When Amazon Attacks

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I wasn't looking for sympathy, I was just looking for someone to lend an ear; to hear my side of the story I suppose. It's not like I was revealing secrets, or telling tales out of school. I just needed a moan, get a few things of my chest. Anyway, Jess wasn’t listening to a word I was saying. Instead, she was standing there in that ridiculous onesie that she wears staring out of my window.
“Are you listening to me?” I said.
There was silence.
“Hey, Jess, are you listening to me?”
“Come and look at this,” she said.
I climbed out of the wardrobe and walked over to the window.
“What?”
The back lane didn't look any different from normal, a broken vacuum cleaner sticking out of the recycling bin being the most noteworthy thing.
“There!” she said.
I looked at the sky, a rainbow stretched across it.
“Bloody hell Jess. I'm pouring my heart out to you here and all you can do is stare at rainbows. It's not like they are unusual at this time of year.”
“Look, you wally,” she said.
I looked in the direction she was pointing and I could see them now. Tiny, tiny dots moving towards slowly us through the arc of the rainbow.
“What are they,” I said, “starlings?”
“Hmm, no I think they’re drones. An army of drones.”
“Don't be daft,” I said. “This isn’t some sci-fi  movie.  You don't get drone armies in Butetown.”
“They're bloody drones I tell you,” Jess said.
And she was not wrong; as they got closer I could see the little propellers.
“What are they carrying?” I asked.
“Boxes, they must be those Amazon delivery drones.”
“Oh, maybe it’s my new Xbox, I ordered same delivery.”
“But why so many of them?” she asked. You don’t need a drone army for an Xbox delivery.”
“I don't know,” I said.
They were right above us now, their shadows falling over the flat. I could see the Xbox logo on the side of the boxes.
Without warning, they all let go of their cargo. We were being bombed by delivery drones; Xboxes their weapon of choice. Wave after wave passed over dropping their payload.
They thudded onto the roof, crashed onto the street outside, smashed through the greenhouse glass. We ducked for cover. It was raining games consoles, a terrifying attack of the drones.

The Queue

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It was one of those days that looked like it should have been warm but was actually pretty nippy. The sun shone but was not on full blast. Joe rubbed his arms and stamped his feet and wished he’d put on more than just a short-sleeved shirt. To make matters worse the queue was on the shadow-y side of the street and was at a standstill. Joe looked down at his trainers. He needed a new pair, but the shops were fairly sparse at the moment. He took another step forward. He was still at least thirty people from the front door, but that wasn’t even the front of the queue. God knows how long it was inside. He’d been waiting over four hours and had probably moved about twenty-five paces. That meant in another four hours he might just be inside the door. He wanted to scream and shout and cry out that it wasn’t fair, but it wouldn’t do him any good. If anything, he’d be marked as a trouble maker and making trouble was not in his best interests. So he told himself to be calm and collected; paint the stoical look on your face mate and don’t let the bastards grind you down.

The government office in front of him seemed to snarl and scowl, accepting people reluctantly into its bowels. He noticed no one ever came out. Joe looked at the people around him; no one spoke, no one looked at each other, everyone kept their heads down examining their own footwear. There were some people in this queue who wouldn’t even remember when this wasn’t normal practice. When you didn’t have to queue for a one trip passport, Joe could. Joe could remember having a ten-year passport. He’d backpacked across Europe with his mates, lived in Greece for three months working in a British bar, he’d holidayed in Spain, Portugal, France, stag-doed in Prague, Budapest, Riga. Jesus, it was so easy then. He rubbed his arms again feeling the goose pimples and then took a step forward.

It wouldn’t get any easier once he’d got inside. They’d ask questions about friends, family, lovers and pets. His trip was condemning them to a life of surveillance. Then they’d ask reason for travel, date of departure, date of return. The money burnt a hole in his pocket. He didn’t like carrying that much cash, but the rules were the rules and if he wanted to go abroad, he had to pay a deposit to ensure he’d be back.

He heard the engine before he saw the car.

“Fuckers,” the boys shouted out of the window. “Traitors!” The car screeched past skidded to a halt. The driver executing a perfect handbrake turn before revving up and passing the queue again. “Traitors, turncoats, Judus.”

Joe had been warned about this. Rumour had it these were the off-duty border guards letting their hair down. Letting those who wanted to leave this great country know that they were dirty low-down rats. Chances were they’d be processing Joe’s claims if he ever got inside the building.

Another skid, another rev and then the car came past again. Joe saw the missile arc through the sky. He instinctively ducked. It smashed into the wall next to him and showered everyone in his part of the queue with glass and liquid.

Miraculously no one was cut, hardly even scratched, but everyone was soaked and it hadn’t been water in that pint glass.  Joe looked forwards and waited. What else could he do?

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The Readers

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It wasn’t that late when we got to the hotel. I suppose we could have gone into town for dinner, but it had been a long, long day, a long long journey and all we wanted to do was relax. The holiday could start tomorrow.

“Are you still doing food?” Stephanie asked the receptionist.
“Of course, madam,” He smiled, “the restaurant is open until nine. It’s just through there.” He pointed towards the double doors.

“Thank you,” I said and lifted the case.

“Fourth floor, room 405.” The receptionist reminded us. Steph led the way.

We dropped our bags in the room and headed straight down to eat. But those double doors, the doors to the restaurant, the innocent looking doors that the receptionist had pointed out just moments ago, were not quite as innocent as they looked. They were portals to a different dimension.

What lay behind them looked like a normal restaurant, tables, chairs, menus and bored looking waiting staff. It was crowded too, only one free table for us. But instead of the usual, clanking of cutlery and the hubbub of people eating, and the blare of streamed entertainment, there was silence, stone cold silence. It was like a library, in more ways than one.

Every diner, every single one of them, was reading, and I don’t mean staring at their mobile phones or tablets, I mean reading real books. The couples, the children, the lone travellers, everyone had their nose stuffed in between pages as they shovelled food between their lips.

Being older than Steph, I’d seen this kind of thing before, but for Steph it was like something out of an old movie. She’d heard about books of course, but she’d never seen one. She told me once she’d read Bridget Jones on an old Kindle that she’d found, but other than that she’d never read a book in her life.

“Close your mouth,” I whispered as we headed for our table. “You’re staring.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said.

“Just ignore it. Keep your head down and avoid eye-contact.”

We’d both heard of the ‘readers’, but neither of us had seen them before and I guess both of us had doubted their existence. I mean who would bother risking their life and limb, not to mention the safety of their loved ones, just so they could do something boring like reading a book? Well, we had the answer to that right in front of us.

The weird thing was, they looked like normal people, there wasn’t a cardigan in sight and only about half of them wore glasses. They were anything from eight to eighty-five and they looked, well, happy I suppose.

We read the menu feeling slightly self-conscious. We were planning on watching the latest episode of Thrones as we ate, but if no one else was watching their shows, ours would really stand out. Could we get through dinner with no entertainment?
I’d just ordered the steak and Steph the salmon when those double doors swung open.  

“Put the books down!”

I looked around to see three uniformed cops and one guy who looked a lot like an ABPD, the feared secret police. It was he who spoke.

“Every one against the wall,” he said. The ‘readers’ stood up and shuffled over to the wall that the man was pointing at. They looked resigned to their fate; you takes the gamble, you pays the price.  Steph and I sat there awaiting our food.

“I said everyone,” the ABPD guy took a step towards us.

“But we’re…” I said.

“Everyone,” he repeated, and two of the uniforms towered over us.

I looked around, looking for the waiting staff or the receptionist to come to our aid, confirm we were not part of the group. But the hotel personnel had completely disappeared.

“I haven’t got all day.”

Steph and I got up and joined the readers.

“Take them away.” ABPD said.

“We just wanted something to eat,” I said, but my protests fell on deaf ears.  

P.S. I know there are some holes in this story, if reading is so illegal why are they doing it in a public place :-)