THE FUTURE
T he place I just left turned out to be a compound of some sort. Safe and sound from the mad world outside.
Here in the streets, it’s a circus of insanity. It's like a kindergarten for adults. People drive cars into each other and laugh at the injured passengers. Others are vandalizing every other building they come across. There are a bunch of what look like protestors gathered in the streets. They're holding signs that read: We want our brains back.
And that's just what I am capable of comprehending from a brief look.
I stop the car, too worried to get out, still trying to understand what's going on. Is this the real future? What about the place I came from?
I turn back and see my neighborhood behind the gate is protected by a fortress wall. Surveillance cameras everywhere. Several signs with warnings stretch across the walls. Don't come near or you will be fried like toast .
Farther to the left, there is a bigger sign. It says: The Wonderland Compound .
I remind myself that I am lying on a couch in the Inklings bar a few years back in time now. Does this mean the Inklings has been turned into this protective compound in the future?
Why?
Turning back, I stare at the mad world in chaos and realize I am staring at where Big Ben once stood. The building still has a clock, but it's not Big Ben anymore. It's a giant building shaped like a mushroom.
I decide to drive further into the mad streets of London. It's not easy, considering the crazy people rapping on my car, demanding that I stop.
But I manage. Maneuvering left and right. A building is on fire next to me. A march of naked people with tattoos on their chests: Government! Give back our brains!
What happened here?
I arrive at what once was the British Parliament in Westminster Palace. It's not that anymore. It's something scary.
I slow down and stare at it, unable to believe my own eyes. But it's hard not to know what it has turned into.
A circus.
A fluttering flag before the tent reads: Ladies and gentlemen, mad and madders, come watch the freaks who call themselves sane and rational.
I halt to a stop, needing a moment to let it all sink in.
We didn't really win the war, did we? We lost it. Big time. And the Wonderland Monsters turned the circus around on humans. Now the insane watch the sane for entertainment and freak shows.
A slight look to the right and I see the Queen of Hearts’ face, full profile, drawn on the vertical length of a ten-story building. The drawing makes her look taller, thinner, and not as ugly as she really is. Underneath her painting, there are more words to read: In Her Majesty's Bonkers Service!
I let out a shriek inside my car. This is the worst future for mankind.
Another horde of protestors walk toward my car. Those are different and most nonsensical. They hold up signs that say: We volunteer to have our heads chopped off. All in the name of the Queen.
They keep advancing and pointing at my car. They want me to let some of them in. I pull the roof of the car on and lock myself inside. But then they pull out their Bandersnatch guns and are about to shoot me. I put the car in reverse and hit the accelerator.
It doesn't work. An ambulance, driven by a madman, crashes into my car from behind.
I need to find a way out of this.