Hope Chest: markmorrisjr Sci Fi Writing (& Tribute to the Winter Olympics)
This is an entry for the following writing contest: https://steemit.com/giveaway/@markrmorrisjr/50-amazing-sci-fi-writing-prompts-and-a-usd5-sbd-prize-for-the-best-story-based-on-any-one-of-them
Writing prompt: In a near distant future, hope and wishing are outlawed, as desire is seen as the root of all discontent.
SMASH! A razor sharp blade crashes down on a sheet of ice, whisping small chards of frozen turf into the air. As soon as the blade hits, it begins its spin. Atop the blade, an elegant smooth white shoe follows the movement of the blade. A second shoe points outward from an outstretched leg. A slender arm reaches over the shoe as the delicate body squats, still spinning. The graceful skater is as poised as a porcelain doll. She tilts her head up and back, as if watching the ceiling with curiosity. She appears oblivious to the cheering crowd that is watching her; to the banners of national flags that hang behind her from all over the world; to the chorus of music that accents each of her graceful moves; to the five interlocking circles that proudly hang above her head.
She spins.
Until suddenly, BANG! All goes dark on the spinning skater. The sounds of stadium silence.
Tia, an eight year old admirer, jumps at the sound, as a towering voice beams down at her: “You’re not supposed to be in there!”
Tia looks up towards the attic doorway at her stern mother who doesn’t give a smile. Despite knowing her presence in the attic is forbidden, Tia innocently asks, “Why?” For that is an answer she doesn’t know.
Before answering, the stern mother marches over and jerks the twelve inch box from Tia’s hands. “Because of this! I prayed you’d never find it. It’s time it be destroyed.”
The object is a rugged wooden box with a brass latch, similar to a jewelry box. It has unusual engravings, including one word on the corner of its side: “Hope”.
Tia protests, “But mother, it’s beautiful in there.”
“That’s the deception. It always is.” Mother turns and exits the attic.
Downstairs later, Tia overhears her parents arguing:
Tia’s mother shouts: “This is your mother’s fault! She’s the one who brought this into our house!”
Her father fires back, “My mother is deceased. You had all these years to discard it.”
“Do you know what will happen to us if the government finds out we have it?”
“You can’t expect a child to not have curiosity. She’s found it now. You have to tell her the truth!”
“I will not allow it! Not in this house!” With that, the angry mother storms out the door and slams it behind her.
Tia’s father looks up to see Tia watching. He gently comes over to Tia and bends down to look her in the eyes. “Whatever you saw in there, you must forget about it. The box has to be destroyed.” With that, Tia’s father exits the house, carrying the box.
Tia follows her father outside and into their backyard barn. She sees him pick up a hoe. As he raises the blade to aim at the box, Tia asks, “But father, what is hope?”
Father turns and after a moment of hesitation, sets the hoe aside. He motions Tia over to him. He wipes his brow and takes a breath, sitting down on a bale of hay.
“It pains me to destroy this. My mother loved it so. But your mother is right. Hope is a very dangerous thing. It’s the belief that things should change. And as such, it is outlawed.”
Tia asks, “Like the skater believed in her ability to be great?”
Father sighs. “Let me show you the dangerous power of hope.”
He opens the box. A bright light emanates from it. The sound of rioters chanting in the streets fills the room, with gunfire interspersed amidst it.
Suddenly, larger than life, African American protestors march on Alabama streets, engaged in rivalries with police.
Father’s voice overlays the scene: “Hope challenged systems. The people became unruly. Churches were burned. Lives were destroyed.”
As he speaks, a rioter douses a branch with gasoline and sets it on fire, casting it into a church. Other buildings begin burning in the background. The police escalate their response. Bullets begin to fly. The rioter who set fire falls.
“People died.”
As he speaks, the riot scene fades, and the sound of cannon fire fills the room. Confederate and Union troops march towards each other, firing bolt action rifles and cannons.
“Sometimes hope was for the wrong ideals.” As he speaks, the Civil War scene fades, and the sound of antique warplanes fills the room. Coming into view, Nazi soldiers march through streets, shooting observers on the sidelines.
“Some people hoped to rule other people. Some people hoped to rule the world.” Coming from the opposite direction, Soviet soldiers march forward, also shooting observers.
The scene switches to flashing scenes of Nazi and Soviet concentration camps, of citizens being pushed inside gas chambers and then beginning coughing.
“Hope has been the cause of much suffering and destruction.” Scenes of World War II disappear and are replaced with the sound of a jet liner’s engines as a large passenger aircraft soars into the first building of the World Trade Center. And then a second takes the other building down. Paper scatters from the building and drifts to the ground as people below run for cover and cradle loved ones.
“And even in the hope of greatness, humanity is lost.” The scene from 9/11 fades as the sound of applause and sports casting enters in. An Olympic ice skater raises her outstretched arms and bows her head for adulation after a performance. She takes a bow and then skates off the stage. As she enters the hallway, a masked figure rushes her and whacks her in the knee with a hockey stick. The skater falls to the floor in pain.
Everything goes black as father closes the lid. “You see, hope cannot be trusted. People are too feeble minded to know what they should hope for. You’re lucky to live in an age where the government does the hoping for you.”
He reaches for the hoe.
“But father,” Tia interjects. “You missed something.”
Father looks down at Tia, sadly. Tia walks over and reopens the lid. The white light fills the room again.
Larger than life, buildings burn and families cradle each other, shielding each other from the riots. But barely noticeable against the chaos, an African American man lies suffering on the pavement. A police officer takes notice and comes to his aide, applying pressure on the bullet wound and calling for backup.
Panning across the sea of people, a kindred Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. stands at a podium and addresses a crowd: “I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality… I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.”
The scene fades away and transforms into President Abraham Lincoln standing at a podium. “I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true. I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live by the light that I have. I must stand with anybody that stands right, and stand with him while he is right, and part from him while he is wrong… I hold that while man exists, it is his duty to improve not only his own condition, but to assist in ameliorating mankind.”
As President Lincoln fades from view, American troops stumble upon concentration camps and begin to free the starved prisoners. Somewhere in the distance, Anne Frank writes in her diary and speaks: “I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness; I hear the approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too. I feel the suffering of millions. And yet, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will change for the better, that this cruelty too shall end, that peace and tranquility will return once more.”
Tia states with confidence: “Some had reasons worth fighting for.”
As World War II again fades from view, police officers and firemen rescue people from the crumbled World Trade Center towers. Several firemen raise a hopeful American flag.
And then, in a final image, five interlocking hoops hang from the ceiling in a stadium, and beneath them, the leaders of two warring countries meet each other on the world stage and shake hands in peace. An audience applauds.
Tia gently closes the lid. She says to her father. “There is so much good in this box. This is why your mother loved it.”
Father looks sadly at the object and shakes his head. “Hope is a failed concept, Tia.” Before Tia can react, father, grabs the box and moves it away from her. She screams as he abruptly raises the hoe and slams it down onto the box, splitting it in two. No light shines from the box that is now cracked open.
Father says, “I’m sorry,” and solemnly walks out.
Tears well in Tia’s eyes as she tries to raise the lid. All of the magic this little chest held is gone. She sniffs in tears as she touches the blade of the hoe. Then she sees the magic.
She picks up the hoe and smashes it against a metal trough, breaking the blade from its handle. Then she looks around and sees a second hoe and does the same.
Outside behind the barn, a frozen lake sits serenely. Suddenly, A blade smashes down on the ice. A shoe connected to it by tape and glue. A makeshift ice skate.
Tia raises her outstretched arms and looks upward. Hope lives.
Very nice! Loved it! Thanks for sharing that with me.
A great read, @angelfish. Well done. I loved it.
Thank you!
Your story was selected in third place for the scifi writing prompts contest. Nicely done. Check out the results here!
Thank you!
Thank you, I loved the freestyle method of storytelling you used. A lot of writers go to a lot of trouble to explain the magic, or tech that produces such memories. I like that you didn't worry about that but just told us what she saw. beautiful. Please, feel free to enter any contest I post, your writing was excellent.
I appreciate the feedback.
Here's another science fiction entry @ocd #ocd-resteem if you enjoy it :)