A series of pictures I took last week, whilst out on my mountain bike in The DRC (Africa), reminded me of a barren wind swept post apocalypse, dystopian landscape. The pictures are of a mine waste dump, so the soil is lifeless, the water is questionable at best, and the wind whips up the waste product into dust clouds that hang in the air, and distort the horizon.
These images have nudged my mind to craft a short story – what do they do for you? what emotions do they evoke?
What are your favourite Dystopian Novels?
Here are a few of mine: (in no particular order – and I know I have left out so many more)
- 1984 (1949) – George Orwell
- Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep? (1968) – Philip K. Dick
- Brave New World (1932) – Aldous Huxley
- Farenheit 451 (1953) – Ray Bradbury
- Logan’s Run (1967) – William F. Nolan & George Clayton Johnson
- Neuromancer (1984) – William Gibson
- The Running Man (1982) – Richard Bachman (Stephen King)
- The Drowned World (1962) – J.G. Ballard
- The Road (2006) – Cormac McCarthy
- The Postman (1985) – David Brin
- The White Plague (1982) – Frank Herbert
- The Children of Men (1992) – P. D. James
- A Canticle for Leibowitz (1960) – Walter M. Miller Jr.
Feel free to add to this list 🙂 – hopefully you will mention some that I have not yet encountered.
Greetings to all my gentle readers and avid followers. For those of you who have a love for poetry, poems, creative writing and life, please visit my new facebook page – by clicking on the link below:
Michael D Emmerich – Poet & Writer
This wordpress page will still feature all my new poems and creative writing articles and will also feed through to the new facebook page. The new page will be a more interactive way of following my writing and poetry; plus as I plan on publishing my poetry anthology this year, it will be a way to order copies (or find out where to purchase online) and get info on readings etc… Thanks for all the support and messages of encouragement over the past year.
Creativity is life🙂
PS: been working on more than a few poems, which will be posted shortly 🙂
Turning to the nurse, Mike waited to be told why he was being called to give urgent medical assistance to a patient who might already be dead.As Mike had just walked from the trauma unit, past these all to familiar surroundings; the cheap grey paint peeling of the walls with damp seeping through, the smell of blocked toilets and flooded urinals, blood lying congealing on the floor from the last few patients, the smell of vomit and urine soaked linen, the sounds of patients in pain and family members in tears. He entered the room where the patient lay, he heard before he saw, an elderly lady who he took to be the patient’s mother sobbing loudly.
Up until this point the evening had been uneventful. If you could call working in a regional hospital that serviced a population of around 200 000 people, where supplies where few and even basic essentials such as gloves and needles were in short supply, or on some evenings non existent. There had been just the usual walk in patients at both the medical and trauma units, the hospital still had not caught on with the rest of the medical world and merged these units into one rapid assessment and treatment centre, but this lack of planning was evident all around you.
Despite the victory I walked away depressed; notwithstanding the effuse thanks from her mother whilst her daughter was holding my hand, and the thanks from the nursing staff who said that I had saved her life; I felt I was just delaying the inevitable, and a question kept nagging at me: “Who decides who lives or dies?”