The Mini-burger

FanFic in the Birmoverse

The Sins of the Future by Joe Devlin


2nd FanFic Festival entry posted November 30, 2006 at 3:20 PM

 The sins of the future.



The world really had gone insane.


The sound of gunfire could be heard getting closer. There was no getting out of it this time. Trapped in a slum with those left wing fanatics circling …”fucking Mormons”!

He kept working on what would be his last blog entry; not even the government stooges could block the wireless communication and off-shore site he was using. He didn’t have anything left to give but his words, but he intended to have these at least heard. In the list of his countries pantheon of heroes, he would now never be up there with O’Higgins; he wouldn’t be remembered for the man he had been. In an hour or two they’d be dragging his body through the streets. Seven years he’d been on the run, ever since that mad priest had started his website. That had kicked off the whole mad sequence of events and his country had headed to toiletsville.


The air in the hovel he was forced to live in was still and as moist as a whore’s armpit. His glasses were steaming up and he was forced to continually remove them and wipe them on a none to clean handkerchief. He stared at the screen, the last musings of a condemned man. No doubt, five minutes after it was posted, some fucking French, existentialist, university student would be trying to hack it out of existence; or it would be filled with the comments and ranting of deluded trolls.


He hadn’t realized there was a problem until someone took a shot at him the first time. That’d placed him in hospital for two weeks and he’d spent the time trying to understand why someone was trying to kill him. Then one of his brother officers, visiting the infirmary, had pointed out the offending site to him.


The shit of a priest had combined the Mormon genealogical data, from the future, with a list of his ’supposed’ victims.  Next thing, every arsehole with a gun is trying to avenge their grandson or great nephew, or whatever shit eating relative he’d knocked off in the future. Most hadn’t been born and most wouldn’t be; the world had changed too much, but he had to start dodging the bullets none the less.


Then the bloody communists had gotten involved, taken control, and the whole country had gone to shit. People’s tribunals had arrested, tortured and imprisoned the majority of his supporters.Didn’t these idiots see what see the country was being dragged into?  Of course the government promised to be democratic and the peons had swallowed it whole heartedly.


His wife had left him and his five children would never be born. Christ, the people after him thought he was scared of dying, he’d lost his children, what the fuck did he really care. It was only his military colleagues and an anti-communist cadre who gave him any support. The US government had given some aid, but it was on a surreptitious basis; if the left leaning idiots within their congress had learnt about the support for him, all hell would have broken loose.



At first he’d tried to retaliate, but in retrospect having the priest murdered, probably wasn’t one of his better ideas. The Church turned against him and any thought of sanctuary or support from that area was dismissed. Videla had supported him until he too had been brought down by the people’s revolution. He’d then tried to flee, but not even those gormless bastards in South Africa would accept him. There was nothing to do but to go to ground with a cadre of supporters to help.


Treachery and betrayal followed him everywhere. He’d lost count of the number of attempts on his life, the state security service kept driving him further and further into a corner. Until, at last he’d ended up in this shithole, located in the middle of a festering slum, filled with the dregs and flotsam of society. A miasma of smells and none of them clean. The stink of shit and unwashed bodies filled his days. Surrounded by enemies who, if they’d known he was there, would have taken great delight in stringing him up on the nearest tree.


He wasn’t the only one to suffer from the sins of the future and one of his favorite pastimes was to try to keep track of his contemporaries; searching the net for news of their demise, or otherwise. Pol Pot had a bullet put into the back of his head in 49.  Suharto had been kicked to death by religious zealots. Others were on the run.  Kim II-sung had rushed into Mao’s arms early and hadn’t been heard of in years. Most suspected that the clash of the two egomaniacs would have ended with Kim in a shallow grave.


Stalin, the sadistic, vindictive bastard, was at his glorious best and was swimming in rivers of blood. He had decided to do away with ‘client states’ and Tito, Hoxha et al had all been carted off and shot. Gorbachev never had a chance, dragged off and executed as a 15 year old. Putin’s parents had been thrown into separate gulags – at opposite ends of the country.


The Reagan assassination had been his masterstroke. The death of the “scourge of the evil empire” had driven the American media into a frenzy. Uncle Joe’s strident denials of any involvement weren’t believed by many. The use of a poisoned umbrella, in the murder, had been a piece of brilliant theatre by the mad bastard. The calls for a retaliatory strike, by even some of the more moderate media outlets, hadn’t phased Stalin one iota; he wasn’t going to be the first to blink and the U.S government knew it. You didn’t try to out stare a madman who had nuclear missiles at his disposal, not unless you wanted liquid sunshine appearing above your major cities. President Joe Kennedy Jnr had decided that discretion was the better part of valour and the world moved back from the brink.


It wasn’t only the great or near great that had their problems. Murder rates had skyrocketed as people searched their personal histories. The crime of ‘pre-emptive self defence’ had resulted in thousands of would be murderers and rapists being found ‘toes up’, and police departments world wide were being stretched to their limits. The life of a professional hitman had become very lucrative.


The western world’s social order had been turned on its head.Divorce rates were sky high, pornography was rife. Church attendances were up, but so was the number of people who claimed to be atheist. The world had collectively gone mad. The Catholic Church had convened Vatican II, which basically ratified the doctrinal statements of Vatican III. Contraceptives and divorce were in, abortion was still out. To the Church’s amazement and delight, conversions to the Church from the Protestant denominations were up as a result.


He finally finished his last testament, read through it a couple of times to ensure it captured the essence of what he wished to communicate. Decided it was eventually ready and sent it out to his list of supporters, newspaper editors and even included a few government ministers on the list. Not that the fuckers would care, the way they had driven the country into the ground…but he’d have his voice heard.


He closed the web search program and then smiled ruefully as his screen wallpaper appeared. His favorite picture of something that would never happen – January 1974. He was shaking hands with the president of the United States. He was resplendent in his uniform, standing tall and proud, whilst the President had a forced grin on his face. Richard Milhous Nixon, didn’t that fucker land on his feet. The highest paid “Shock Jock”, in the United States and therefore the world. Able to give opinions and smear whoever he liked and gets paid a fortune to do so. Something that would have been inconceivable ten years ago was now part of the American culture, something else brought by those fucks from the future.


The door opened behind him and Joao entered the small room, carrying his ubiquitous AK47.  One of his oldest and staunchest supporters, they had attended the academy together, and could be relied upon to never betray him. He’d been imprisoned and tortured by the People’s Court and his hatred for the communists was absolute.


“They’re close, Sir”.


He shut down the computer for the last time and then stood up, slapped Joao on the back and grabbed his rifle.


“Well, Joao. What are we waiting for; let’s go face the music. No-one’s going to be able to say that Augusto Pinochet died a coward”.



9 September, 2011 - Posted by | Axis of Time

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