A Dystopian Glimpse Of The Future [FICTOID]

The jungle completed engulfed the ancient railroad station.  The skylights, long since shattered, now dripped vines.  Inside the vast, cavernous space, tribe members cooked their meals over scattered campfires.

The patrol returned from their mission, nimbly scurrying over the huge tree trunk that had fallen across the gulley and served as an impromptu bridge.  Wasps the size of pigeons flew by; the patrol ignored them.

“Live and let live” had finally penetrated human consciousness.

The chief sat in his wheelchair throne in the middle of the old train station, a big rusty revolver on his lap.  He had three bullets left, but the last one he intended to save for himself.

By his side stood a large Labrador the size of a feral hog.  Small dogs died out -- or rather, were killed off -- quickly during the final apocalypse.

The patrol entered and saluted; the chief returned their salute impatiently then demanded:  “Well?  Did you fill my prescription?”

The patrol leader handed him a bag.  The chief looked inside and scowled.  “This is half of what I need.”

The patrol leader shifted uneasily.  “The shaman said the plants grow slower in the winter.  Their photosynthesis -- “ she pronounced the word carefully “ -- is slowed down.  This is the best she could offer.”

“Not good enough,” the chief muttered.

He and the patrol leader knew there would be a new chief come spring.

© Buzz Dixon