Our first story is from Elizabeth Lemons. Enjoy!
OFFICE INTRIGUE IN THE FUTURE
a
short story by Elizabeth Lemons
5
JULY 2019
WORDS
TO USE:
time
travel, trousers, supervise, identity,
mustard,
kitchen, successfully, law, fly, tooth
Picture,
if you will, a futuristic hub of legal counseling and representation. It
is the year 2050, and our scene begins in a very posh, upscale law office that
is located in the Plutonian Upper Galaxy, inside the central super dome which
holds inside the prestigious legal firm known as DEWEY, SCREWEM, and HOWE.
If
you are equipped with just a bit of imagination and I-GGPS
(inter-galactic GPS) for precise time travel expedience, perhaps you can
imagine true masters of the Universe as they daily gather around the water
cooler-tablet dispenser, wearing the latest in expensive spacesuits, trendily
colored in purples, cobalt blues, or mustard golds. They are complete
boring-ass clones of one another, there is no speck of personal identity
amongst their entire gathering.
The
notion of doing one’s own individual “thing” unfortunately died
tragically over thirty years ago in an Earthly city called New Orleans when a
priestly dude called Dr. John exited human existence and vacated the great Blue
Ball, taking with him all his mystical and voodoo-y powers of human exclusiveness.
Since earth is no more, he and all other musicians, artists of all types,
chefs, and writers (now eternally converted to their astral mo-jo selves) have
been sent to daily rule in the Misfit Realm on Planet Funky. Untouched,
unbothered and still unaccountable, these artistic Uniques, to this very
day, continue to create amongst mellow hippie vibes, bathed forever in
the scents of patchouli, surrounded by fresh icedrop sky flowers, and are
forever content in a secreted place located remotely far from the Galactic
Daily Grind.
So,
the unspoken rule of the Undulating Universe these days is to simply fit it and
make no intrusive waves of any kind. Unseen and unheard is the accepted
best policy. Aloft here in the Galaxy, making fortunes off the misfortunes of
others, are each of our attorneys, who dress and accessorize his or her own
ensembles with prerequisite “men-in-black” sunglasses which hide emotion and
permit planetary apperation. Heartless, blood-sucking attorneys, just
the same in today’s time, as in days of old. Only concerned with the bottom
line and filling their pockets. These lawful gods and goddesses of destruction
daily wake inside their personal pristine monotone and meteoric dwelling pods,
and stare into stardust mirrors, purchased illegally, (they “know” someone) on
the bootleg market, completely enthralled with how their own “personal flare
for justice” will surely successfully save the solar system from foreboding
doom that is sure to come. Then, just before they fly from home dome back
to another work day, they usually flash a fake smile at themselves as a gold
tooth sparkles back at them from the looking glass. “Ding!”
They
have forgotten what happened on Earth when their precedents attempted to do the
same.
Between
the dull-roar hours of 10am and 11am SST (Stardust Standard Time), a daily work
meeting convenes in the Conference Room/Kitchen at this place of prestige on
weekdays other than Friday. On this particular morning, a Tuesday,
several of the lawyers have grabbed a bagel tablet or two, cream cheese
tablets, with coffee pastilles, and some of the younger suits chose Taco
tablets because Taco Tuesday still remains a thing, even in modern times.
It is more than fine to consume a couple of jumbo Margarita tablets for the
purpose of washing down the combo pills of chips and salsa. Alcoholism and
DUI’s are a thing of the long-ago past, and now a person can consume anything
without fear of disease, weight-gain or other stigma. They sit in an oval
circle, around a pellucid table, with an actual live view of the Aurora
Borealis surrounding them through the crystal-clear outer wall. Many an
intended thought has been forever lost in that kaleidoscopic abyss of starry
gas and neon colour.
A
particular tall attorney whose job it is to supervise the group (some think he
resembles the earthly actor known as Will Smith) calls the work meeting to
order. Beside him sits his assistant, Atreya. He clears his throat and
begins, “Good morning, team. Glad you all found some nourishment. I know you
all have a busy day ahead, so we will jump right into things on our
agenda." Felbar gestures towards the pad of notation known by today’s
techies as a Warrior Z that lay on the floating invisible table before
him.
“Atreya
has just completed our evidence room inventory and she has reported back to me
that a sensitive object is missing from its secure housing. Is there any
reason that one of you might have relocated the evidence ID’ed as item #
ERTH-69-VMP for an ongoing case? I can’t imagine what that might
be."
Not
a sound can be heard in the room. Felbar continues with a smirk. “OK,
alright...or possibly maybe one of you has borrowed it for your own personal
naughty role-playing use (he winks) and are now afraid of reprimand should you
get caught returning this item?” Non-response continues to prevail,
except for the shuffling of one of the attorneys boots on the floor. Each of
the legal eagles who sit gathered around the stardeck table begin to look
everywhere but at their leader, Felbar. Some fidget, some pretend to be
thinking, some look from one lawyer to the next or at their fingernails,
desperately trying to guess who is to blame.
After
what seems like light years of uncomfortable silence, one of the younger and
newest attorneys (normally they ignore her at all cost) raises her left hand up
in an acknowledgment wave. “Look, I know I am new here and I admit, I
have just begun to take my “better-than-human” conversion meds which I agreed
to do upon hiring, and so you may or may not believe me when I tell you about
something that I have witnessed. But, I swear, it is absolutely true.”
Felbar casts his intense gaze onto the woman who looks both eager and
simultaneously scared.
“Do
tell”, Felbar encourages her.
“Well,
a few weeks ago, I was assigned a pro-bono case with one of the FUNKS, from
Planet Funky, the artsy types. It was not a greatly desired case, you
know, but I agreed to listen, due, naturally to my inexperience, and
also, you know, with being expected to learn and work my way up (you know,
without standard pay, as all entry-levels do who are learning the legal
ropes),” she stammers.
Felbar
interjects, “yes, yes, we know."
“Well,
yes,” Aurora continues, “and so I spent some time one afternoon discussing this
rather weak case which, to me, sounded like something unfounded, as if it were
from a long-lost memory from Earth. A middle-aged couple came to me,
wanting me to somehow help their daughter. They claimed she had been kidnapped,
been violated and then, subsequently had a child. Because of this vicious
accosting. I know we are to forward any of these old-school crime cases down to
Legal Aid for Ancient Grieviances. Rape, kidnapping and children being
born outside of ideal two-partner marriages are forbidden here in our modern
world, I know this, but, well...as I said, they came here from Planet Funk.
And, well, ugh, you know, they still have IDEAS about ways and
means from older times on that planet. You know what I am speaking of...
Basically, I just listened, recorded their concerns, and told them I would
investigate and get back with them." Aurora is practically out of
breath after venting her tale.
Felbar
holds his face with the fingers of his right hand as he thoughtfully
responds. “And this has to do exactly WHAT with the missing
evidence?”
Aurora
sighs. “I don’t exactly know."
Felbar
rolls his eyes. “Please don’t waste our time, Aurora."
“Look,
all I can say is they came, and they said they thought a..,um...well,
sir, they actually believed that a vampire had taken their daughter, the father
was absolutely convinced that this was true. He thought someone had to be
protecting this vampire and any others, and was vehement in that he would do
whatever he could to stop this from ever happening again to any other young
woman, or man, I guess. I suppose, under these horrific circumstances,
that any father would. I am not saying this so-called vampire-person took the
evidence for sure, but doesn’t it seem like it’s possible he might be the one
who did?”
“Alright,
Aurora.”, Feldar says soothingly. “Thank you for your ...," he
smiled, "insight." “Since we have no actual proof at this time,
let’s table this for now, and move onto the next item on our agen---”
Actual
giggles are heard around the table. No one believes that any of the
past-known supposed fictional “mythical monsters” have outlived the downfall of
Earth. Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, even mermaids have not been seen nor
heard of in over half a century and are now, by most intelligent beings, deemed
extinct. There have been absolutely no sightings, nor reportings or any
reason at all to believe that they have somehow followed humans into the
future, into space. It is believed that they all remained and consequently
perished long ago on the vast, empty, lifeless, dry and brown
tundra...Earth.
A
lawyer called Taurean speaks with a bemused tone. “Where would they be
hiding, the bloodsuckers? Here we have no cemeteries, certainly no coffins! We
have no haunted houses, we have no blood banks any more. This is
laughable, just so archaic!” No sympathy appears from anyone towards the
possibility of Aurora’s sincere supposition.
“But,
wait! Please listen, Sir! Even I know what # ERTH-69-VMP is! It is a
vampire hunting box, a kit complete with holy water and stakes! Who else
would want it, for that matter, how in the world would this client who came to
see me even KNOW about this kit’s survival? If these and other creatures
don’t exist, sir, then why in the stars would we have retained such an exhibit
as evidence? Sir, why are you not taking this seriously? We need to call
in experts, we need to try to find this father, before he snaps! He might
remove his monitoring collar and attempt to capture this violator all on his
own! What if he IS right? And what if he has decided to take things into
his own hands, to hunt and kill? Sir, what if there really IS a vampire
situation in the current Plutonian Galaxy?” Aurora practically shouts in
her enthusiasm to help solve the case of the missing evidence.
Feldar,
always the fearless leader, looks at Aurora, He slowly makes visual eye
contact with each of his look-alike attorneys still sitting around the floating
table. They express nothing, reveal nothing, and basically are just drones of
protocol, now filled up and sanctified with salsa and coffee. Feldar
turns to his ever-by-his-side assistant Atreya and he asks, “tell us, Atreya,
exactly why do you think the missing item that was contained in this forever
hidden-away trove has our Aurora so unhinged with fear?”
He
looks at Atreya, then he turns his eyes towards the room full of attorneys,
whose eyes were now like lasers, glowing a bright red. Feldar charmingly
smiles. It is at that precise moment two very prominent, sharp fangs are
revealed from inside Feldar’s mouth. You can hear the clicking..first from
Atreya’s mouth, then from each lawyer as each of their fangs dropped and popped
and who now hungrily stare at this tender young solicitor.
Aurora
faints.
And
thus, another daily gathering of the Inter-Galactic Plutonian Upper Galaxy law
firm known as DEWEY, SCREWEM and HOWE dismisses their morning
legal duties and proceeds to convene into their favorite activity of the
day. What some people might call a Power Lunch.
THE
END
***
Ha! What did you think?
Ready for the next one?
The second short story is from Vicky Holt. Check out her links below!
***
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Vicky-L-Holt/e/B01G2T7GNG
Facebook: https://www.
Instagram: lovevickyholt
Twitter: @LoveVickyHolt
Political Machinations
appointment, dangerous, cost, empire, kitten, mug, converter, essence, tennis, poke
“Come here, kitten,” the Senator said with a glint in his eye. “I need your help with this spreadsheet converter.”
Uh huh. I knew exactly what he needed help with, and it had nothing to do with my customized software application. But it was the price I had to pay. For now.
“What is it, Senator Blake?” I sashayed to his desk and leaned over his shoulder, staring at his laptop screen. “Blinking out on you again?”
There was nothing wrong with his software. He poked a thick finger at the touchscreen, blurring the liquid display where he pointed. I noted the numbers on the spreadsheet, just a jumble of inconsequential figures, but his hand up the back of my thigh demanded my focus.
I swallowed the razor in my throat and licked my lips.
“You’re treading dangerous waters, Senator,” I said. I leaned closer, so the essence of my perfume penetrated his nose. “These numbers don’t make any sense.”
He squeezed my thigh under my skirt and rumbled in his throat.
I continued. “Would you like me to refill your mug?”
I was a software developer intern, not a damned secretary, but I was so close to winning this tennis match.
“I’m not thirsty, kitten,” he said. “Just hungry.”
I stood up, letting my arm brush against his shoulder. “That’s too bad, because I brewed some coffee just for you.”
I presented my mug to him, the press of my red lipstick forming a crescent on the rim. “Taste it.”
His wolfish grin sent acid straight to my gut. I grinned in spite of it. He kept eye contact while placing his flappy lips on my lipstick mark.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2…the mug dropped, bonking off Senator Blake’s fat thigh, and spilling black coffee all over his trousers and office chair. It rolled until the handle stopped its inertia.
“Senator Blake!” I screamed. I dialed the emergency number and shouted again, all while moving his body to the floor so that I could perform CPR.
That’s how the paramedics found me, and they took over.
“I don’t know what happened,” I cried. “He has an appointment in fifteen minutes!” My emotional blather continued until I was ushered into the HR offices.
“We’re so sorry,” the HR person told me from her desk. “We’ll move you to a different department. Do you need to take the rest of the day off?”
I sniffled and took her offered tissue. “That’s probably for the best,” I said. She told me to come back the next day and which department to report to. “Thanks.”
It could have been any department; it wasn’t important. The computer virus had already been planted, and my empire was about to triumph.
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