Futurism is powered by Vocal creators. You support Alberto Pupo by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Futurism is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less

The Anger

A sci fi story.

Rage, he has never been so enraged! The gall of these people. He is late for work, and they are simply standing there with a dazed look on their faces. He honks his horn they seem not to hear anything at all. He is suppressing the urge to get off his car and inflict great personal harm, but there is something bovine in their expressions he can't quite understand it. All this time, he continues to look into their eyes, but the expression is so damn vacant all it does it enrage him even further. Through his rearview mirror, he could see a conga line of angry drivers, people just like himself waiting to get to work. Some are desperately dialing their cell phones hoping that the boss will have mercy, pleading, hoping, making up excuses; you can hear the venom in their voices. He turns on the radio the sounds emanating from the stereo embody his frame of mind.

Now the anger begins to swell, a cacophony of horns as other drivers have quite frankly had enough. He is trying desperately not join the chorus of anger, the temptation to start pounding on the horn is great. Inside his heartbeat his rising blood pressure is through the roof, he is beginning to feel slightly faint, but all he can think about is that six figure salary vanishing in the blink of an eye, his wife tossing his shit out of his house. He looks again at the three figures blocking the road the expressions on their faces fixed in a permanent stupor. Do they not hear all the madness and cacophony around him? They must be deaf, they have to be.

Choosing the morning rush hour to work on a pothole smacks of government stupidity. City Hall will hear about this! He will alert the Media and bring some light on this travesty of justice; God forbid he loses his job over this incident. Now a chorus of angry voices begins to rise above the din. He could hear all sorts of expletives and curses, some so horrid they made his stomach turn; the anger was rising and rising steadily. The demands and pleas were growing. With all this happening where the hell are the authorities? Who even authorized this sort of project? At any moment now one of these people are going to lose it, and God forbid one of them is packing heat in their car. Being the first car in line, he feels a strong guilt as if he should be doing more. Should he get out of his car and end this madness once and for all? Should he speak for the chorus of the angry who need to get to work? Who needs to feed their families? Who needs to go, go, go!? His heart is saying yes, but there is a nagging feeling of doubt that this is not his battle to get involved in, this is not a crusade this is just a crappy time to provide service and fix roads. Suddenly he could hear a car door swing open as he, unfortunately, had predicted one of the commuters had had enough. A tall, burly, Caucasian male well-groomed and manicured ready for the day in the office, except of course, he is brandishing a weapon. Suddenly there is a terrible silence. The anger of the crowd begins to fade, instilling a sense of panic among the crowd. He watches in frozen horror as the man approaches one of the workers. The poor, deaf, bovine looking boy will never see it coming he will put a bullet right into his brain, and he will be the eye witness. He will have to testify to police about how impatience got the best of a fellow motorist, how he was packing heat and the pressure of not going to work made him lose his mind. Naturally, the well-heeled criminal lawyers representing this white fellow will attribute it to a temporary madness a meeting of the 2nd Amendment and Capitalism. Holy Shit he has to warn the young man, nobody else is reacting they are watching this movie unfold before their eyes will he blow the young man's brain out or not? Most likely some may be at this point mentally wagering on this sickening reality.

Suddenly the well-groomed stranger stands before the worker gun raised and ready to fire then something unexpected, a cry of agony emitted from the well-groomed stranger, his hand inexplicably sliced from its socket by a thin red laser that seemed to spring forth from the young bovine looking kids' eyes. All jaws were dropped collectively to the floor, and there was a horrible silence as anger has turned into pain. The only sounds were the howls of the would-be assailant who has just become a victim. In a moment of disbelief he searches the young man's eyes for any expression of remorse a trace of anger, but he only stares blankly back at him and then with a smile he motions to him to pass, and now everyone can get to work.