Gothic Short Stories

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The gentle barrage of acid rain on the flat rooftop wakes me late at night. A dim light shines through the spaces in the cheap blinds. The soothing sounds of the sleeping night caress my aching body: a distant mechanical hum; the moan of an infant; the quickening tempo of the rain on the roof. My back is stiff and itchy as it sticks loosely to the clammy sheet that separates me from the coarse concrete floor. The stifling night air is sweltering and saturated. I now hear slow, faltering footsteps and muffled murmuring in the hall. Suddenly a ragged woman staggers in, mumbles, moans and passes out cold on the concrete. After a feverish dream I wane into consciousness. Sharp rows of sunlight beam through the blinds, dust rises, dancing …show more content…

He croaks, “Hey Mack”, and glances down, coughing hard. The only reason his shop still stands when all others fail is because his shop accepts barter. He is already aware of my desperate situation and lack of money, he waits patiently for me to make my choice of food. I pull out a gun, not for robbery but for trade. I found the gun yesterday in an alley, discarded after a crime perhaps. The old gun is dirty and faded; he may reject it. I wait with baited breath as the shop owner sizes up the weapon. He looks unimpressed, but nonetheless gives a shrug of approval. As I exit the shop I think about how I could have just as easily robbed the poor shop-owner for all he had with that gun; the law is powerless in this forgotten neighbourhood. Although the man seemed not to really care about much, maybe he would have risked ending his miserable life. I walk down the derelict boulevard, boarded up offices to the left, burnt out shops to the right. Where plants should have been growing peacefully, decaying garbage smoulders, smothering the growth. I approach a large six-lane motorway; I scale the dirt banking and start to walk along the hard shoulder. The occasional a car …show more content…

They are part of those who haven’t been replaced by machines. I once had a friend who tried to fight the system, he thought of himself as a modern day Luddite. He had a band of merry men who stole from the rich and gave to the poor or smashed machines. After about a week he and his co-conspirators were caught and executed. Resistance is futile. Just as we now mock the Luddites for being stuck in the past, those who try and resist the inevitable suffering are mocked and persecuted. Another car whooshes by, I lower my head and can feel the eyes boring into my skull. Eventually I reach a high vantage point over the metropolis. Visibility is poor due to pollution, but past the endless suburbs I can just see the soft outlines of metal skyscrapers. The city is living thing; it is constantly growing, spreading its tentacles out, consuming all things. I look out over the doomed population. Like a disease, unemployment is gradually consuming the many ranks of society. The corporate companies will keep on developing evermore technology to make life easier. But to make life easier for some must make life harder for others. Many are unaware of the amount of automation in their lives; they simply take all

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