Dystopia Utopia Short Stories Read online

  This is a FLAME TREE Book

  Publisher & Creative Director: Nick Wells

  Project Editor: Laura Bulbeck

  Editorial Board: Catherine Taylor, Josie Mitchell, Gillian Whitaker

  Thanks to Will Rough

  Publisher’s Note: Due to the historical nature of the text, we’re aware that there may be some language used which has the potential to cause offence to the modern reader. However, wishing overall to preserve the integrity of the text, rather than imposing contemporary sensibilities, we have left it unaltered.

  FLAME TREE PUBLISHING

  6 Melbray Mews, Fulham, London SW6 3NS, United Kingdom

  www.flametreepublishing.com

  First published 2016

  Copyright © 2016 Flame Tree Publishing Ltd

  Stories by modern authors are subject to international copyright law, and are licensed for publication in this volume.

  PRINT ISBN: 978-1-78361-998-6

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-78664-514-2

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  The cover image is created by Flame Tree Studio, based on artwork by Slava Gerj and Gabor Ruszkai.

  A copy of the CIP data for this book is available from the British Library.

  Introducing our new fiction list:

  FLAME TREE PRESS | FICTION WITHOUT FRONTIERS

  Award-Winning Authors & Original Voices

  Horror, Crime, Science Fiction & Fantasy

  www.flametreepress.com

  Contents

  Foreword by Dave Golder

  Publisher’s Note

  A Model Life

  Kim Antieau

  Looking Backward (chapters I–IX)

  Edward Bellamy

  Erewhon (chapters XXIII–XXV)

  Samuel Butler

  The Festival of the Cull

  Steve Carr

  The Repairer of Reputations

  Robert W. Chambers

  Survival Instincts

  Carolyn Charron

  Glass

  Megan Dorei

  The Dream of a Ridiculous Man

  Fyodor Dostoevsky

  The Keepers of Madleen

  Sarah Lyn Eaton

  Sultana’s Dream

  Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain

  After London (Part II, chapters XXII–XXIV)

  Richard Jefferies

  Order, Excellence, Prosperity

  Michelle Kaseler

  As Easy as A.B.C.

  Rudyard Kipling

  The Object of Worship

  Claude Lalumière

  The Woman I Used to Be

  Gerri Leen

  The Scarlet Plague

  Jack London

  Utopia

  Thomas More

  News from Nowhere (chapters II–III)

  William Morris

  Greasing the Wheels of History

  Konstantine Paradias

  The New Law

  Jeff Parsons

  Walkers

  Kelsey Shannahan

  The Last Man (chapters I–V)

  Mary Shelley

  Islets of the Blest

  Nidhi Singh

  The Galaxy’s Cube

  Jeremy Szal

  Lazarus Girl

  J.M. Templet

  Decision Day

  Russ Thorne

  Candide

  Voltaire

  The Interview

  M. Darusha Wehm

  No More Heroes

  Andrew J. Wilson

  Biographies & Sources

  Foreword: Dystopia Utopia

  DYSTOPIA – a great place to visit but you wouldn’t want to live there. By visit we’re not talking literally, but rather just dipping into a good book or enjoying one of the many in-vogue film series, with plucky, perma-scowling teenagers railing against the system.

  Because dystopia currently seems to be a by-word for coming of age dramas. The damaged and broken societies in The Hunger Games, The Divergent series, The Maze Runner, et al., could easily be seen as a metaphor for that eternal cry of the disaffected teen: “Nobody understands me!”

  It wasn’t always this way. Dystopian fiction has a long and noble history as the most nakedly political genre stretching all the way back to Plato’s Republic (380 BC). Hang on, you might be thinking, Republic is about a utopia, not a dystopia. You could also point out that the term ‘utopia’ wasn’t coined until 1516, when Thomas More used it as the title of his book; but by the modern understanding of the word, Republic clearly fits the bill. Plato was creating a fictional society which he felt would bring out the best in humanity, organised along lines that would make everybody’s lives happier. More’s Utopia had similar lofty ambitions.

  The thing is, while a dictionary may have you believe that dystopia is the opposite of utopia, they aren’t really opposites. They’re more like Yin and Yang, or maybe Jekyll and Hyde; inextricably linked. One man’s utopia can easily be another’s dystopia.

  Because if Plato and More think their model societies are the answer to all humanity’s problems, that’s a massive act of hubris. It’s just as likely that if you had to live in the Republic or Utopia you’d soon be rebelling against their rather rigid stratification of roles and rules.

  SO Utopian fiction began to morph into dystopian fiction as writers realised the potential drama in ‘perfect societies’ having rotten cores. Writers like Samuel Butler (in Erewhon, 1872) and Jonathan Swift (in the seminal Gulliver’s Travels, 1726) made use of dystopia for social commentary and satire. Once again, however, the genre precedes the term; the word ‘dystopia’ wasn’t coined until 1868, when J.S. Mill used it in a British parliamentary speech.

  Once the two great grandfathers of science fiction, Jules Verne and H.G. Wells (no mean political commentator himself) turned their attention to dystopias, the genre became a firm fixture of SF literature and, by a process of natural adaptation, film and TV. The twentieth century gave us the popular vision of dystopia we know today; grim future societies where the masses are downtrodden or kept docile by a small authoritarian, often corrupt elite. Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932) and George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949) remain the twin pillars supporting the genre; but other milestones like A Clockwork Orange (1962), A Handmaid’s Tale (1985) and the original YA dystopian classic The Chrysalids (1955) prove there’s infinite variation on the theme.

  As do the new short stories in this collection; from self-help groups to superheroes and reality TV, there’s always something new in society ripe for a dystopian makeover.

  Dave Golder

  @DaveGolder

  Publisher’s Note

  OUR LATEST short story anthologies stride into bold futures and enigmatic pasts, with the topics of Swords & Steam and Dystopia Utopia. In Dystopia Utopia we soon found that many of the best examples of classic fiction were far longer than we would typically include; however rather than dismiss them, we have chosen a few extracts from the essential Utopian novels to feature here alongside the short stories. Tracing the origins of the genre from Thomas More’s Utopia through to works by the likes of William Morris, Mary Shelley and Jack London, and seeing how authors began to explore what happens in imperfect worlds too, has been a fascinating journey. Some of these stories will be familiar, but we hope to have uncovered seldom-read gems too.

  We received such a great response to our call for new submissions that choosing the final stories to include proved, as always, to be very difficult. Our editorial board thoroughly enjoyed discovering the many and various worlds on offer – from perfect people to devastating futures – and ultimately we feel that the stories which made the final cut were the best for this particular anthology. We’re thrilled to publish them here.”

  A Model Life

  Kim Antieau

  Day One

  “It’s a month free trial,” Alexis said as they walked toward the office of Model Life. “Then we can live in paradise.”

  “James said. “I dunno if it’s my idea of paradise.”

  Alexis stopped on the sidewalk in front of the building and looked at him. “What about it could you possibly dislike? No one is killing anyone else. We can agree or disagree with someone without worrying about getting shot. We’ll be living amongst diverse people who have been seriously vetted.”

  “How do they enforce this paradise?” James asked. “With police? I was just stopped by the police yesterday, and they treated me like I was a perp. I don’t like being afraid.”

  “Welcome to my world twenty-four hours a day,” Alexis said. “Only it’s not just the police I’ve got to worry about. I’ve got to know who is behind me, in front of me, beside me. Where I park my car. What time of day or night it is. How I’m dressed. Etcetera. Try being a woman for twenty-four hours a day.”

  James shook his head. “I don’t want to listen to this feminist crap either.”

  “So when you’re in fear, when you’re intimidated, it’s a civil rights issue, but when I want to talk about how I have to be on the lookout twenty
-four hours a day to make certain I’m safe, that’s feminist crap?” She put up her hand. “Let’s not have this conversation now. You agreed to this.”

  “Because I thought it would be a vacation in paradise,” he said.

  Alexis patted his arm. “It will be,” she said, “only there will be other people with us, and you might have to interact with them. The Model Life people will be watching us to see if we fit in before they’ll let us move on to the real thing. Look. You wouldn’t go to a therapist, and I’m tired of watching you sink further and further into depression. So we’re going try a vacation.”

  “You don’t even try to understand,” he said. “I was in a position of power. Now I’m just another black man without a job.”

  “You are a retired black man,” she said. “There’s a difference. I retired from my job early so I could be with you, so we could have a life of happiness for the second half of our lives. So suck it up. We’re trying this. Besides, maybe they’ll be looking for security for the real Model Paradise. You’ll be able to put on a badge and carry a gun again. You never know.”

  “This better not turn out to be an old folks’ home,” he said. “I may have to kill someone.”

  “Yes, that’s the right attitude to have when trying to join a peaceful community. You got it all out of your system now?”

  James shrugged. “Yeah, all right. Just show me the way to the beer and TV.”

  * * *

  Week One

  Alexis and James sat by the pool after dinner. James patted his stomach and leaned back in his deck chair. Alexis laughed.

  “This place isn’t so bad, eh?” Alexis said. She flipped through her magazine and sipped on a margarita. “And this is just the model of the model. Wait until we get to the real thing.”

  “That’s when they send us to the factory,” Charlie said as he and Polly pulled up chairs at the table near James and Alexis.

  “The factory?” James said.

  “Yeah, to make us into food,” Charlie said. “Soylent green.”

  Polly laughed. A little too loudly. James glanced at Alexis. She smiled and shrugged.

  “You know,” Charlie said. “Soylent green. It’s people. Charlton Heston?”

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” James said.

  “In the movie Soylent Green, all the old people are turned into a food source called soylent green.” Charlie took a gulp of his beer.

  “He was trying to make a joke,” Polly said. “That this place is really a food factory for the masses.” She smiled. She was always explaining things. “But I don’t think that’s actually true.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Charlie said, sarcastically. He smiled. James recognized that smile. It was the kind perps plastered on their faces when they were trying to get away with something.

  “Hey, how did you two end up here anyway?” Charlie asked.

  “For the peace and quiet,” Polly said, “and you’re not getting any with us hanging around.” She laughed, a little too loudly, and then covered her mouth with her hand.

  “We were one of the winners of the civil service lottery,” Alexis said. “It’s part of Model Life’s outreach.”

  “That’s right,” Charlie said. “You were a social worker and you were a cop. I did wonder how you could afford this place.”

  Alexis and James glanced at each other.

  “We won the lottery, too,” Charlie said.

  “Really?” Alexis said.

  James groaned. No, not really, Alexis.

  “The good luck lottery,” Charlie said. “I was the CEO of Making a Fucking Lot of Money, Inc.” He laughed. Polly giggled.

  “Good for you,” James said. He didn’t mean it.

  “What you two did is very noble,” Polly said. “You tried to make a difference in the world.”

  “Hey, I tried to make a difference,” Charlie said. “I employed a lot of people, and I made a difference in our lives. My parents were not wealthy. They only owned one house and only got six weeks of vacation in the Bahamas every year.”

  “Charlie,” Polly said, “don’t be an asshole. Don’t mind him. He got canned, and now he’s turned into this. We didn’t make much difference in the world. And it’s too late now. Our kids are grown, we’ve got money in the bank, it’s time for vacation.”

  “But you’ve been on vacation your entire life,” Charlie said. “You stayed home, took care of the kids, and lived off my money. Not very modern of you.”

  “I think maybe we’ll turn in,” Alexis said.

  “Why? The sun is still out!” Charlie said.

  “I don’t mind him,” Polly said. “I know the truth. He couldn’t tie his shoelaces without me. Has never made a meal in his life. Couldn’t do the laundry if someone was pointing a gun at his head. Which I was tempted to do many times.”

  “James can’t do any of that stuff either,” Alexis said. “I blame myself. And his mother. So I not only took care of the kids and worked full-time, I did everything around the house. It was like having another kid.”

  “Exactly,” Polly said.

  “It’s not that I couldn’t do it,” James said. “I just thought you liked doing it all. You were so good at it.”

  “I can’t believe I fell for that bullshit for so many years,” Alexis said.

  “Ain’t it the truth,” Polly said. “Let’s leave these dinosaurs and go play some tennis.” Polly got up from the table and reached her hand down to Alexis. Alexis took it, got up, and the women left the pool and soon disappeared around the corner of the building.

  “Women,” Charlie said as he slid onto the chaise lounge Alexis had just left. “You can’t live with them and you can’t kill ‘em.” He laughed.

  James took a sip of his beer.

  “Wait,” Charlie said. “You were a cop. I better not say shit like that. You might arrest me. Only you’re not a cop now. Must be a relief. Did you ever shoot anyone?”

  James sighed. He wished Charlie would disappear from existence. Then he might consider this place paradise.

  “No, I never shot anyone,” James said.

  “Did you ever want to?” Charlie asked.

  James thought about his gun, hidden in his now empty suitcase in the back of the closet in their suite. Right now he wished he could shoot Charlie – not to kill him, just to get rid of him.

  “No,” James said. “I’ve seen what being shot looks like up close and personal. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

  “There’s George and Marko.” Charlie waved to a group of men. “We’ve got a game. You want to join?”

  “Poker?” James said.

  “Yep,” he said. “We smoke, drink, and talk about women, just like the good old days.”

  “The good old days?”

  “Yeah, yesterday and the day before.” Charlie laughed. “Come on. This is a woman’s world. It ain’t ours.”

  James looked around for Alexis and didn’t see her. What could a poker game hurt?

  “Are these guys all like you?” James asked.

  Charlie shook his head. “Naw. They’re all assholes. But their money is green.”

  * * *

  Week Three

  “You can’t stay inside all day watching baseball,” Alexis said. “It’s like you’re home. We’re supposed to be changing our lives!”

  James took a drink of beer.

  “You should go see a therapist,” Alexis said. “I told you that before we came here. At least talk to me about what’s going on with you.”

  James said nothing. Alexis sighed.

  “The silent treatment again,” she said. She stood next to the couch. “It might have seemed mysterious when I was young, but now it’s just frustrating. Are you trying to punish me? If you don’t want to be here, leave. No one is keeping you prisoner.”

  “Are you sure?” James asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He looked at the TV.

  “James!”

  “If I don’t go along with this peace model life, or whatever you call it, you’ll leave me. Then I won’t have you. I won’t have my job. I might as well put a gun in my mouth.”

  Oops. He should not have said that out loud.

  “Good thing you didn’t bring your gun then, isn’t it?”

  Christ. James had to be more careful. He couldn’t let Alexis know how he was feeling – or not feeling. He felt so dull. Numb. He kept waiting to come out of it. He would come out of it, right? Alexis didn’t know that he had actually stuck the gun in his mouth three times since they had retired. Each time he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger.