3 posts from November 2007

At the meeting, Woolsey noted with dull surprise how many had shown up.  He figured it would be a ragtag affair with comprised of the usual wogs who loitered in front of the cornerstore layer-mall, gnawing at the layers foundations in protest and kicking at the police dogs who inevitably hauled the punks off to the slammer.  There were actually a few respectable looking dogs in attendance, looking smart in sleek rubber suits that must have cost them thousands - surface material, especially rubber, was scarce these days and therefore astronomically priced.  A slight pang of resentment affected Woolsey's enjoyment of his free mud coffee, and he felt tempted to accidentally-on-purpose spit in the vicinity of one of these rubber-suits, when a long bark signalled the start of the meeting.  

"So great to see so many new and different faces in the crowd," said the speaker, who wore a decidedly unfashionable tie, and seemed to have a nervous habit of tapping his foot claws on the ground.  "We've got folks from West Bottoms, weasels from Gromit Valley, even some rabbits trekking all the way from Dandelion Warren," here he was briefly interrupted by the enthusiastic whoops and hollers from the rabbit contingent, "so glad to have you here. 

"The great diversity of this crowd just shows how important this issue is.  It affects all of us in this Earth, because like it or not, we all have to live here.  This isn't just some old crust that TerraCarve, MagmaBlaster or any of these other companies can dispose of at will.  This is our home."

More shouts, barks and cheers from the crowd.

"So far we have not been doing our job as the public, the watchdogs of our own society.  We have been letting this development go unchecked for far too long.  Sure, it's nice to not have to run miles to get necessities from the nearest wokka shop.  And sure, why not have all your amenities and fun things located in one big layermall, when it's so convenient?"

A sleek and pretty looking dog scampered in, rolled up papers in her mouth.  She unfurled one sheet and held it open for the audience to see, while the speaker gestured.  It was a map of the municipal tunnel system, with dense clusters of pins dotting some sectors.

"But do we really need ten of these layermalls within one square acre?  Wouldn't one or two of these be sufficient to meet the needs of the residents of Groundswell District?"

Here, the lady dog flipped the paper around to reveal a chart, replete with colored dots and obscure markings.

"As you well know, these businesses have got to go somewhere, and that somewhere is usually somebody's house.  According to my calculations, well, and the calculations of the Groundswell District Dig Study Group - if trends keep up, in one year, there will be four times as many businesses as there are residents who actually live in Groundswell."
 
The speaker gesticulated wildly at this chart, so caught up in passion that a drop of drool slid slowly from the side of his mouth.  "If nobody lives here anymore, who's going to be the customers for these business?  Does anyone want Groundswell to turn into a ghost town, filled with empty shops and layermalls and nothing to show for it?  Do you want to sacrifice your home, for this?"

A delay, as the lady dog shuffled through her papers, and pulled out a crude drawing of a layermall, with an angry skull and crossbones superimposed over the shops.  The crowd murmured. 

Chapter One: A New Development

The din of jackadillies blasted Woolsey from his Restday slumber, forced him out of his cot drooling and fur matted.  Natural prey instinct froze him for a full second, clod rocks and his worldly possessions tumbling around his head, until a photo album glanced off his head and startled him to alertness.  Primal fear gave way to anger.

"Not today," he shouted, scampering out of the collapsing tunnel.  "What gives, you snakes?  I've got the extension paperwork and you're not allowed to dig for two more weeks!"

"Didn't get the papers in time, sonny, sorry about that," said the Head Digger, who really didn't look all that sorry.  He was quite tall for a prairie dog, but his head was disproportionately narrow; his elaborate crystal quartz construction helmet kept sliding down over his eyes.  "Once we get going we can't really UN-dig, you know?  And TerraCarve will naturally compensate you for up to two-thirds of monetary loss.  Really," here he picked up Woolsey's vintage refurbished Moltavision set, a relic that had been in his family for generations, "they'll likely comp you for a lot more than what yer old junk was worth in the first place."

Woolsey bristled.  "This is my house."

"Not no more it ain't.  It's a lovely layermall now, fulla wokka shops and water-tunnel parks.  Now take yer compensation card and get out."

He took the card, a cool rectangular slate etched in bold font: "TerraCarve: Carving Out A New World!"  The logo, sleek and modern:  a paw with claws extended, combing through layers of earth to the heart that lay in the center.

Dear public,

This is my 2007 entry for the November National Novel Writing November National Novella blah blah blah.  It is a quaint little epic post-apocalyptic tale, featuring explosions and prairie dogs.  Please feel free to read and / or leave comments, and I hope you find it slightly more entertaining than whatever it is you're supposed to be doing at work!

Love,
karenology