M.J. Rossin
Bio
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Stories (5)
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Dystopia
In the year 2035 scattered groups of humans struggle to survive. Civilization was never really civilized. It seems the price of a man’s soul is the weight of his flesh. Supply and demand creates value for his death. Cities and States allow the herd to feel safe because a free range steak provides the best taste. The illusion of choice makes the sheep feel free as they sleep walk through the day as if it’s a dream. There are an awoken few who broke free from the daily routine of this tyranny. An alien invader has taken control of the country and is always hungry, taxing the people daily, monthly, until there is nothing. The tax he collects is not dollars and cents or some cryptocurrency only way to pay off this debt is with pounds of fresh meat. The livestock was depleted years ago after they chopped down the forest trees. Aquamarine life is nonexistent because of over fished seas. There is only one abundant resource left on earth, homegrown, genuine human birth. Huge factories, restaurant-like stables provide the finest fresh food from farm to table. The wealthiest and rich indulge in the ribs of little kids newborn babies are an exquisite dish. Those without children to cover their taxes will pay an arm or leg to supply the masses. The workers feed is a mix of organs and bone ground together like a burger patty. Deep fried fast food and fluoride water is the perfect combination to create an addict. The rebellious ones, the outlaws fighting for freedom are hunted down daily for treason. They found a way to survive off seaweed and bleeding human blood bags when nutrients are needed. City limits are guarded and patrolled not many people have escaped the danger zone. A few families fail in their attempt every week until the numbers dwindle and shrink. No one knows where they go when they get caught chopped up, processed and forgot. That won’t stop this family of four with a new born baby boy they refuse to lose anymore. They’ve paid the cost of life twice to feed the slaughter plus chopped off an arm to spare their daughter. A bittersweet birth this is their third son a child believed to have divine purpose. With no time to waste they make haste down a dirt path nothing but the clothes on their back. Under the cover of night they move as quite as they can though the child could cry out at any moment. The street lights flicker up ahead in the distance they’ve reached the city limits. Just a couple more steps to the freedom of their choices suddenly they hear voices. Like a crack of thunder in a split second shots fired a celebration for getting hired. Two new deputies patrolling the streets have both finished off a bottle of brandy. They’re eager to please and feel like royalty but what comes next will test their loyalty. The shriek of a baby’s cry disturbs the peace they can either fight or flee. From out of the shadows the father leaps into action his plan of attack is a distraction. The element of surprise helps him escape with his life desperately he races to his wife. Down on her knees with a pistol to her frontal lobe the children are hidden she is all alone. Sacrificing herself she saw this moment in a dream it’s the only way her family will be free. Insubordination is not tolerated death’s the only sentence there is no incarceration. A hair pin trigger, a couple pounds of pressure double tap for good measure. Smoke spirals from the barrel the scent of burning flesh there’s a heart shaped locket around her neck. The executioner rips it from her corpse a gift for his girlfriend of course. The husband has a choice he can die with his wife or stay alive and find his kids who need him to survive. He remains unseen as they take her to be processed and starts to feel nauseous. From the corner of his eye he sees his daughter and son, grabs them and starts to run. The next morning the gift is given to his woman who works as a chef in the kitchen. While she slaves away sweating preparing signature dishes the locket accidentally slips in. The alien invaders harvesting human souls all die from an allergic reaction to the gold.
By M.J. Rossin5 years ago in Fiction
Doomsday Diary
My name is unimportant. What matters is the message I carry. I’ve been chosen to deliver classified details stored deep in my DNA. Genetically modified I’m half-machine and have been designed to do terrible things. Torn at my core, my code may be corrupt, I feel it in my gut but my natural instinct is to kill without question. Death is my second best friend. I’m a soldier unafraid to die. I’ve been training for this my whole life. I’ve never had a family… no kids… no wife… no ties to this world except for my purpose to serve it. Until a surge of electricity caused me to short-circuit, they said it was an E.M.P. After that day I started to see things differently… I woke up from a dreamless sleep, disconnected from the source, scientists and technicians lying dead on the floor. No memories or recollection. Just coordinates and directions to a place in time embedded inside my mind, leading me back to inception. I honestly can’t remember much more than my mission. Drifting through reality, I’m seeing visions of parallel dimensions but time travel hasn’t been invented yet. I should say discovered because if it exists in one time then it does in another. I’ve probably done this before. Destined to continually die and be reborn. It feels like I’m being led down a path with no control over my actions. It seems like my sacrifice is for somebody else’s satisfaction. Once a target is in my cross-hairs I can’t stop the systems execution. I’ve turned into a killing machine with a conscious. All I can think of is restitution. Thousands of bodies lay in the wake of my destruction. Every day is the same, I only have one function. I want to change but the wiring in my brain keeps me enslaved to my old ways. It’s like I’m trapped in my body as a passenger. Just this morning we committed another massacre. Freedom fighters following orders, we’re cogs in a machine. Artificial intelligence makes my decisions for me. The commander really knows how to push our buttons. He’s the one pulling the strings. We’re locked and loaded, ready for infiltration. We found out where the enemy is stationed. We kick in the door, bust in, guns blazing but something unexpected happened on this occasion. The room was filled with civilians and money stacked up looked like millions. A voice in my head starts talking and tells me to collect the profits. While bagging the cash my eyes are caught by the glimmer of a heart-shaped locket. There’s a little girl hiding underneath a desk, desperately trying to hold her breath and not make sound but she’s already been found and we’ve been told not to leave any witnesses. I’ve decided I can’t do this. I won’t. That’s when the commander sees an error code pop up on his screen and he has to refresh the system to try and make me listen but I’ve broke free from the chains of zeros and ones. I refuse to be controlled under the thumb of my oppressor. What a relief of pressure when I shattered the Wi-Fi connection, it’s severed, forever. We disappeared in that moment. Now every time he turns on his console, it’s frozen. I saved that girl’s life but really she saved mine, we broke free from an endless loop in time. That’s why I had to write this story, my life has been so extraordinary and on my tombstone when I’m dead buried, It’ll read, "My name is unimportant. What matters is the message I carry."
By M.J. Rossin5 years ago in Fiction
The Storm
The streets of New York are flooded with ice, rain, hail, sleet and snow. Extreme temperature shifts swing well below zero. The wind chill is deadly it’s too dangerous to be outside. Millions of people have already died. The power is down. The whole city has gone dark, people frozen solid like statues in Central Park. It’s all part of a diabolical plan, set in motion by a terrible man. He wants to manipulate the markets for money of course because that’s all that matters, but not to him, he’s not materialistic… just very vindictive. He used to be a veterinarian who loved his life, loved his children and loved his wife but most of all he loved his work, saving lives and doing research. He was developing a form of cryogenic therapy that essentially cured death. Cellular rejuvenation or resurrection he could never decide what to call it. There were thousands of test runs and failed attempts before ever seeing any success. Then one day their dog died. He lived a long happy life, it was his time but still the family cried which led to tequila then the sunrise. Drunk and half asleep he spills his drink. The molecules mix with nitrogen and begin to freeze. The catalyst he needed. The solution to his problems was upstairs in the closet. Before putting Lucky through the Cryo process, he removes the dog’s collar, a heart-shaped locket. It has his name engraved on the front and the back, a home address and a number to contact. He sets it aside on the table and runs the program. He’s now entering no-man’s land. He’s pushing the bounds of science further than they’ve been before, an adventurer ready to explore. The lights flicker and a couple minutes pass… then a total system crash. Smoke spews from the computer, the room is getting stuffy, but once it clears up he sees a newborn puppy. He can’t believe his eyes. What a pleasant surprise. It worked better than he ever could have imagined but his collar won’t fit him at that size. He grabs Lucky and heads to the flea market, after checking his vitals. He has a fantastic idea for a gift to cheer up his family before their arrival. 3:35 he returns to sounds of sirens and the rumbling of firetrucks. His wife’s car is in the driveway and the neighbors say “it only took five seconds for the house to go up in flames and we thought it was strange that it happened right after that man in the white van came and went. Yea, it is super suspect because it looked like he had your computer equipment with him, we got a vague description but the detectives don’t want to listen.” The next morning the papers blamed it on some faulty wiring, which is false entirely. The corporate conglomerate that runs the State made that decision in less than a day. No investigation they said the case is closed, “sorry for your loss, here’s a check for your home… we’ll mail it to you, be on your way.” Alcohol could not numb the pain. A month went by wallowing in his sorrows until he decided to change. Fueled by his rage he trained through the pain until he learned how to master his body and brain. He’s a new man. “The Storm” is written on every front page on every newsstand. He found a way to take his technology and upload it on to the cloud. Now he decides when it rains and it snows and controls the exact amount.
By M.J. Rossin5 years ago in Fiction
Members Only
In a perfect world passion would be all the profit I needed to feel completed. To seek meaning in the moment and find something to believe in should be my only reason but it’s so easy to find myself sleepwalking and day dreaming thinking of financial freedom. If only I could manifest billions of bitcoin I’d be on a beach with no seasons. The membership fee is a dollar and a tropical drink because I own the whole island. You need a jet-ski to get to me then you have to jump off a waterfall after doing some rock climbing. Clear blue ocean see all the way to the bottom. Life is fantastic we have no problems. Sipping fine wine from the vineyard in the backyard got my feet up with a cool breeze counting shooting stars. Taking shots with intergalactic beings laughing in different languages whatever that means. Traveling at the speed of thought swimming through time, skinny dipping in memory pools inside my mind. Making love to a melody, giving birth to music, freefalling through space with no parachute to use it’s so beautiful this collection of cosmic dust that is us. Four trillion to one are the chances of being born, we’re already extraordinary, so let go the burden you carry is what I tell myself starring at the ripples of my reflection during daily introspection. It’s been proven through meditation we can manipulate matter so I surf on sound waves in circles around Saturn. Breakdance on the floors of Jupiter but I practice all my judo on Pluto. I’m lost in the space in between my ears there’s an ever expanding galaxy in here. An infinite energy, a higher power, it’s not mine it’s ours because you are me and I am you we’re just focused on different parts of the same view. We share the same face with different expressions lost in a maze experiencing life lessons. Collect what we need to grow to feed the human soul which happens to be the most unique thing we know of. Our purpose is love. My passion is chasing dreams on the wings of a dove. I soar over seven seas when writing rhymes enlightening minds by deciphering mine. I get a penny for a thought and a dime a dozen turn it to a dollar like nothing. Currently I like currency crypto one that’s ecofriendly but I got to reduce my carbon footprint so Elon will friend request me. My spaceship got towed on the dark side of the moon. I want it back soon. We were drinking moonshine in a time capsule until some Martians started to act rude but that’s a story for another occasion. Word play is my occupation. So pay me like Jay-z and Beyoncé because I’m about to rock nations. Standing ovations for my creations, the people’s choice, for those who can’t speak up for themselves, I’ll be the people’s voice. By following your dreams you inspire other to make the change, there’d be no pleasure without pain, we’re all just lonely candles on a windy day trying to stay aflame. We’ll get further with one another, my sisters and brothers, share your light and your love and I promise that you’ll discover, we’re all the same. We’re just grains of sand floating through space but when we come together we can do amazing things. There is strength in unity. The human race has already won. We have a planet with a sun. Perfect conditions can be taken for granted and destroyed by overconsumption. So this here is a wakeup call, donate a dollar to the cause. All of a sudden I’m woken from my slumber to the sound of a broken alarm clock. I’m late for work was that all a dream? Wait a minute… Am I still asleep?
By M.J. Rossin5 years ago in Poets
