group of people approached and his hopes rose. As they got close he called out. ‘Please. Help me.’