Children of the Drones


The future. 

 
I throw bags of rubbish out of my window, as long as they are clear of the house the giant robot roombas will clean it all in the morning. 
 
I am on the run with a group of friends. My medical armband gives us away as we pass a police station. We are chased by robot tanks. We split up and dodge through crowds of protestors, the drones aren’t quick enough to identify us in a large crowd. 
 
Around a corner and along a beautiful Edwardian road in Bath. Some buildings have scaffolding on them, yarn-bombed. Youths in hoodies wait for us to pass, then collapse the scaffolding in the path of the drone tanks. I’m grateful, but wonder how they know who we are?
 
 
 
I find my friend Brian, and ask him to collect drugs from my home, I’ll get sick without them. We talk in a beer garden. 
 
A passing giant robot toy soldier staggers dangerously close, obviously malfunctioning. I goad it to chase me up onto the pub roof, where it slips and falls, smashed to pieces. 
 
I need to get my bank card back. It has been stolen. I train a ginger cat to recover it for me. Instead he brings me bags of cash. We mark the bags and hide it in piles of rubbish, to recover later. 
 
Advertisements

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s