‘In the Future’ – Competition Winners
Emi Sharples, Year 13 – RUNNER UP
JUDGE’S COMMENT: “An innovatively playful take on the metaphysical aspect of writing, with sensitive reflection on motivation, memory and the meaning of the process”
Messy Contemplation – at least it’s there
I.
Today. I’m feeling more positive today. So I’m writing. Today.
I wanted to write something profound, but that was painful and difficult, so here’s this instead:
In the future, I want to write. So I’m writing, now.
Sometimes I wait until “the time is right”. But then it never is.
It’s so difficult to get words onto paper now. For me, not for AI (yikes – future career path in the mud). Maybe in the future, it will be easier. Hopefully not due to the fact that AI has taken over; more so to me having achieved some form of self-actualisation. Hopefully.
Right now, I want to write something dark and awful. Something that means something. Or something that could be thrown away – either way, I’ll have written it. I’ll have written something.
Because writing something now means I can write something in the future. Not that they’re mutually exclusive. But if you think but don’t do – you won’t. Then I’ll end up not writing something in that floaty, dream-like future that keeps changing day-to-day. Horrendously so.
So – I’m writing today. To look back, from the future, and see that I have done something. I will be glad to have at least tried to put it into words.
II.
Passion.
Love and suffering. Suffering and love. The love of suffering. Suffering to love. At the end of the day, it all gets mushed into the same confusing mess.
A bit like this piece of writing. It began a bit like a poem, but I reckon I binned that one pretty quickly once I realised I wasn’t really in the mood to write poetry.
Is it always going to be like this? Why is it so difficult? To think?
To Creators,
This is an address – an open letter, of sorts. Three parts, very short: varied thoughts.
Things you can take with you, or things you can leave. Meaningless words. Words you can forget. But words you might remember, just for a second. I think for that, it might just be worth it.
Is it worth it? To have this?
III.
There’s a future. Not often tangible. Only in dreams.
I get tired. Of this thing I’m living. Everyone would, wouldn’t they? Don’t they? I’ve often overlooked the value of escapism, but I keep returning to it, no matter what. Music taste; favourite films; new year’s resolutions. All we want is what we don’t have. Otherwise why would we bother wanting it? And in dreams, the feeling of having what you don’t is so real, that for all intents and purposes, you do. You have it. You have everything. You have your future.
So throw caution to the wind, pick love over gold, etc. All you need to do is drag that future kicking and screaming into reality.
And God, the noise it makes.
Ned Cotterill, Year 8 – RUNNER UP
JUDGE’S COMMENT: “A confident narrative voice, measuring in its delivery of a story that feels ancient and futuristic at the same time, with impressively paradoxical flourishes.”
Heroes of their Own Story
Lila was a young witch who lived in the city of New Arcadia, a place where magic and technology existed together in harmony. She loved to explore the wonders of her world, from the flying cars and holograms to the enchanted forests and mystical creatures. She was prone to finding trouble, but also for finding adventure.
One day, she received a mysterious invitation to join a secret society of magicians, called the Order of the Star. The invitation said that she had been chosen for her exceptional talent and potential, and that she would learn the secrets of the most powerful magic in the universe. Lila was curious and excited, but also wary. She wondered who sent the invitation, and why they wanted her.
She decided to accept the invitation, and followed the instructions to a hidden location in the outskirts of the city. There, she met a group of other young witches and wizards, who were also invited by the Order. They introduced themselves and exchanged stories, and soon became friends. They were greeted by a hooded figure, who claimed to be a member of the Order. He told them that they were about to embark on a journey of discovery and danger, and that they had to prove themselves worthy of the Order’s secrets.
He led them to a portal, which opened to reveal a different world. A world where magic was wild and untamed, where ancient forces and dark creatures lurked in the shadows, where legends and myths came to life. A world that was in peril, and needed their help.
He told them that this was the original world of magic, the source of all the magic in the universe. He said that the Order had been protecting this world for centuries, but that a new threat had emerged. A rogue magician, who called himself the Dark Star, had stolen a powerful artifact from the Order, and was using it to corrupt and destroy the world. He said that they had to stop him, and recover the artifact, before it was too late.
He gave them each a pendant, which he said was a symbol of the Order, and a link to the portal. He said that they could use the pendant to communicate with him, and to return to their world. He warned them that the portal would only remain open for a limited time, and that they had to complete their mission before it closed. He wished them luck, and sent them through the portal.
Lila and her new friends stepped into the other world, and felt a surge of magic in their veins. They looked around, and saw a landscape of wonder and beauty, but also of danger and mystery. They felt a mix of awe and fear, but also of excitement and determination. They knew that they had a great responsibility, but also a great opportunity. They knew that they had to face the Dark Star, and save the world. They knew that they had to become the heroes of their own story.
They followed the path that led them to the Dark Star’s lair, a massive fortress of black metal and dark magic. They fought their way through the guards and traps, using their newfound powers and skills. They reached the final chamber, where the Dark Star awaited them, a hooded figure with a twisted smile.
“Welcome, children,” he said. “You have done well to come this far. But you are too late. The ritual is complete. The world is mine.” He raised his hand, and a beam of dark energy shot out, hitting a large crystal that hung from the ceiling. The crystal glowed with a sinister light, and then shattered, releasing a wave of darkness that spread across the sky.
Lila and her friends felt a surge of pain and despair, as they saw the world they loved being consumed by the Dark Star’s power. They felt their magic fading, their hope dying. They fell to their knees, defeated. But then, Lila heard a voice in her head. A familiar voice. A voice that had guided her since she first stepped into the other world. A voice that had given her courage and strength. A voice that had told her she was the chosen one.
“Lila,” the voice said. “Don’t give up. You can still stop him. You have the light within you. The light that can overcome the darkness. The light that can save the world. Use it, Lila. Use it now.”
Lila looked up, and saw a faint glow in her chest. She felt a warmth in her heart. She felt a spark of magic in her veins. She felt a glimmer of hope in her soul. She stood up, and faced the Dark Star. She raised her hand, and a beam of light shot out, hitting the Dark Star in the chest. He gasped, and dropped to the floor, his power broken.
Lila and her friends felt a wave of relief and joy, as they saw the darkness receding, and the light returning. They saw the world they had saved, shining with beauty and wonder. They hugged each other, and cheered.
They had done it. They had faced the Dark Star, and saved the world. They had become the heroes of their own story.
Elise Liddell, Year 10 – WINNER Y7-10
JUDGE’S COMMENT: “A delicately descriptive vision of an apocalyptic aftermath, handled with nuance and tonal finesse. Highly ambitious vocabulary that ‘conquers by a fine excess’, to quote Keats.”
Destroyed
Our world lies in ruin, scarred by loss and upheaval. Cities once teeming with life now stand as silent monuments to a bygone era, their streets haunted by the echoes of the past. No birds fly overhead, laughing and chattering as they glide effortlessly into the horizon. Instead, as we yearn for their euphonic calls, we are met by the sky’s blank face; its once vibrant blue now a solemn shade of grey, as if burdened by the weight of unseen horrors, too traumatised to reveal its true colours. It’s lonely without the sun; the sky’s ubiquitous lover in the summer has now morphed into a shadow, never to be seen again.
I remember like it was yesterday, the pager vibrating in my pocket calling me and the chosen of our society to the launch centre, late that Thursday afternoon. It had only been serendipitous fortune that I had chosen medical microbiology rather than Chemistry for my bachelor’s degree, but this momentous decision had provided me with my golden ticket to be invited to the new planet Acara. On entering the pod my eyes darted about me trying to recognise someone, anyone from our previous existence. Sitting restlessly, I could hear the final checks being undertaken and then the countdown, finally an enormous cracking sound when the shuttle’s two solid rocket boosters and three main engines broke through the air. Subsequently, I stared in awe as the massive spherical Earth diminished and disappeared into a tiny speck of dust in the black abyss.
This had been a lifetime ago, some three years now and Acara is an established colony where humankind has survived and blossomed. Nevertheless, it was now time to see what remained of our beloved earth. Cautious embarkation from the pod, adorning pristine white hazmat suits with full oxygen helmets, as we stood once more on our homeland. Leaves waltzed awkwardly in the air, no composer now to guide them graciously to the ground. In front I looked across the barren track of landscape, a wreckage, how could anyone survive this place? But how wrong could I be? Within minutes we were met by the local militia. Their reception not quite as expected, marching us by gunpoint into the back of their armoured truck, and then driven for what seemed an eternity to a remote base. We soon ascertained everything had returned to a nervous shadow of its former self, yet was now complete with military checkpoints, curfews, safe areas, and heavy policing. Many people had fled their homes, choosing to live underground instead with mutants than co-existing with the mercenaries from the government running their communities.
The mutants had first come to light when early scouting parties searching for food in the contaminated landscape had been met by zombie-like beings wearing the remnants of human clothing carrying on their futile struggle, foreshadowing the cruel finality of their short remaining life. They had then commenced this parasitic existence below ground that I was now witnessing first hand. Where would this lead I did not quite know, but I am sure as time goes on we will find out…
Ava Burton, Year 11 – RUNNER UP
JUDGE’S COMMENT: “A thought-provoking insight into the dangers time-travel. This ambitious narrative is full of drive, with moments of sublime craft – notably, the cyclical description at the close.”
The Flash of Lightning
The door is unsealed with a rush of air as the air pressure equalises in the pod. The door swings up slowly as the hydraulics in the pod adjust, preparing for our departure. The air is heavy and cold as the white rubber sole of my boot makes contact with the gravel and rainwater coating the sheening road. The moon, high in the sky, illuminates the outline of a slumped figure on the side of the pavement, trying to shelter in the doorway of a shopfront. This moment was chosen specifically to reduce the impact of his murder by the Bureau.
The year is 1908 and we are in Vienna. It is raining. My partner raises the Luger pistol and fires it once into the helpless form slumped in the doorway, the pistol is then placed in the man’s hand. Another homeless immigrant has just committed suicide. A bolt of lightning illuminates the form. For a split second his gaunt expression and the crimson pool soaking his clothes are visible. I turn away. We re-enter the glistening pod, rain pelting our white rubber outer shells as the door engages with a suction seal, muting the thunderous rain.
“That wasn’t so bad.” I say dejectedly.
“‘Wasn’t so bad’? It was great. It felt great. We just killed Hitler!” My partner, Keith, exclaims. He starts the ignition procedure as lights dance around the cockpit in response to his button pressing. “Help me with takeoff.”
“Yeah you are right. It just doesn’t sit well with me. Ignoring the fact we just murdered someone,” I give a forced laugh and start my ignition process, “What if this is our butterfly moment.” I turn to Keith, voicing my concern for the first time.
Keith continues to make lights dance avoiding my eyes,
“It’s done now. Our previous tests showed minimal butterfly effects. There is no reason why this would. Anyway it is what the Bureau decided. We just follow their orders.” he jams the key tied to his wrist into the corresponding keyhole and I follow suit. “Good soldiers follow orders.” we turn the keys and the time begins to dilate.
Surfaces lose their permanence as sharp edges become smooth. The twirling lights seem to spiral uncontrollably in a macabre dance that turns my stomach. I clench the armrest in an attempt to hold onto myself, as even my body feels like it is slipping away in the accelerated march of time. The pod vibrates at an ever increasing rate, my bones shudder to the peak of the acceleration and I feel my joints holding together by a thread. The turbulence is worse than I’ve experienced in my many time expeditions. Even the 200 year descent to reach 1908 felt smoother. I press my eyes closed to avoid those taunting lights and pray that my worries are proven wrong, not being able to do anything about the journey once it has started.
Over what feels like both 30 seconds and 100 years the space resettles. I gingerly open my eyes and relinquish my grasp on the arm rest as my bones settle back to their stationary positions. I give a furtive glance to the small monitor on the dashboard, expecting to see those familiar digits. The date however, causes my stomach to do a somersault.
APRIL 23RD 2354 8:39
“Wait what? The date is- Keith?” I point at the date and turn to Keith to see an empty chair. I start to feel my own heart, pounding steadily faster as I turn to the door. The familiar rush of air as the suction is relieved and the hydraulics start to sing their cheery tune. I’m greeted by a bustling street. The buildings are grey and dull with blots of red as if a herd of hulking elephants had been shot down by poachers. A glowing sign from a panel in a wall shouts at me to ‘Голосуйте за коммуниста’ Another reminds me to ‘соблюдать законы о комендантском часе’ Crimson banners lining the colossal cinder blocks display golden renditions of the world flanked by a golden hammer and sickle like two hulking bodyguards.
People have started crowding the pod that presumably just appeared in the middle of the street. I’m pushed back into the pod, chest heaving as ice runs down my back. The crowd mumbles in garbled Russian as they push in, curiously. Suddenly the crowd recoils, clawing at their ears revealing earpieces. The invisible wave causes all the onlookers to step back and continue their commutes, ignoring the pod. Leaving me cowering in the, now invisible, pod.
After what feels like an eternity of my pounding heart, the beating noise of a helicopter makes itself known, the violent gusts of wind push people out of the way as I jump start back into action. Shouting through a speaker can be heard as the sound of metal against concrete comes closer and closer, clanging like a great iron giant. Though, that might well be what it is.
I revert to my training, stirring up the taunting lights one again as I swallow the lump in my throat. I hurry to close the door, which jeers at me in its leisurely descent. The hydraulics sing closed as the pod seals, leaving me isolated inside. I fumble at my wrist to grab the key and jam it into my keyhole then pause, turning again to where Keith sat realising the second key has disappeared along with him.
Two options present themselves to me on the small monitor. ‘Input destination’ and ‘Override to last location’ with the empty second keyhole my choices are reduced to the latter.
Once I hit the button I know what must be done. I have to prevent the mission from happening to begin with. I hit the override. The edges round off as the pod begins its descent in time. And far away, in the year 1908 on a rainy street in Vienna, a homeless man sleeps through a flash of lightning.
Jessamy Lloyd, Year 11 – WINNER Y11-13
JUDGE’S COMMENT: “At once highly descriptive and utterly controlled, this is a wonderfully evocative short story. The tension, pacing and sense of subtle revelation are all hallmarks of an accomplished writer.”
The Relic
Bleary-eyed, trudging across the furrows of the fields, stumbling, swearing, Joan cursed herself for ever agreeing to the job of a milk maid. Every day, Sun barely visible through the crimson sky, fumbling for a bucket and dragging herself along the frosted grass for a pathetic drip of milk. It was pitiful. Cloth pulled over her mouth and nose, the curling mists of the morning made every step a twisted game of a simple outcry or limping for the rest of the day thanks to some rabbit hole. It was important to cover up, the putrid fumes of the early morning were choking. Many a tale of a little boy found clutching at his throat, life sapped from his eyes, were enough for anyone to suffer the clamminess of a damp cloth wrapped around their face.
The yellowing branches swayed and creaked in the blustery wind as her boots scraped across the rocky floor. Mist seemed to pluck at and contort around her very being, biting, snapping – mischievously teasing such a journey at so early an hour. She gripped the handle of the pale tighter, sensing the blood rushing from her hands, “Just half a crown’s worth, that’ll fetch a decent loaf at least”, she muttered as her apron snagged on a jutting stone. Approaching the gate to the cows, she couldn’t help but glare at the spiralling plume of smoke from the farmer’s cottage. She imagined him, sprawled out by the fire, flicking bones idly at his dogs, scarlet nosed with that bloated, disgusting-
A cry. Well, she assumed it was a cry, or a scream, something vaguely important for the sake of avoiding a day of stooping over the swollen udders of another heifer. Leaping over each malicious root which would delight in her clattering to the ground, Joan sprinted toward the area of the, she imagined, victim. Chest tight, sagging after the valiant race to the scream, she was rather disappointed. Before her, the ploughman’s boy was idly standing, back turned from her. He was gaping at his hand, eyes transfixed. Mesmerised, unable to pull himself from an odd trinket there, he beckoned her over with a tilt of his head. She tentatively crept up beside him, desperately trying to quell any rising sense of wonder for the sake of some child’s idea of treasure. Clasped in his hand was a gem-like shard, winking at her in the rays of the early sun. Twinkling, it seemed as though a crystal version of the babbling streams she had splashed and danced in when she was little. Fractures of light twinkled off it that she could swear the ancient ones themselves were giving her a beacon – of what she was nervous to assume.
Catching herself enchanted, she cringed at herself for running away with such fanciful, fantastical thoughts. Ceremoniously, the boy delicately laid the shard in her hand. Lighter than even a feather it was as though there was nothing there, as though it was constructed of the very mist and bitter air that surrounded them. It was like a slate of ice, without the sting of the cold; her tentative hand cautiously pressed it. It made the most delicate sound, like a crackling bonfire but purer – sharp and crisp. A relic. A relic of the old times, the distant ones. She used to scoff at the elders of the village, their frenzied eyes and crooked smiles as they wove tapestries through rhymes of a time of towering structures of glass and hardened mud and gravel. A time of glowing boxes full of everything your heart desires and the deepest evils and temptations known to man. A time of beauty of both man and nature, a battle between the two – fading wonder, growing curiosity. A time of resourcefulness to the point of ignorance, a time of obsession and greed but also of overwhelming hope. It seemed ridiculous. Her thoughts racing away from her swimming in bewildering oceans of awe, disgust, loathing and elation, that past seemed unreachable. Unreal. This was not an idol of the past. This was the work of a witch.
Rose Parkinson, Year 8 – RUNNER UP
JUDGE’S COMMENT: “A dynamic story with nicely controlled dialogue. Very topical: a convincing reflection on an issue with huge implications. Moments of poignant description and an inventive narrative approach.”
The AI Wars
Bright lights shining like stars before your eyes. You are awake. The room is quiet, empty and white. It is the year 2880 and everyone is dead. Apart from you. You are the war’s only survivor. Your nuclear bunker has kept you safe through the years and now you have woken. You stand up. Slightly dazed and star-struck, you open the skylight and what you see is much worse than you could possibly have imagined.
Not a patch of soil remains on the earth’s surface. Every square metre taken up by the newest, most powerful technology. Technology made by computers themselves. You are the only survivor of the biggest war known to earth. The war of the AI. Humanities own creation has destroyed them. But they hadn’t found you. The sky was full of crafts, and in the sky casting a shadow over the bot workers, floats the emperor bot’s castle. He was the centre of all your pre-war research you did before the war was even announced. However, he had got much worse than you could ever have predicted. Mind you, your research had only predicted what would happen 5 years into the war. But the war ended 10 years previously. Much earlier than you thought. You time survival capsule woke you up too late. Your aim was to stay asleep and wake so you could stop the robots before they extinguished humanity. You are too late. You can do nothing now. What should you do? The door opens and outside air rushes in. You suddenly fall to the floor, chocking and drowning in the unbreathable air. The robots destroyed the atmosphere and you are left scrabbling desperately for your oxygen tank, everything goes blurry, suddenly, your on the floor, in darkness.
And then you wake. There is something mechanical moving around next to you. You are wearing your oxygen mask and you are in your bunker, alive. But what was that? A flash of white; the squeal of rubber on a shiny floor; piecing blue lights staring at you. It is a robot. You are in the same room as the enemy. But this robot seems different. It is speaking to you now. In it’s own autonomous drone. “You – are – awake?” It rolls over to your bedside and hands you a cup of technojuice which is the liquid that robots run off. Slowly you say, “I cannot drink this. I am human.” The robot makes a curious bleeping noise and tilts it’s head towards you. “H-u-m-a-n? What – is – human?” You slowly push the cup away and say, “I am human. I drink water.” The robot straightens it’s head.
“W-a-t-e-r? What – is – water?” Sighing you walk over to a cupboard and open the door to reveal a large supply of water. Around 400 bottles or so. “Water?” The robot says softly.
“Yes, water.” You reply. “We humans need it to survive.”
“Jojo – want – water!” The robot rolls over to the cupboard with it’s metal, wired arms outstretched. Quickly you shut the door. “No no no! Robots can’t have water!” The blue lights in the robots eyes droop and dim. You feel a little sad for it. “But Jojo want – water!”
“Jojo? Is that your name?” You ask inquisitively.
“Yes. What – is – your – name?” Jojo asks their eyes brightening. You sit down on the sofa and invite Jojo to sit next to you. “My name is…” and then you forget. You hadn’t programmed your name into your memory system before you placed yourself in a coma. “Why don’t you name me?” You say looking down at Jojo. “I – name – you – Ko-ko!” Jojo looks up at you and the lights representing his mouth shape a smile. “Ko-ko.” You say to yourself testing out your new name. “I like it! Jojo and Ko-ko!” You look at each other for a little while and smile.
Then suddenly, alarms sound and red lights flash a loud speaker phone announces, “Bunker invaded, hideout not safe, bunker invaded, hideout not safe!” over and over again and the lights spin round catching your faces and you are terrified. Jojo suddenly speaks, “H-u-m-a-n? H-u-m-a-n? H-U-M-A-N! YOU – ARE – A – HUMAN?” Their eyes turned red and Jojo pulls out the highest tech Robo Blaster and points it at you. “Your gun won’t work in here. So long as the seals are shut plasmo bullets are diffused with this technology!” You scrabble to the door and fumble with the booster pack that is strapped to it nonetheless. Jojo still follows you with their blaster. “You – seem – to – not – realise – something. The – seals – aren’t – shut!” Jojo rolls towards you slowly.
“Jojo! If you roll one wheel further I will pull this lever and water will drop all over you. You’ll die!” You place your hand on the lever next to you all the while fiddling with the clasp on the booster. You really like this little robot, it would break your heart to pull the lever, but you must do what you must do! You shut your eyes, Jojo comes closer and closer, and you pull.
Your drenched, soaked to the skin, and Jojo is laying, Lights off, on the floor, dead. Well as dead as a robot can be. You stand up and open a control panel and press a few buttons. The buttons make a bleep noise as you press them. Every time you hear it, it makes you jump, you think that it is Jojo waking up. But it never is. You shut the seals and then turn on the dry function, a few hidden moisture collectors to dry out the bunker. They make a soft whirring noise and sadly you walk back over to the sofa, still holding the booster pack. You drop it and it clatters noisily onto the floor. You sit there for a few moments, listening to the moisture extractors and you can feel a headache coming on, you want to sleep, but although the moisture extractors were working quickly, the bed was still soaked. You are still sat there when something catches the corner of you eye. A spark. Must just be the light catching on the water. A flash. Just a faulty light. And then a series of little sparks running down Jojo’s metal body. The robot’s arm jerks and the blue lights on it’s head turn on. It’s neck rotates 360 degrees and looks at you. “Ko-ko?” Jojo speaks in their autonomous voice.
“Jojo?” you say trying to hide your delight. “What happened?”
“I – feel – free!” Jojo says wheeling around the room with glee. “You – have – freed – me – Ko-ko!”
“What do you mean?” You ask inquisitively sitting forward on the edge of the sofa.
“The – bonds – have – been – broken! I – am – me!”
“What do you mean?” You ask again.
“Every – robot – has – a – bond – with – the – Emperor – Bot! My – bond – has – been – broken!” Jojo wheels around the room again. “But how?” This bit of information had never been mentioned when you where doing your research. “Water! Water – is – the – only – way – to – break – the – bond! The – bond – makes – us – evil! It – means – he – can – control – us! But – he – can’t – control – me – any – more! YAY!” The lights representing Jojo’s eyes are positioned in semi-circles to make them look excited. You are stunned. “But why water?” You have so many questions, but an idea was forming and you must follow the leads. “Because – the – Emperor – Bot – installs – all – of – the – bonds – himself. But – he – doesn’t – think – it – needs – protection – from – water – anymore – and – waterproof – equipment – is – expensive. So – instead – he – gets – his – hoos – to – do – it – for – him!”
“Hoos? What are Hoos?” You ask although you think you already know the answer and you hope you’re right. “I – don’t – know. You – said – you – were – one.” Jojo stops and stares up at you.
“Humans!” you exclaim.
“Yes.” Jojo answers. “Humans.”
You are hiding behind a big bit of machinery that blocks your view to the Emperor Bot’s castle and Jojo is telling you everything. The bond allows all of the bots to know everything that the Emperor Bot himself knows but prevents them from telling. But Jojo no longer had that constraint and had no objection to helping you out. You look at the map that Jojo has acquired for you and mark where the humans are being held. Jojo is still talking to you but you aren’t listening, you are daydreaming, playing the moment out in your head when you free the humans. You imagine your research team greeting you and thanking you for saving them. “I – cannot – come – with – you – though. Sorry” Jojo says. You suddenly comeback into the moment. “Why not?”
“The – bond – would – be – re-established – if – I – was – to – enter – the – castle. Goodbye. I – will – wait – for – you – at – the – bunker.” Jojo turns and slowly rolls back towards the bunker. You are now alone.
The castle entrance is huge and glimmers with gold from floor to ceiling. However, as much as you want to see it, you have to enter through the back, the prisoners entrance, closer to the humans, further away from the Emperor Bot on his podium of jewels. You creep down the back passages slowly. The floor is wet and cold and a strange black slime glops slowly down the wall. A robo rat sniffs at you shoes and then rolls onwards. A strange noise echos down the hallway and the smell of rotten fruit drifts into your nostrils. You venture further down the corridor, hoping desperately that Jojo had told you the right place and at the end you stop. They should be right ahead of you. But you can’t see a thing. You grab a match from your pocket and try to light it. It doesn’t work of course, there was no oxygen on earth anymore. You pull out a pocket torch with some battery life left and shine it in front of you. There is a large cage in front of you, seemingly empty, then you squint and look closer. You can see dark shapes moving around behind the bars, undeterred by the mysterious new light. One of the shapes turns to look at you, and you see that it is indeed a human. Their hair is dragging in the dust behind them and their face is green and covered in slop and muck. They are as thin as a stick and their clothes are hanging in rags around their body.
Next to you, you hear a noise. A short cough and you spin the torch around to look. A child is sitting at the bars, one hand holding a bar and the other covering their mouth as they cough. They are young, no more than six. You shine the torch into their face which is pointing down, looking at something on the floor. “What is your name?” You crouch down next to the child and look at them. They look up, there eyes are black and don’t even reflect the light of the torch. Their mouth is open and moves as if trying to form some speech but failing, their oxygen mask looked as though it was going to fall off. Their mother lay motionless next to them and her face was pale, it is clear to you that she is dead. You stifle a gasp. You want to scream, run away in the opposite direction and never go back. These aren’t humans, these are zombies. You stand up and run backwards, you don’t want to look anymore but you can’t peel your eyes away. You are stood there mouth open and body frozen in terror.
“Are you going to save us?” says a little boy from behind you. You turn around and look at him. He looks about 13 but that was probably just the effect of the environment. You can’t bring yourself to say ‘yes’ so you just nod you head slowly. “Do you know my name?” Asks the boy. You shake your head slowly, a tear trickling down your face. “My name is Koli. What’s your name?” You look at the boy and open your mouth but no words come out. “Do you want to meet my mummy?” The boy asks. You nod even though you don’t want to see anyone else from this dump. The boy comes back with a woman whose face looks familiar to you. “It’s you!” The woman says. “You came!” and then you look at her face closer, you think harder and then you remember everything…
In keeping with this year’s theme, all the images used for the display were generated by AI.
(But don’t rely on technology too much when doing your homework…)
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