3535 Cover




Rico Lamoureux


All Rights Reserved.



My stomach is moving about, telling me it’s time to eat. Just in time, as I find myself standing at some food kiosk looking through a glass display. What do they have?

Pills. Just pills. Every color imaginable. What the…?

I look up at the customers before me. They’ve gotten theirs, appear to be sucking, enjoying.

This is how people eat now. Each of those pills is an equivalent of one whole meal. As their mouth and throat absorbs their stomachs fill up simultaneously.

Who just said that?

Yes, their throats, look at the throats. Elongated, but why?

“What can I get you?” the attendant thinks.

Wait, thinks?   

This is how people talk now. Through the universal language of telepathy. That’s why they’ve evolved. Why their necks are long. No need to speak, just savor. The absorption starting in the mouth, extending to the throat. Taste buds extended to the throat.  

That voice again, but no one is near me, no one is talking. For the first time I look out, letting my wonder on whether or not they have teeth dissipate. The space is massive. A station that makes Grand Central look like a phone booth.

Things are happening so fast, yet the silence is deafening. People moving, sacanning, coming and going while on mute. What kind of station-?

My thought is answered immediately, transport coming in that look like space shuttles and fly like helicopters with their vertical landings and takeoffs.

Also silent. But when they land it’s like a small earthquake. Unsettling. I don’t like it here. Things moving so fast, hard to process. Isn’t that what we were always led to believe? People from the past wouldn’t be able to handle the future? I should be recording all this. I’m no science fiction writer, but I should take notes and try my hand-

NOISE! Someone is pounding…..

I look towards the sound, up to the enormously tall ceilings of this colossal hub, my eyes starting to flutter…

The louder the hammering gets the more distant my surroundings become, until I feel the mattress beneath me, recall the familiar battering of my neighbor’s early morning restoration of his roof.

Waking to another day of Corona briefings. Corona this, Corona that. With reminders that things will never be the same, the warnings of which echo down to my subconscious. Perhaps another night of visiting the year 3535?

Maybe I’ll find out whether or not they have teeth.



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