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📷 Klaus Priebe

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by Raluca Enea

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justin stewart

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there's laundry to do and a genocide to stop by vinay krishnan

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If you like frogs. Or possums. Or cool builds. Or happiness. This is the video for you.

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source

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2035

It started with you coughing up some blood now and then. Not even a lot, just some bloody phlegm on occasion, then more and more as time went on. You’d made the mistake of mentioning it on WhatsApp to a friend. You didn’t know at the time but you’d triggered keywords in an AI algorithm which had been given access to your WhatsApp chats via a quiz you’d taken on Facebook 5 years ago. The AI determined you had a high likelihood of cancer and, knowing your income and general wealth of your family and social circles, had determined that it would be fatal.

The data was added to your online marketing profile and within days your insurance company was aware of your situation. Before you’d even had a formal diagnosis your insurance premium was completely unaffordable and you’d had to drop out of your coverage plan.

Months passed without a proper diagnosis. You could just about afford one with the money you’d saved by selling your car and walking to work but couldn’t afford the day off it would take to get to the hospital, so had to keep showing up to work. Eventually you collapse on the job and are taken to hospital unconscious and against your will. With no coverage you wake up in a hospital bed with a huge debt for the ambulance ride and preliminary treatment. The staff discharge you but recommended you see a physician immediately.

You receive a text from work, you’ve been fired for gross misconduct: leaving the premises without permission. You owe them 4 weeks wages back as compensation. You can’t afford to challenge the decision. With your debt now mounting seemingly by the minute you consider heading back inside and taking advantage of the hospital’s ‘End of Life Special’; offering your organs up to pay for their euthanasia service. As you download the MyPassing app you receive an email from a reality TV company.

-Congratulations! You’ve been selected to apply for Fox’s new series, ‘Chemo Island’ where you’ll be pitted against 99 other contestants to claim the grand prize, FULL cancer treatment and a clearing of ALL medical debts. In the application stage you’ll receive a free diagnosis and (if selected) during filming you’ll receive life extending drugs. The filming is expected to last 4-6 weeks (depending on your prognosis). Contestants must be physically fit enough to complete athletic and dexterity challenges. Click here for more information.-

You ponder it for a moment, standing in the cold outside the hospital, the plastic gown they charged you an extortionate amount for billowing in the wind, exposing your genitals to a passing police drone, which immediately issues you a charge for public indecency and a fine you can’t afford. Could you do it? Every contestant you‘d be pitted against would be fighting for their life, same as you. Winning would mean consigning 99 other people to their fate, losing would inevitably mean death. But, free diagnosis...

You click on the email and visit the site. They’re no longer accepting applications for Chemo Island, the website having been overrun within the first few hours. But there is another one, specifically for contestants with a criminal record, something you achieved only moments ago. A new game show where over the course of a night you’ll be forced to fight against a series of increasingly violent former wrestlers, sports stars and b-list Hollywood actors for a cash prize that would not only clear your debts, but maybe even have enough left over to pay for treatment.

You click to fill out the form and feel a little bit of hope. How bad could a game show called The Running Man even be?

#dystopia #running man #us healthcare

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Britain - 2032

You pull out of your £22 per hour parking space and the ANPR camera clocks you onto road, immediately charging you £15 for the day and £2 per mile after that. Arriva own the roads now, and the fares seem to go up every month. You haven't been able to switch over to electric yet, due to the battery shortage, so you head to the fuel station to fill up.

The unleaded pump is 949.9p a litre now. Part of that is the recent Super Duty the government added at the last budget, but the biggest hike was when Russia invaded Hungary.

You're rationed to 20 litres, so your bill is just shy of £190. You round it off to £200 with a coke and a packet of gum. Getting back on the road you notice a Serco road block and end up stuck in the queue. Since you're inside the M25 you're in the Super Mega Ultra Low Emissions Zone (SMULZ) and subject to a per minute charge for sitting in traffic, engine running or not. The ANPR cameras enforce it automatically, so you check your Arriva app to see how much it's costing you so far. You're still under £20 when you get to the front of the queue, which is a nice relief.

The barrier lets a car go, then the gasmasked Serco officer lowers it back down and approaches you with his taser at the ready. Another officer checks your tyre tread and pressure, then moves onto your exhaust emissions, counts the chips on your windscreen, inspects your dents and rust. They're looking for reasons to fine you. It's all they do since they took over the policing contract from the disbanded Met. Eventually you're passed a bill for their on the spot safety check. You passed, so it's only the £50 service fee.

You're ushered on and eventually you're sat in a traffic jam on the M25. All 16 lanes are open, but there's been another autolorry crash and it's taking a long time to put out the battery fires. Eventually you make it to your appointment at your local doctors surgery, a mere 56 miles from home. Once you pass security you're asked for your Bupa number. The reception computer informs you that your premium is suspended because you visited Gregg's 3 times in January. There is no NHS treatment available for you since you're over 18 and under 85, so if you want to proceed with the appointment it will be £855. You pay it up front, then make your way to the doctor's office.

When you're done you head over to the pharmacy for your prescription, it's gone up to £1,330. You pay, then head back to the car to administer your insulin shot. You step over a dead body in the doorway, the security bot tells you not to be concerned, that someone will remove the body at some point today.

As you get to your car a man comes running up to you asking if that's insulin in the bag. He begs, pleads, tells you his daughter needs it and they can't afford it. You pull your gun and tell him to back off. He's just a distraction though, you feel the knife plunge into your neck, the next thing you know you're leaning on your bonnet, blood oozing out of the wound. They run off with your prescription.

You sit in the car, pushing an old sweater into the wound, feeling faint and wondering how long you have before you pass out. It's a 55 minute drive to A&E and your credit card is maxed out.

As your blood pressure drops and your vision starts to blur you remember when things were cheaper and people weren't so desperate. Your watch pings, reminding you that you've overstayed your parking time and the fine is £1,000.

With your final breath, you think to yourself 'can you imagine how bad it would be if Corbyn were in charge'.

#dystopia #brexit #can you imagine

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2040

You sit at the bus stop with your typewriter on your lap, the sound of your own keys clacking and the keys of other people around you is almost enough to drown out the clop of horseshoes on the broken tarmac road. Pages of other people’s writing and advertising flyers are stuck on every available surface.

You finish your status update: “Waiting for the bus, it’s late again. Lol. Peace.”

You remove the page from the paper feed and take your paste and a brush from your satchel, smear the rear of the page and stick it on the side of the bus shelter, covering up half an advert for “Kardashian premium handwriting pen nibs” and half a Polaroid selfie of a girl with a plastic dog nose and ears sellotaped to her face.

“Cock ring! Cock ring, you buy!” An excitable Asian man wearing a Wish uniform is waving a small plastic ring at you. He’s looking you up and down to attempt to judge what you might be into, he sees you’re a writer and reaches into his bag before pushing a lump of cling film wrapped heroin your way and asking for 8 dollars. You ignore him and he moves to the next person, a tall man in a camo jacket, trying to push a survival kit and compass on them.

The cock ring has reminded you it’s Valentine’s Day. You take a bundle of random meme cards out of your satchel and sift through them until you find a few good ones that look semi romantic. A picture of Hitler with ‘be mein’ written underneath, a fat cat tucking into a heart shaped box of chocolates and a frog with a crown on its head. You take your fountain pen and write a creepy love note that’s ‘just kidding. Unless...’ then insert a Polaroid of your dick into each one before addressing them to your three favourite board gamer girls and putting a Valentine’s themed stamp on each.

Drawn by four strong horses the bus pulls up, it’s an open top double decker which is nice as you’ll be able to burn-vape on the top deck. You make your way up top and get a front seat. You pack your soilvape leaves into your pipe and light it with a one use wood burner, puffing away as you watch the sights and sounds of the city roll past. It’s fairly warm and sunny for the time of year and you notice the eBay sellers at their high street stalls are taking bids on spring fashions. You happen to notice and stare a little too long at a large billboard for the new Casio clockworkz design, a striking, bulky stainless steel watch from the Watchbroz range. The marketer stood on the billboard ledge fires a rolled up leaflet at you from his air pressure powered ad-cannon. His aim is impeccable and you place the leaflet in your satchel for later.

You see the cards you’ve yet to post and the name of one of the gamer girls has reminded you about the invoice in your satchel. It’s from Twiddlykk*nks, you pledged to her Kickstarter for a new board game based on the wooden Tubbz ducks franchise. You keep forgetting to pay it, so you fill out the form ready to post at your next stop.

You leave the bus at Facebook square and try to find your group. They’re a nice bunch, you think. You can’t stand some of them, admittedly, but there’s that girl you have a massive crush on and the one who has a crush on you but you’re not really interested, it’s just nice to know someone thinks you’re cool. You’re greeted in the usual way, total indifference from some, a friendly wave from others and that one guy who hands you a Polaroid of his dick with a nipple clamp on it. He smiles as you accept it before withdrawing back into the huddled group, never breaking eye contact.

You sit with your typewriter and start to think about something funny to write for the group wall that will get that one girl’s attention while simultaneously pissing off that dude who only wears meme T-shirts even in the dead of winter.

Clack clack. Clack clack. Yes, yes you think as the words come together on the page like iron dust falling onto magnets. I am a fucking genius.

#facebook #valentines day #steampunk

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#chilli regrets #jagohazzard

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#guillotine