I worked as a delivery driver for amazon in the US. I am an international performing artist who writes stories in the form of musical poetry, political satire, and one woman shows. This is my first short story and I am immensely grateful for this provocative writing opportunity.
My story, “ANYBODY HOME?” is still in its nascent state and will become a much more intriguing narrative as I continue to explore plot and character development. It’s a growing work. I am a growing work.
Thank you to the Worker as Futurist project team for your generous expertise in creating a space where activism and speculative fiction can be integrated for real social awareness.
Zora Neale Hurston
If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.
TESTING 1 2 3
Gain Of Function
People like to be shocked – about what they already know.
[SHOCK - Surprised, upset, affected with physiological shock. An electric shock.] Not shocked as in surprised; truth doesn’t surprise us. Usually our gut instincts prelude tragedy, but we ignore all the warnings.
The world was on fire. We saw the smoke billowing in each generation of complicity. Lynching people for sport feels like a good segue to maleficence made customary.
My family was burned to death in a mysterious wildfire and our town was scorched to the ground while the world watched. It went viral. Watching was the new activism.
I’m still in shock. But at least there’s ice cream.
These are the times.
(Record)
Episode 2
This is the Truth Sleuth with another episode of Widget Home: Tolerant Screams from Eco-Pod 11.3.
Every movie, every book, every story, every broadcast from that time seemed set in doomsday, preparations unavoidable; an end of the world, end of humanity, end of the sun, end of democracy, an end of hope that seemed to plague our subconscious, so much so that children had caught the defeatist contagion, an epidemic now dubbed ‘viral’.
But, ‘the thing’ didn’t happen – well, not the way it was predicted….
“Happy Hour!”
(Pause Recording)
“Ugh!” The burly 6’6” attendant announced through the walkie-talkie feature of our free cellular devices gifted by the Corporations – or Corpse as we called them.
[CELLS - Trees in a forest, fish in a river, horseflies on a farm, lemurs in the jungle, reeds in a pond, worms in the soil. People in pods.] Cellulars communicating…
Commencing the walk of shame.
I called her Six-six because she loved to boast about her height and the good old days in the Commune before she was scouted to the States, when we had States, to play in the shot-put Olympics and she (an almost obsolete term) was the tallest (six feet six inches) in her, he, she, him, they, them, we, us, zie, zim, zir, zis, zieself, etc., competing class.
Etcetera — now that should be a gender classification. It would certainly make misgendering violations less harsh. The death penalty was being considered and that seemed reasonable to many.
(Random thought) How did shot put become a sport? Did quarry workers throw huge stones on break for entertainment and…
“Hey, wash where you goin’!”
“Oh, I didn’t see you.”
“I know that’s why I said wash it!”
“Sorry.” I seemed to be saying that with much more frequency these days. I don’t think I was actually sorry anymore, I just wanted the vapid exchange of nothingness to end. Microwars…
It was the theatre of offense and everybody wanted centerstage. No place was safe, no conviction sacred, no belief holy. Every nuanced feeling had become a battleground and the Corpse would sponsor the voices that aligned best with its brand. Feelings were the new religion and moods were worshiped. It was exasperating.
I wanted to scream – all the time. But, I didn’t. Deep breathing was encouraged by the Corpse since Oxygen quality was income coded. I could only afford the free experimental air that posed challenges for my depths of breath. (Deep shallow breaths…)
POP-UP ADVERISEMENT
Submit your scream audition video or podcast here for the Corporation’s most watched streaming show, ‘Scream Dreams’, on the one network with many names, Legion.
I loathed intuitive thought software. It was in everything, reading facial expressions, heart rate, body temperature, sweat, body waste, bowel movement and urine frequency, and hair oils.
BEEP ANNOUNCEMENT
Alert! Variant XiPhiNuPi XBB.1.5 detected.
Alert! Variant XiPhiNuPi XBB.1.5 detected.
Code Black! Disinfect! Disinfect!
Disinfect was code for alkaline hydrolysis, liquid cremation. Viruses were now people whose carbon data (digital misinformation) violated the Corpse community standards.
I braced myself for the shrieks.
“AIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!”, dragging the “infected” from their eco-pods.
Those screams – those screams… I felt hollowed out and went numb. I thought I might collapse if I moved.
“You coming or going?”
“Oh, sorry,” again.
That’s all he/they said. Was I coming or going? People were being dragged screaming from their eco-pods and we all stood there and just watched.
I stood there and just watched.
I was shaken to my core. Almost certain that these were tears cascading from my eyes, but I hadn’t cried in so long I can’t remember exactly what weeping felt like. There was always something to lament. I wanted to be held but I hated to be touched. Hugged?
He/They tilted his head and brushed me away while he waited in the biometric eye scan lines for our daily pill disbursement. Then he placed his hand gently on my shoulder as I passed. It may have been to move me along more quickly but that simple touch was exactly what I needed. I was slowly unraveling. Or maybe the perpetual state of shock was finally wearing off.
HELL-OH!
Hang-Ups
The Pill lines seemed longer each day. They probably weren’t, but it felt that way. I could see myself in each face. They were mirrors – reflecting what I was unsuccessful in forgetting.
How did we get here?
[SPELL - an incantation or ability to control or influence people.] Words have always fascinated me, especially their etymology. The fact that the naming of the letters of a word is called “spelling” is something worth pondering.
Horror was routine and adversity was something to succumb to, rather than overcome.
A voice like a tuning fork reverberated through the dissonance, “Nature wins! Nature always wins!” Shouting as if no one could hear she/her, but also as if everyone would. The source of the voice then retreated to her luxurious pod-room. Well, Windy wasn’t wrong.
I managed a garden once, when owning land was possible and nature was indeed the most Holy book. It never lied. The Earth, the most sacred cathedral, would tell Her stories in the ways that it grew or didn’t. You couldn’t be more connected to God than with a blade of grass.
The most monolithic structures, if left abandoned for too long, would be seized by weeds, arachnids, insects, plants, trees, and waterways. So, nature does win – every time.
Most just shook their heads because Windy (I give everyone nicknames) was loud, necessarily annoying, and did nothing that she was asked, at least not right away. It’s said that She/They/Them was the estranged daughter of one of the Corpse Execs. Explains their living accommodations, Kosher meals, unlimited data plans and why she’s never penalized for decibel violations.
BEEP ANNOUNCEMENT
Please keep all vocal agitations below 65 decibels. Be mindful of the digital voice meters located at your door’s entrance to provide metrical norms. Our infrastructures were not built to handle vocal unrest. If expressions of the frustrated kind arise, utilize your free digital poddings to communicate any angst.
The Corporate Confederacy will share the most creative entries in our ‘fee-ture of the week’. Submit now for a chance to earn faster data speeds and more ice cream. Remember, caring is shareholding.
(The Corporate Confederacy is not responsible for 3rd party usage of your shares.)
Don’t forget, free i-scream sessions when you subscribe to automatic drug trial testing until completion.
Most didn’t complete. They died — smiling, eating ice cream.
RED, WHITE OR BLUE PILL
My country tears of thee
I lived in Pill Hill, a colorful housing project.
[PROJECT - an individual or collaborative enterprise that is carefully planned to achieve a particular aim.]Pill Hill was domed with a sculpted plastic landscape made from recycled prescription bottles, expired synthetic drugs stuck together with a gooey mortar (chemical cremations?) that I still can’t decipher. Everything was recycled, even people.
Huge rectangular buildings designed like European architecture after World War III (the digital war for information used to build an infinite database for AI humanoids) were painted bright colors to appeal to potential shareholders while simultaneously covering mold and sloppy tuck point repairs. These were Amazonian buildings, but with tiny eco-living pods. So tiny that some didn’t even have bathrooms, only enough room for a cot, a hole to relieve one’s self and a microwave slot.
I digitally escalated myself into a couple of eco-pod upgrades. Everybody loves a good sob story. Technically, most everyone had a “weeper” (sob story), you just had to know how to tell it. I did.
I was a Soil person, a group notoriously marginalized whose murders and movements were the building blocks of reference for all groups experiencing hurt feelings. The Corpse loved the appearances of care and restorative justice. I knew it, so I used them like they used us.
My plight was now fodder for Humanoids (robots made to look human) to file a civil suit for being called artificial.
(Deep shallow breaths…)
BIOMETRIC SCANNER
Scan complete! Dr. Pill here. Your Lithium levels are low. Mania level is high. Prescription: 1800 Milligrams of Lithium. Injected or ingested?
Ingested.
Any color or flavor preference?
No. —– Wait, red. Cherry.
Ok. Prescription generated. See you tomorrow, Nickname.
No matter how much humor was programmed into a machine it could never be funny. I took my pills from the dispensary slot (good thing I never swallowed) and hurried back to my eco-pod at the allowed pace.
Where was I? Oh!
(Continue recording)
War of the Worlds, Nuclear Wars, World wars, Digital wars, and and and.
Always something to be afraid of and always something that needs to be fixed by people far, distant, more credible, smarter, leading and authorities. Truth?
These were scary times.
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my Soul to keep
If I should die
Because I’m awake
I pray the Lord my Soul to take.
A-Woman…
Scream you later.
(End recording)
SILENT KILLER
Mute-Tation
After Six-six, the shot put Gold medalist, arrived here, Etcetera discovered that being a mercenary to voices of corporate dissent was the assignment. I never asked what those duties required, it was tacit. Let’s just say people came up missing a lot and nobody asked about them, at least not out loud.
We just watched.
Six-Six was different than other Carbon-Control Emission Agents. Every now and again when an orphan child would come for their daily pharmaceutical cocktail Six-six’s humanity would leak through their eyes and cause their stoic posture to slump a bit. Side effects were worse on children, but Six-six would sneak them an extra treat after their dosing and sometimes I would even receive an extra treat. Soil privilege. (Sarcasm)
(Record)
Episode 4
This is the Truth Sleuth with another episode of Widget Home: Tolerant Screams from Eco-Pod 11.3.
Stories are powerful, especially the ones that we tell ourselves. Truth is hard to swallow and is best served in a song… or comedy.
I tell people that I saw government workers chemically burn my town with white phosphorus, code named Willie Pete, and they call me crazy, a Conspiracist. I was there. I heard the screams. I smelled burning flesh. I still hear them. I still smell it.
More towns are incinerated and families burned alive. It’s entertainment now. The fires can always be scientifically explained even if it’s a lie. Lies are more compelling than the truth because they absolve us of any responsibility to actually do anything.
So, we watch …
I believe there’s a heaven cuz I’m living in hell.
We move like we’re demons cuz we’re under a spell.
It takes more than a will to find your own way.
You gotta fight for your thoughts to break off these chains.
Why am I not worried about telling the truth? Because most people don’t care about the truth and the Corpse can’t monetize what people don’t care about. People care most about their comforts. I heard a Corpse exec say, “A people that values its privileges above its principles soon loses both.”
(Pause recording)
“Nature wins! Nature always wins!” Like a serendipitous cue, Windy’s voice rang through the corridors, jolting us out of our pall.
“Happy Hour!” More quietly, but still audible, Six-six says, “Yew gotta fight for zur thoughts ta break off deze chains.” I was baffled to hear Six-six repeat my lyrics but simply shrugged it off as another sign of our lack of privacy.
ANNOUNCEMENT
Six feet apart, Pods! Keep your optometrical frames on until scanned to avoid pupil dilation. Smile but no teeth exposure. Side effects may include death so, please see our Death Care Specialists to ensure all affairs are in order.
No one flinched at this announcement. No one seemed bothered. I guess I didn’t appear to be either, but I was.
I didn’t want to participate in these daily humiliation rituals but I did want a treat. This was Pavlovian by design. “What would you do for a Klondike bar?,” played in my head.
Most would sign up for clinical trials just for the treats. Sounds insane, but so was the environment.
(Continue recording)
Crazy
Count to ten and do it all again
The numbers go on and on
And will always win
But don’t go counting yourself out
That was “Sing-Alone,” a throwback from the musical genius of Gusto Green from Hopeful, Louisiana. My hometown covered by Lake Lullaby Golfing Drone Resort. Thanks Corporate Confederacy for civil screaming outlets to share our stories.
Soil people, use your scream or fire emojis to let me know that you’re out there.
“Nature wins! Nature always wins!” [Windy’s voice echoed through the hallways mid-recording.]
I hear you Pod 11.11.
Today’s episode of Widget Home is brought to you by Pharmacai, We’ve put a spell on you.
Scream you later!
(End Recording)
PREDICTABLE
Programming
I counted my episodes in even numbers. Perhaps it was the only thing I felt I could control. I didn’t like numbers to feel alone (because I did). I would even eat my treats two or four at a time and if I ended with an odd number I would open another pack and eat just one to ensure an even amount. My food portions had to be eaten evenly. I had it down to a science.
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Where’s the No option?
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(Upgrade? Be a bone marrow donor?)
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(Upgrade?…)
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(Upgrade?…)
[ADVERT - to turn the mind or attention]Intuitive software apparently wasn’t really intuitive.
No! No! NO, I do not want to use my plasma to upgrade my device, data plan, for faster speeds or for more channels of the same programming!
My grandmothers, Soil people, were expert chefs. When cooking frogs, crawfish, lobster, shrimp or crabs alive, they would say in their Rooted dialect: “da best weh to cuuk live seafood is tuh place dem inna pot of lukewarm wahduh… dey won’t fight as hard to leave da pot cuz da temp’ture relaxes dem so, dey don’t release all der toxic fear in der muscle meat.” Boiling them to a delicious death.
(Record)
Episode 6
This is the Truth Sleuth with another episode of Widget Home: Tolerant Screams from Eco-Pod 11.3. Today’s episode is for all those notes out there floating without a scale. You are loved without measure.
What’s lost will be found
What’s sown in the ground
What’s hidden will be made light
Don’t fret or worry about the night
Daylight is coming
Daylight is here
Hold your head up towards the Son
Daylight is near
Hope you’re ready
Get set
Let’s go
Without fear
Hope full is steady
Hope full is clear
Holding on by a string
The camel’s broke the last straw
You’re skating on thin ice
Sometimes it’s best to just fall
Rest and then crawl
Daylight is coming
Daylight is here
Hold your head up towards the Son
Daylight is near
Fellow Podders. Fellow Nodders. Wake up. Don’t let your families be forgotten. Flames up. Don’t let your families be forgotten. Flames out! Won’t let my family be forgotten. I’m out.
If you feel me, put your scream and fire emojis in the chat.
“Happy Hour, Podders! Daylight iz coming. Daylightz here…”
(Pause recording)
Ok, Six-six was definitely listening to my pod-screams.
“Hope zur ready. Git set. Les goh…”
Of all people… Wait, was she giving me a warning? Would this be my last episode? Eight episodes, technically, 4. That was good, I think. Shoot!
[SHOT - the firing of a gun. Injection of a drug.] GOING, GOING, GONE
Home – Run
Six-six was “missing.” She didn’t show up for her shift. Someone new had taken her place. No mention of her, he, she, him, they, them, we, us, zie, zim, zir, zis, zieself, etc.
Etcetera.
“Hoppy hour!” Robocop yelled with an indistinguishable accent. The hour was never Happy.
(Record)
Episode 8
This is the Truth Sleuth with another episode of Widget Home: Tolerant Screams from Eco-Pod 11.3.
No one is ever missing. Someone always knows where the missing can be found because it takes someone to make sure that others are lost.
The Corpse is dead without us. We are the ears listening, the hands reaching, the thoughts believing, the eyes seeing. Combust!
(End Recording)
“Your post violates our Community standards…”
I was so angry, about so many things. My eyes flooded, my heart sank, my ears rang, I couldn’t catch my breath, and the smell of burning flesh began to creep in my nostrils, I began to shake uncontrollably. I remembered.
And this wasn’t strawberry ice cream!
We’ve been shot…
MELTDOWN
iScream
(Record)
Episode 9
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!
I screamed — out loud this time.
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!
Screams reverberated throughout the pods, the buildings shook, the people shook, the people screamed, and the buildings didn’t crumble.
Nature always wins…