Chris was standing at the bottom of the hole for the next structural pylon, hands tied. He tipped his head to look up at a clear pale blue early morning sky. He heard the rise then fall of a siren. It wouldn't be coming for him.
“Ready for your overcoat,” Glen chuckled.
Chris had said the same to others beforehand and wondered when it would be Glen's turn in a similar hole.
Chris made his peace with God as the cement mixer back towards the hole. The machine made a polite cough before slowly releasing its load.
Bertie never planned to return, yet here he flies, fast and frightened, burning through the atmosphere in his shuddering craft.
He sinks through the clouds until he’s gliding above the ocean. After 15 years away, its former blue depths have morphed into murky plastic swill, while the green canopies of land are nothing but chalky shards of broken concrete.
He heads toward the red continent of home, not so different from the planet he left six months earlier, carrying the precious cargo that helped establish life there.
Distraught, Bertie barely grasps that the same technology is now Earth’s last hope.
Congratulations on the book--I will go take a look. And what a vivid, dark piece of writing! I read it several times to soak up its many layers. I love it.
She stepped out of the carriage like a zombie. The hum of the underground lights felt mockingly familiar. Everything was just freaking normal.
Buzz of the phones, breeze of the subway departing, rushed footsteps. But the world was grey. Her stomach growled in hunger, but really it felt more like a void.
One more step to the exit and the outdoors.
She squinted at the sunlight, tripped, and fell towards the concrete.
Closing her eyes, she braced for a hard impact.
But there was no pain. She landed on something.
A rough cotton bag was suddenly under her face. She smelled a mix of cigarette and sweat and urine.
‘Thank you’ were the only words she could muster.
The homeless woman stared back at her, a quiet knowing face. She stood up, trying to mask her shaky hands.
The woman extended her palm, offering her a candy.
She accepted it, the sweetness washed over her. The candy and the gesture.
It’s yellow again, she thought. The sunlight, and the world.
Word of warning: I'm currently in the process of editing this story, so what you're reading at the moment is the first draft of "Concrete." I'll link it when it's finished.
---------------------------------------
FROZEN MONOLITHS
Nothing but concrete sprawled across the horizon for the explorer from the swamps of Enxx, a balmy world some three hundred light years away. The world looked barren, but Evitt’s readings indicated activity in each one of the monolithic blocks jutting from the plains that blanketed the land. He swore that the signatures shuffling through the structures were the product of automata, forever churning whatever they were programmed to accomplish.
Factories? he thought.
Another scrupulous sweep showed dynamics inconsistent with one another, despite their near uniformity that he had mistaken for an assembly line of sorts. He made out individual movements, as if whoever resided within these concrete monstrosities were the natives going about their business. But he had to focus to discern that.
As a jape, he muttered an old children’s rhyme in selecting with monolith he would pay a visit. They all looked the same, regardless. Cloaking his ship, he commanded it to return to orbit until his return—there was no other place to park it without getting noticed—and shoved off.
The streets were arranged in a grid of exact proportions, each with a sidewalk surrounding the perimeter; no variety, no winding turns in the roadways, and no trees graced anywhere he set his eyes upon. Just more concrete met his gaze…and his feet. He wondered if anything besides these monoliths sprouted above the desiccated soils. Judging by the fact he landed without anyone giving notice perplexed and disturbed him at the same time. Someone, somewhere, had to have been watching more than the interior of the structures.
It dawned on him that he could have been walking into a trap. He wouldn’t know until he snooped around a little. In the event of a mishap, he could always summon his ship to swoop back down and swipe him off this planet.
Searching the building, he couldn’t find anything resembling an entrance. It might have been the citizens had been trapped inside, forever ambling about in their self-made ecosystem. He craned his head up. The structure jutted above him, their height abruptly cutting off at what his sonar system registered at ninety meters. That applied everywhere.
Using infrared, he noticed indentations in the sidewalk indicating use. The slight concavity was concentrated down its center, leading to another part of the wall. Slight wear and tear along a rectangular edge exposed what he suspected was a doorway. He headed for it. As soon as he stopped at the wall, the door swung open automatically. The interior appeared to be a uniform pitch. No lights met his natural vision until he entered. His eyes suddenly strained as if shot by a laser. Everything was blue; not like the sky, or the deep hues of an oil painting, but a host of blinding spears flashing from every direction he looked, forcing him to shield his visor with selective opacity.
How could anyone live under these conditions? he reflexively mulled, failing to account that he was dealing with another world. Yet part of him wondered if any creature could evolve under a direct assault of concentrated light.
Another doorway stood ahead. Beyond it came the muffled clattering and clanged of what sounded like a factory. That same rhythm compounded itself, as if recursively echoing through the building, or from duplicate machines grinding away slightly off-key. Scanning his environment, he saw no one else except the lights of primitive computer randomly set across the anteroom. No alarms wailed at this intruder, befuddling his amphibian senses. But he didn’t come this far to give in to his reservations. Moving forward, he opened the door—there was no lock—and ventured forth.
An explosion of blue light flooded even the shielding on his eyes. He increased the opacity and stuck his head inside, letting his natural pupils slowly adjust. He expected to see an array of conveyors, pulley systems, collection vats, storage tanks, compressors, and processing equipment. Instead, his anuran lip practically sagged to the floor. His heart sank at what he witnessed. The natives shuffled through a corridor that ran the periphery of each floor. The center was hollowed out. Several natives cavorted along the balcony, risking a drop that would certainly be fatal. They seemed oblivious, even aggressive. Their raiment, a rarity on the temperate Enxx, was a hodge podge collection of rags dragged from the garbage chutes. They looked no different with blights and patches besmirching their tawny skins. They shouted, bobbed their heads to the factorial din, and broke out into numerous fights that made Evitt cringe in horror.
Concrete minds in a concrete world. They were savages, alright. Their living conditions, musical preference, and proximity to the constant flux of crowds slogging their hides from door to door like neanderthals—the collective welter surrounding them without end—had said it all. No wonder they kept baring their teeth at one another. Their pheromones must have gone haywire, compressed like spare parts in a smelting pit. Evitt couldn’t stand another minute of this acultural nightmare.
With undue haste, he hopped on all fours back outside, sharply whistling for his ship to pluck him off this living hell. However, something caught his bulging eye. A sigil emblazoned the side of the monolith across the street. On it, a wreath cupped an azimuthal projection of the very world he stood upon. What it symbolized, Evitt didn’t know except as a brutal reminder never return to this horrifying planet.
His shipped flew down and opened its hatch. Hopped in, he blasted off for home.
I read your story *Frozen Monoliths*, and something stood out to me—how it feels like a not-so-dystopian version of what's already starting to take shape in the US. As I read, I couldn't help but think of the increasing control and automation in society, the way people are becoming more isolated, and how systems are making individuals feel like just parts of a machine. It's unsettling, yet familiar.
Evitt’s experience with the concrete landscape, the disconnected inhabitants, and the sense of being trapped in a cycle without purpose made me think about the way certain aspects of modern life are heading. The world you’ve created has echoes of what might happen when technology and routine take over, when people lose their sense of individuality and purpose.
As someone from Germany, I see parallels with the increasing surveillance and data control, where personal freedom feels like it's slowly slipping away. It's a world where systems dictate how we live, and it seems like something we need to keep in mind as we move forward.
I’m curious to see how the story develops in your edits. I think it could deepen the connection between the world Evitt’s navigating and the one many of us are facing today.
Wow! I've never had someone write this deep a response to any of my stories, and to think its only a lousy first draft!
I intended the world Evitt landed on to be extremely dystopian and yes, starkly paralleling our current timeline, so I might elaborate on that aspect some more in the revision. I'll keep you posted.
A slurrey of sloppy, cold, wet concrete slide down the shoot of the spinning, churning cement mixer truck. The concrete would soon become the foundation of the new sanctuary of St. Luke’s United Methodist Church. The structure’s foundation forms creaked from the wet, soupy, gray concrete as the workers filled them. Little to the construction crews’ knowledge, two bodies had been discarded in the forms. Soon, the bloodied bodies were discovered. Frightened screams echoed bringing up the dispensing trough. The crew foreman, Ned McGill, jumped over some forms to investigate. He cursed loudly, grabbed his phone, and called 9-1-1.
I hit my first wall at age eight, took out my front tooth and the front tire of my bike, but god damn, did I feel alive!
Ten years later, I hit my second wall trying to sneak out to meet a pretty girl. Cost me my first car, but that reminded me Newton doesn't care about teenage lust.
My third wall came six years later, when I realized how much booze I needed to keep the demons in my head quiet, even momentarily.
But none of those compare to the impassable wall of mortality that immutably separates us now.
New and improved! Conlarod: the most durable material for building ever developed. Our special formula combines the strength of concrete with the flexibility of Kevlar and the beauty of old world wood. Made to withstand an EF3 tornado, a Category 4 hurricane, or an earthquake registering up to magnitude 7, this product is the future of building. Building on other planets? Absolutely! Conlarod will withstand temperatures as low as -300 degrees Fahrenheit (about -185 Celsius) and as high as 250 degrees F (about 120 C). Guaranteed to withstand whatever forces man or nature throw at it, or your money back!
The pathologist peeled the gloves from her hands as if shedding skin. Like a snake. “You know I can’t make a definitive statement like that, Joe. All I can tell you is—“
“There are burns apparent on both lower limbs, likely of an alkaline nature.” Inspector McInnery read the report, then stared at the body on the table.
Ariana ‘The Serpent’ Rossi. Crime boss.
Now dead.
“Concrete.” The pathologist shrugged, nonchalant. “The fact that she was found with her head just below the surface of the river…”
He used every trick in the book to secure the contract. This was a big money celebration of Brutalism, a statement building for a man who paid top dollar. Cartwright wanted those dollars lining his pockets. He didn’t care who fell by the wayside in the dirty tricks bidding war. Cornering the local market in sand, gravel and cement put Fitzpatrick out of the running, plus a few choice words in the client’s ear about the Irishman’s safety record. But now, glaring at seventeen pairs of work boots ankle-deep in quick drying concrete, Cartwright was reminded sometimes winning is losing.
I’m discrete with concrete. I let it accrete. I let it accrue with the bodies I eschew. I do it at night, so it’ll be dry by light. After all, no one wants this sort of thing going on during business hours at their storefronts. These bodies will never see the light of day again. Concrete is the best for such a task, but you have to be sure not to buy the Quickcrete™, or you’ll be stuck in the corner long before morning when they’ll find you. Ever since the zombie apocalypse, I’m the man everyone wants to know.
His mind would not shut off. Scenes turned and whirled Iike the contents of a mixer. However, instead of a cohesive whole, they remained scattered as though the thoughts were as repellant as oil and water.
What had he done and why? He was not that person, had never been that person. What had driven him to perform such an act? He felt unfocused, horrified, and frightened.
He watched the huge machine pour its load and hide his shame from view. Finished, the truck and workers gone, he stepped carefully over the fresh concrete and walked away.
I was excited about my find. "What a wonderful place for a homestead," I thought. But as I examined the area more closely, I realized that the rocks forming the streambed were not natural, but were made up of large chunks of concrete that had tumbled down the bank, decades ago, judging by the moss and lichens growing upon the remnants.
What happened? There was no way of knowing, but the ancient destruction bore mute testimony to the foolishness of the long dead previous tenants. I headed back to camp, to continue our long search for a new home tomorrow.
no idea what this ones about but i love the menace Miguel!
Lady Depression 🙃
concrete 100mg
Chris was standing at the bottom of the hole for the next structural pylon, hands tied. He tipped his head to look up at a clear pale blue early morning sky. He heard the rise then fall of a siren. It wouldn't be coming for him.
“Ready for your overcoat,” Glen chuckled.
Chris had said the same to others beforehand and wondered when it would be Glen's turn in a similar hole.
Chris made his peace with God as the cement mixer back towards the hole. The machine made a polite cough before slowly releasing its load.
Wait is he getting cemented alive??? 😱
Yup!!! [grin] It was what popped into my head last night!!!! I'm blaming the guy who gives the prompts for my weird thoughts in the night [chuckle]
Definitelly not my fault 🦝👀
100 mg of Concrete
Once, I built my life with concrete,
Stones of control and walls of suppression,
A dam in my canyon, steadfast and proud,
Holding back the flood of truth, of expression.
I thought it was solid—unmovable, sure,
A foundation of strength, a shield against pain,
Yet beneath it, the earth was shifting,
And the weight was more than I could sustain.
🧱
I dismantled the dam, piece by piece,
The mortar of oppression crumbled to dust.
And with it, I tore down the system—
The control, the exploitation, the rust.
Now, I am free, as life flows unbound,
No longer confined to the ground.
love this :) Such power
Diana, you just made my day. Thank You.
Aw thank you. I'm so pleased x
Microdosing Fiction - 100mg of a Concrete
Bertie never planned to return, yet here he flies, fast and frightened, burning through the atmosphere in his shuddering craft.
He sinks through the clouds until he’s gliding above the ocean. After 15 years away, its former blue depths have morphed into murky plastic swill, while the green canopies of land are nothing but chalky shards of broken concrete.
He heads toward the red continent of home, not so different from the planet he left six months earlier, carrying the precious cargo that helped establish life there.
Distraught, Bertie barely grasps that the same technology is now Earth’s last hope.
Congratulations on the book--I will go take a look. And what a vivid, dark piece of writing! I read it several times to soak up its many layers. I love it.
Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Microfiction - a Hum, Mistakes, and a Concrete
===
She stepped out of the carriage like a zombie. The hum of the underground lights felt mockingly familiar. Everything was just freaking normal.
Buzz of the phones, breeze of the subway departing, rushed footsteps. But the world was grey. Her stomach growled in hunger, but really it felt more like a void.
One more step to the exit and the outdoors.
She squinted at the sunlight, tripped, and fell towards the concrete.
Closing her eyes, she braced for a hard impact.
But there was no pain. She landed on something.
A rough cotton bag was suddenly under her face. She smelled a mix of cigarette and sweat and urine.
‘Thank you’ were the only words she could muster.
The homeless woman stared back at her, a quiet knowing face. She stood up, trying to mask her shaky hands.
The woman extended her palm, offering her a candy.
She accepted it, the sweetness washed over her. The candy and the gesture.
It’s yellow again, she thought. The sunlight, and the world.
The joyless sleepless feelings vaporized.
Sometimes, all you need is a small glitch.
Sorry Miguel, catching up with 183 mg...:P
All good! Great way to catch up 😁
Word of warning: I'm currently in the process of editing this story, so what you're reading at the moment is the first draft of "Concrete." I'll link it when it's finished.
---------------------------------------
FROZEN MONOLITHS
Nothing but concrete sprawled across the horizon for the explorer from the swamps of Enxx, a balmy world some three hundred light years away. The world looked barren, but Evitt’s readings indicated activity in each one of the monolithic blocks jutting from the plains that blanketed the land. He swore that the signatures shuffling through the structures were the product of automata, forever churning whatever they were programmed to accomplish.
Factories? he thought.
Another scrupulous sweep showed dynamics inconsistent with one another, despite their near uniformity that he had mistaken for an assembly line of sorts. He made out individual movements, as if whoever resided within these concrete monstrosities were the natives going about their business. But he had to focus to discern that.
As a jape, he muttered an old children’s rhyme in selecting with monolith he would pay a visit. They all looked the same, regardless. Cloaking his ship, he commanded it to return to orbit until his return—there was no other place to park it without getting noticed—and shoved off.
The streets were arranged in a grid of exact proportions, each with a sidewalk surrounding the perimeter; no variety, no winding turns in the roadways, and no trees graced anywhere he set his eyes upon. Just more concrete met his gaze…and his feet. He wondered if anything besides these monoliths sprouted above the desiccated soils. Judging by the fact he landed without anyone giving notice perplexed and disturbed him at the same time. Someone, somewhere, had to have been watching more than the interior of the structures.
It dawned on him that he could have been walking into a trap. He wouldn’t know until he snooped around a little. In the event of a mishap, he could always summon his ship to swoop back down and swipe him off this planet.
Searching the building, he couldn’t find anything resembling an entrance. It might have been the citizens had been trapped inside, forever ambling about in their self-made ecosystem. He craned his head up. The structure jutted above him, their height abruptly cutting off at what his sonar system registered at ninety meters. That applied everywhere.
Using infrared, he noticed indentations in the sidewalk indicating use. The slight concavity was concentrated down its center, leading to another part of the wall. Slight wear and tear along a rectangular edge exposed what he suspected was a doorway. He headed for it. As soon as he stopped at the wall, the door swung open automatically. The interior appeared to be a uniform pitch. No lights met his natural vision until he entered. His eyes suddenly strained as if shot by a laser. Everything was blue; not like the sky, or the deep hues of an oil painting, but a host of blinding spears flashing from every direction he looked, forcing him to shield his visor with selective opacity.
How could anyone live under these conditions? he reflexively mulled, failing to account that he was dealing with another world. Yet part of him wondered if any creature could evolve under a direct assault of concentrated light.
Another doorway stood ahead. Beyond it came the muffled clattering and clanged of what sounded like a factory. That same rhythm compounded itself, as if recursively echoing through the building, or from duplicate machines grinding away slightly off-key. Scanning his environment, he saw no one else except the lights of primitive computer randomly set across the anteroom. No alarms wailed at this intruder, befuddling his amphibian senses. But he didn’t come this far to give in to his reservations. Moving forward, he opened the door—there was no lock—and ventured forth.
An explosion of blue light flooded even the shielding on his eyes. He increased the opacity and stuck his head inside, letting his natural pupils slowly adjust. He expected to see an array of conveyors, pulley systems, collection vats, storage tanks, compressors, and processing equipment. Instead, his anuran lip practically sagged to the floor. His heart sank at what he witnessed. The natives shuffled through a corridor that ran the periphery of each floor. The center was hollowed out. Several natives cavorted along the balcony, risking a drop that would certainly be fatal. They seemed oblivious, even aggressive. Their raiment, a rarity on the temperate Enxx, was a hodge podge collection of rags dragged from the garbage chutes. They looked no different with blights and patches besmirching their tawny skins. They shouted, bobbed their heads to the factorial din, and broke out into numerous fights that made Evitt cringe in horror.
Concrete minds in a concrete world. They were savages, alright. Their living conditions, musical preference, and proximity to the constant flux of crowds slogging their hides from door to door like neanderthals—the collective welter surrounding them without end—had said it all. No wonder they kept baring their teeth at one another. Their pheromones must have gone haywire, compressed like spare parts in a smelting pit. Evitt couldn’t stand another minute of this acultural nightmare.
With undue haste, he hopped on all fours back outside, sharply whistling for his ship to pluck him off this living hell. However, something caught his bulging eye. A sigil emblazoned the side of the monolith across the street. On it, a wreath cupped an azimuthal projection of the very world he stood upon. What it symbolized, Evitt didn’t know except as a brutal reminder never return to this horrifying planet.
His shipped flew down and opened its hatch. Hopped in, he blasted off for home.
Robert,
I read your story *Frozen Monoliths*, and something stood out to me—how it feels like a not-so-dystopian version of what's already starting to take shape in the US. As I read, I couldn't help but think of the increasing control and automation in society, the way people are becoming more isolated, and how systems are making individuals feel like just parts of a machine. It's unsettling, yet familiar.
Evitt’s experience with the concrete landscape, the disconnected inhabitants, and the sense of being trapped in a cycle without purpose made me think about the way certain aspects of modern life are heading. The world you’ve created has echoes of what might happen when technology and routine take over, when people lose their sense of individuality and purpose.
As someone from Germany, I see parallels with the increasing surveillance and data control, where personal freedom feels like it's slowly slipping away. It's a world where systems dictate how we live, and it seems like something we need to keep in mind as we move forward.
I’m curious to see how the story develops in your edits. I think it could deepen the connection between the world Evitt’s navigating and the one many of us are facing today.
Wow! I've never had someone write this deep a response to any of my stories, and to think its only a lousy first draft!
I intended the world Evitt landed on to be extremely dystopian and yes, starkly paralleling our current timeline, so I might elaborate on that aspect some more in the revision. I'll keep you posted.
Thanks again!
A slurrey of sloppy, cold, wet concrete slide down the shoot of the spinning, churning cement mixer truck. The concrete would soon become the foundation of the new sanctuary of St. Luke’s United Methodist Church. The structure’s foundation forms creaked from the wet, soupy, gray concrete as the workers filled them. Little to the construction crews’ knowledge, two bodies had been discarded in the forms. Soon, the bloodied bodies were discovered. Frightened screams echoed bringing up the dispensing trough. The crew foreman, Ned McGill, jumped over some forms to investigate. He cursed loudly, grabbed his phone, and called 9-1-1.
I hit my first wall at age eight, took out my front tooth and the front tire of my bike, but god damn, did I feel alive!
Ten years later, I hit my second wall trying to sneak out to meet a pretty girl. Cost me my first car, but that reminded me Newton doesn't care about teenage lust.
My third wall came six years later, when I realized how much booze I needed to keep the demons in my head quiet, even momentarily.
But none of those compare to the impassable wall of mortality that immutably separates us now.
Went a little snake oil salesman with this one.
New and improved! Conlarod: the most durable material for building ever developed. Our special formula combines the strength of concrete with the flexibility of Kevlar and the beauty of old world wood. Made to withstand an EF3 tornado, a Category 4 hurricane, or an earthquake registering up to magnitude 7, this product is the future of building. Building on other planets? Absolutely! Conlarod will withstand temperatures as low as -300 degrees Fahrenheit (about -185 Celsius) and as high as 250 degrees F (about 120 C). Guaranteed to withstand whatever forces man or nature throw at it, or your money back!
Oooh, dark! Here’s mine!
—————
SNAKE
“She was tortured before she died?”
The pathologist peeled the gloves from her hands as if shedding skin. Like a snake. “You know I can’t make a definitive statement like that, Joe. All I can tell you is—“
“There are burns apparent on both lower limbs, likely of an alkaline nature.” Inspector McInnery read the report, then stared at the body on the table.
Ariana ‘The Serpent’ Rossi. Crime boss.
Now dead.
“Concrete.” The pathologist shrugged, nonchalant. “The fact that she was found with her head just below the surface of the river…”
Burned. Then drowned.
Crime paid. For some.
Imprint (100mg)
He used every trick in the book to secure the contract. This was a big money celebration of Brutalism, a statement building for a man who paid top dollar. Cartwright wanted those dollars lining his pockets. He didn’t care who fell by the wayside in the dirty tricks bidding war. Cornering the local market in sand, gravel and cement put Fitzpatrick out of the running, plus a few choice words in the client’s ear about the Irishman’s safety record. But now, glaring at seventeen pairs of work boots ankle-deep in quick drying concrete, Cartwright was reminded sometimes winning is losing.
100 Words: Concrete
I’m discrete with concrete. I let it accrete. I let it accrue with the bodies I eschew. I do it at night, so it’ll be dry by light. After all, no one wants this sort of thing going on during business hours at their storefronts. These bodies will never see the light of day again. Concrete is the best for such a task, but you have to be sure not to buy the Quickcrete™, or you’ll be stuck in the corner long before morning when they’ll find you. Ever since the zombie apocalypse, I’m the man everyone wants to know.
I like the direction you took this in!
His mind would not shut off. Scenes turned and whirled Iike the contents of a mixer. However, instead of a cohesive whole, they remained scattered as though the thoughts were as repellant as oil and water.
What had he done and why? He was not that person, had never been that person. What had driven him to perform such an act? He felt unfocused, horrified, and frightened.
He watched the huge machine pour its load and hide his shame from view. Finished, the truck and workers gone, he stepped carefully over the fresh concrete and walked away.
A strange one, but a good one. The good and evil are all mixed up, just like real life...
Depression is a bitch. 🙃
Ah, how I get it. Yes, indeed she is...
I was excited about my find. "What a wonderful place for a homestead," I thought. But as I examined the area more closely, I realized that the rocks forming the streambed were not natural, but were made up of large chunks of concrete that had tumbled down the bank, decades ago, judging by the moss and lichens growing upon the remnants.
What happened? There was no way of knowing, but the ancient destruction bore mute testimony to the foolishness of the long dead previous tenants. I headed back to camp, to continue our long search for a new home tomorrow.