Strange Future: A 23rd Century Guide for the 21st Century Cynic Read online

Strange Future: A 23rd Century Guide for the 21st Century Cynic

  Joshua Smith

  Copyright 2009 Joshua Smith

  Find additional free content, information about the sequel, and more at https://www.strangefuture.com/

  FOREWORD:

  According to some scientists, there are an infinite number of universes. Some of these universes are so bizarrely different from ours that we can't possibly begin to describe what they must be like...

  Others are nearly exactly the same as ours, with the exception of one tiny detail. For instance, there is a universe somewhere that is a carbon copy of this one, except in that universe, you put on blue socks this morning instead of white ones...

  If this theory is true, then it means that somewhere there is a universe where the following story is NOT a story. Somewhere there is a universe where the events described herein have actually occurred...

  Let's hope that the theory is wrong.

  Chapter 1:

  The world was a strange and scary place. Across the globe, world governments fought cold wars behind closed doors. Corporations used their vast amounts of money to buy off politicians to get laws passed that would help them make even more money. Computers had become the norm, and people were using these immensely powerful tools to do equally immense tasks and perform terrible crimes. The climate was changing due to pollution and other unnatural human activities, but very few could seem to accept this fact, and those who didn't fought endless, bitter battles with the ones who did.

  This was all rather depressing, but fortunately, this is not the point of this story. This story is about one man. His name was Thomas. He was twenty-five years old, average height, had thick, brown hair, green eyes, glasses, and was just plain fed up with the world. Everything he saw was all depressing, all the time. And what's worse, he had the horrible feeling that soon, the entire mess of it all would result in several major cities exploding into giant, fiery balls that would be visible from space. This, of course, was a very bad thing. But Thomas tried not to think about that too much. Indeed, he spent very little time thinking about anything except for work...

  Beep beep beep beep beep!

  Thomas groaned and wondered what time it was. He looked over at the clock and groaned again when he got his answer: 5:00 AM. He groaned once more as he swung his legs onto the floor and sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. He felt as if he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. This was, of course, entirely possible. He wasn't quite sure when he had gotten to bed last night. All he remembered was doing paperwork until the numbers became indistinguishable from letters, at which point he decided that it probably wasn't wise to continue working. He got up and stumbled towards the bathroom, mentally reviewing his to-do list.

  Finish checking and organizing papers. Transfer key points of speech to note cards. Grab something for breakfast. Catch the subway. Stop over on 33rd to pick up the dry cleaning. Get to office before 8:00. Thomas stopped moving his toothbrush back and forth. Something caught his eye. Could it be... No, that wasn't possible. He spit then looked again. Maybe it was... He leaned in towards the mirror to get a closer look.

  "Gotta be kidding me..." Thomas said quietly. He looked intently and saw that it was, indeed, a gray hair. "I'm overworked," Thomas muttered as he exited the bathroom. He quickly got dressed, deciding to wear a navy colored suit instead of his usual black. After taking care of the papers and note cards, he ran to the kitchen to grab something to eat. A bagel sounded good. Thomas reached for an onion bagel, then realized he had already brushed, and grabbed a plain one instead. He found his briefcase and threw everything in. He started to run out the door, then paused and laughed at himself. He opened the briefcase again, pulled the bagel back out, and took a bite as he left and locked the door behind him.

  Thomas walked briskly down the hallway towards the elevators. He stole a look at his watch and realized--with quite a bit of surprise--that he was actually on time. Perhaps he would take the stairs instead. A bit of extra exercise would do him some good, and fifteen floors of stairs would certainly get his heart pumping. He dashed to the left, burst through the doors, and began running down the stairs as quickly--and carefully--as he could. Finally he reached the first floor landing, panting but feeling much more awake and energized.

  "Morning Mr. Gordon," Bill the doorman said as Thomas approached.

  "Morning Bill," Thomas said in response.

  "Off to work early again I see," Bill said. He smiled the all-knowing smile of an old friend.

  "Yeah, as always. At least I'm on time this morning." Thomas chuckled. "Say Bill, you ever wonder what the purpose to this rat race we call life is?"

  "Every day, Thomas," Bill said with a deep exhale.

  "Really? Found an answer yet?"

  "Nope."

  "Well that's a shame. Oh well... I've gotta run. Catch you later Bill!"

  "Have a good day, Thomas!" Bill yelled after him.

  "I'll try!" Thomas shouted over his shoulder as he rushed out the door. As Thomas walked north on Park Avenue towards 86th, the cold winter air set in, making him shiver. When Thomas was younger, he had loved winter. The sledding, fort building, snowball fights, and the slight chance of a snow day made it all worth it. Now that he was all grown up and part of the working world, he hated winter with a passion. He had long since contemplated moving to a warmer climate, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He wasn't at all attached to his job, but he had a great condo, and about twenty years worth of memories holding him in his place. Thomas sighed as the subway station came into sight when he rounded the corner on 86th. Another day, another commute.

  Thomas bounded down the steps into the station. He swiped his MetroCard, passed through the turnstile, and joined a throng of fellow commuters on the downtown platform. As they stood and waited, a 5 express train roared through the station. Thomas looked at his watch. He still had plenty of time. A minute later, a 4 pulled into the station.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," the conductor announced, "this is a Brooklyn bound express train. Express! If you want local stops, wait for the six, which should be right after this one." Thomas would normally take the express, but had to get off at a local stop to pick up the dry cleaning, so he waited. "Stand clear of the closing doors... Stand clear...Hey! You with the hat! In or out already!" The doors closed and the train departed. True to the conductor's word, a six pulled in less than a minute later. The doors opened and Thomas boarded, miraculously finding a seat.

  "This is the six local train. Next stop is 77th Street. Stand clear of the closing doors." The train departed without incident, and Thomas settled in for the ride. The dry cleaners was near the 33rd Street station, so Thomas had quite a few stops to go through before he got off. Thomas began going over his mental checklist again to pass the time and ensure he hadn't forgotten anything, pausing where needed to hear the conductor's announcements.

  "This is Grand Central station," the conductor said after a time. "Connections can be made here to the A, C, E, N, Q, W, R, and S trains. If you want any other letters of the alphabet, you're out of luck. Next stop, 33rd Street." Thomas sat up and got his things together. Moments later, the train stopped and Thomas made his way to the street. He walked a short distance and entered the dry cleaners. He approached the unmanned counter, expecting to see someone coming from the back, but no one was visible. Thomas hesitated, then rang the bell next to the register. Silence. Thomas sighed and turned around to watch the traffic on the street behind him. The sun was rising ever higher, signaling Thomas that he would be late if he didn't get this dry cleaning and get back on
the subway soon. He turned around to ring the bell again, but was surprised to see a man now standing at the register, looking at Thomas impatiently.

  "Oh," Thomas said, "when did you get here?"

  "I've been here, you're the one wasting my time staring out the window!" the man said in a gruff voice.

  "Well sorry! You could've said something to let me know you had gotten here." The man just tapped his fingers and looked at Thomas expectantly. "I'm picking up two suits, under the name of Gordon."

  "You got a claim ticket?"

  "Yeah, just give me a sec," Thomas said as he dug for his wallet. He flipped through its contents, searching for the claim ticket, and didn't find it. He started over and searched for it a second time. Still nothing.

  "No claim ticket?" The man asked impatiently.

  "No, no, hang on, I know I have it!" Thomas flipped through everything a third time and still didn't find it.

  "No claim ticket, no clothes! Goodbye!" The man walked off towards the back.

  "Wait, can you just--I have to have that suit today!" The man was gone. Thomas sighed. He flipped through all the papers a fourth and fifth time and still couldn't find it. He couldn't believe his luck. Dejected, he left and headed back to the subway, wondering where on Earth he could've left that ticket. About ten minutes later, he arrived to union square and began walking to work.

  "Hello Janice," Thomas said to the secretary as he arrived at the fourteenth floor office.

  "Good morning, Mr. Gordon," she replied courteously. "Big day today."

  "Yeah, unfortunately. Let's hope I survive..."

  "I'm sure you'll be fine. Just watch out, Mr. Corbin is in a pretty rotten mood today."

  "Thanks," Thomas gulped as he pushed the office door open, "let's hope you're right about things being OK..."

  ".... that's why I told you to get it done! No! I can't have it tomorrow, I needed it yesterday! Fine. Fine. Well hurry it up!" Marty Corbin hung up the phone in disgust. "Ugh! You can't just find good help these days Thomas. Fortunately, you've never let me down, you've always been there for me!" Thomas flushed, horrified about the prospect of telling Marty about the dry cleaning. "So, Thomas, let's go over the schedule for today shall we?"

  "Yes sir," Thomas said nervously. "You have the speech to the board of directors today at three. I've got your note cards right here," Thomas handed them over. Marty took them and began leafing through them. "You also have a meeting today with the president of the company right after the meeting with the board, discussing the figures on this paperwork," Thomas said as he placed the stack of papers on the desk. "I finished them last--"

  "Thomas, this speech is all wrong! What IS this speech? It's all wrong, what happened to the talking points I gave you?"

  "What? What do you mean? I used the talking points that Janice gave me yesterday!"

  "I don't know what talking points you're talking about, because these are certainly not the talking points Janice would've given you."

  "I ... I'm sorry sir, but that's all I have! I didn't know that--"

  "It looks like I was too quick to give praise. This will do, though... I suppose." Marty sat in silence, flipping through the note cards and grimacing occasionally. Thomas was horrified. He wasn't sure if he should just wait or proceed. If he did proceed, he didn't know if he should acknowledge and apologize for the error, or just pretend it didn't happen and move on.

  "I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again..." Thomas hesitated, waiting for a response, but none seemed forthcoming. "About the meeting with the president at four, I--"

  "Did you pick up my dry cleaning?" Thomas was horrified.

  "What?" Marty stopped flipping through the cards, put them down on the desk, and folded his hands together.

  "Thomas," he began, "I asked you to drop off my favorite suit at the dry cleaner yesterday. Do you remember that?"

  "Yes, I just--"

  "Did you drop the suit off two days ago like I asked?"

  "Well, I..."

  "Did you?!"

  "Yes!" Thomas answered. He had never seen Marty like this before.

  "So you dropped it off. Did you pick it up this morning?"

  "You see, that's--"

  "Just answer the question: yes or no."

  "No," Thomas said, bracing himself for the verbal missile sure to come his way.

  "Why not? You know I always wear that suit when I speak to the board."

  "I know sir, but I--"

  "And I DEFINITELY want to be wearing it when I'm having to give a speech like ... like this," he said, pointing to the note cards. "So why didn't you pick it up?"

  "I tried sir, but ... I lost the claim ticket."

  "You LOST the claim ticket?"

  "I'm sorry, I'm sure I just misplaced it somewhere, I can try--" Marty raised his hand and stopped Thomas in his tracks.

  "Don't speak." Marty sat in silence, head facing downward, massaging his temples with his index and thumb. Finally he sighed and looked up again. Thomas was sweating bullets.

  "I'm sorry, Thomas, but this is unacceptable. I pay you far too much for you to be making major mistakes like this. I know this is your first time, and ordinarily I'd let a mistake--even one as big as this--slide with a warning. However this whole week has been quite revealing. The incompetence shown at nearly every level in this company has made it clear that it's time for some restructuring."

  Thomas stood there, too shocked to understand what was being implied.

  "I'm sorry Thomas," Marty said, "you're fired."

  Flabbergasted, Thomas gaped. Finally, his brain told him to start moving, and he slowly turned to gather up his remaining things. Suddenly, his brain felt outraged, and he turned to give his boss a piece of his mind. He swung around to find Marty staring at him piercingly. Thomas sputtered and lost his nerve, spinning back around to leave.

  "Marty Corbin's office, please hold," Janice was saying as Thomas exited the office. He shut the door and then propped himself up against it, looking rather pathetic. Janice looked over and saw Thomas standing there.

  "Thomas! What happened?" He continued leaning on the door, unable to force himself to move. He opened his mouth, tried to talk, failed, swallowed, and tried again.

  "I got fired," he squeaked.

  "What?!" Janice shouted. "Oh Thomas," she said, much quieter this time, "I'm so sorry..."

  "He said that I was incompetent, and that it was time to restructure."

  "I … I don't know what to say... You're the best personal assistant he's ever had! I don't see how he could say something like that..."

  "Well, watch out, you may be next." Janice seemed shocked by this, and was quite prepared to deny it. It wasn't long, however, before the cold hard truth of the statement set in, and she fell silent. Thomas finally peeled himself away from the door and began to leave.

  "Janice?" Marty said over the intercom.

  "Yes Mr. Corbin?"

  "Place an ad in the classifieds for a new personal assistant. I want the ad to say that..." Thomas closed the door behind him, walked down the hall to the elevator, and left work for the last time.