Terry Presume
Bio
I just love anything that has to do with words.
Stories (1/0)
Fortunate Misfortunes
The year is 3333 and the state of the earth, if not for the advanced technology, would have been nearing armageddon but the days were slowly approaching. My name is Uni, I’m your average skinny, tattooed, and pierced body boy and right now my home is in a metal shack in the middle of a desert but fret not I’m not alone. I welcome you to the Desert Vill, a village powered by solar panels with roughly a population of about 22,000 people. The people here lived off trading, they traded their items, gifts, and abilities with one another; unless you had a diamond, diamonds had become the new and scarce dollar making its. Without diamonds, if you wanted some food, you’d either have to work for it or exchange something of value to the cooks for a proper hot meal. As an adult in my twenties, I’ve gained a pretty good and ugly bad reputation in the Vil, and whenever someone was saying my name “Uni!” I was typically running away; running from chefs with a mouthful of their food, running, in nothing but a ladies towel, from scorned men with spike bats and lastly running away from our local law enforcement “The Watchers” for everything I did as a juvenile to piss them off. As rowdy as the Vill could be, the nights were what I lived for. The nights brought in a preserved spot where the cities light gave life to a lifeless area without emitting a single sound. While sitting in one of my secret getaways, I leaned back and my right hand sunk into a pointy but soft texture in the sand and I freaked! I thought it was a desert spider or a desert roach, they’ve all evolved and adapted night vision as well as some people; I myself have an ability, whenever I uhm *coughs* - *chuckles” let's say reach the climax in any movie or book my fingertips light up and tonight, I discovered tonight that deep fright could ignite my fingers as well. Wrist deep sunken into the sand, my right hand glowing, I picked up, what seemed like, a book. A book? I asked in fascinating confusion, mind you, the year is 3333, people of the desert could only dream of a book and there I was in the presence of a metallic black book. I ran down this sandy mountain so fast I stumbled and lost my steps but my hands, which were now glowing uncontrollably, never lost grip of the book. I ran through the light failed grainy streets as
By Terry Presume3 years ago in Futurism