author: Nicole J. LeBoeuf

Notes from the author:

One of the writing prompts I used here--again, just visiting Virtual Writers and grabbing the words assigned to the morning and evening Writers Dashes for May 6--was "anti-utopia." And I thought, why? Why, when we've got dystopia for all your non-utopian needs?

Except they're not quite the same. The prefix "anti" suggests not simply a passive lack but an active opposition. But why would anyone oppose a utopia, assuming one was possible?

Imagine a group of fanatics who believe that "Too easy is too hard." Which is to say, without challenges, humanity cannot grow. When society seems on the verge of conquering a major challenge, this group would throw wrenches in the works, dynamite the facilities, keep success on the distant horizon, always out of reach. I'm not sure exactly how they expect humanity to grow and better itself if they persist in thwarting every whiff of human progress, but that's fanatics for you. Principle before practicalities, and far too logical to make sense.

But terrorist groups and the rest of humanity are too large, too abstract for me to write about head-on. Characters have to come first. Characters are where I get interested and involved. I was so involved with getting to know the victim (killed by the second writing prompt, "poison gas") that the terrorists' guiding principals never quite made it onto the page.

Speaking of poison gas, you're going to have to forgive me some hand-waving here. If I ever turn this into a longer work, I promise I'll thoroughly research the plausibility of the scenario. For now, just roll with it.

The thing about poison gas is, it doesn't necessarily hiss. It needn't make you choke dramatically. It doesn't reliably manifest as a scary green fog chasing you down the hall. It's not like in the movies, where the audience has to know what's going on. Real world killers don't want you to know what's going on. They'd prefer you not have a clue. That way, you don't have a chance.

And the thing about being dead is, you still can't see the future. All you can see is the present. But you can see a whole hell of a lot more of it.

I wasn't even supposed to be there. I wasn't on the guest list. I'd tried to get a press ticket--I was desperate for the extra credit--but damn it, I overslept.

And what an extra credit opportunity this was! Reporting from the floor of the Summit For a Better World! Up close photos of, and direct quotes from, the world's foremost superheroes! All right, it was less like a global summit and more like a celebrity world tour--but still, they were here, in our little town, meeting with the city council and county delegates and the local press. But I missed my chance. I got scooped. Both of the department's available passes were taken before I could even get in line.

I considered just accepting the loss. But my mother loomed tall in my imagination, holding up my high school report card and pointing accusingly at the offending B minus. "You are capable of better," she intoned. Then the document morphed into a final college transcript showing a 3.8 GPA. "You were capable of better. But I guess it's too late now. Guess we wasted all that time and tuition money, didn't we?"

No. I could not face that. I couldn't handle her holding that over me for the rest of our natural lives. I'd find a way into the Summit or die trying.

Those were my actual words, the actual word-for-word sentences running through my brain. It seems funny now.

This has been an excerpt from the Friday Fictionette for June 12, 2015. Subscribers can download the full-length fictionette (1157 words) from Patreon in PDF or MP3 format depending on their pledge tier.

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