England's Future History: Volume 1

By Jonathan Brown

From jellyfishermen and rat farmers to shared consciousness dating and tree top homes, 13 of the best up-coming writers have given their views and vision of the future of England through their short stories.

The short story project England's Future History was started to create a timeline of the country's future. Each winning entry earned itself a place on the timeline. Future entries must not contradict the events set down by these stories.

The result is an interlinking vision of our future up until our world ends in 2150. Find out what's going to happen tomorrow...today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Brown
• Release date: Apr 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370766376

Book preview

ENGLAND’S FUTURE HISTORY

Volume 1

Edited by Jonathan Brown

All writing remains the copyright of the authors

Table of contents

What is England’s Future History?

Rat farm

Sky castle

Jellymen

I want to be pure for him

Wake up to yourself

How beautiful

Three and a half things

Afterlife

Mercy by Richard Blass

Second thoughts

The Genesis

Thin man

Oh dear

About our authors

What is England’s Future History?

It has always been art’s place to not only reflect on the past and present, but to look towards the future. Because the three states – past, present, and future - don’t exist alone. Each one constantly shapes and changes the others. What happened in the past, changes how we view the present, our hopes for the future are draw from lessons we learned in the past and the present is a fine balance between not repeating the mistakes of the past and wanting to move freely forward into the future, unhindered by baggage.

Literary speaking there have been many attempt by authors to look into the future, each work affected deeply by the author’s past and present. Yet few have done so in a joined up way that brings together differing voices to give us a single version of the future that’s come from a variety of differing pasts and presents.

This was the aim when we set England’s Future History. An online short story competition / project that invited writers to provide their views of what our country’s future would be like through the medium of short stories. The catch was that as the stories were published, they created a future timeline that other writers had to take note of – each new story could add to the timeline, take it off in their own direction but never contradict it.

It was started at a time when our futures were very much uncertain. At the start of 2016 we were faced with Brexit, a new President, and wars raging across the globe and political shake ups across the spectrum. We didn’t know then how much would change in such a short period.

And while many of the entries tackled such subjects head on, the ones that stood out were the ones with a strong voice that created stories that felt part of what our country could be but also provided unique views of the future – jellyfishermen, tree houses, angel wings and more.

Science and how it interacts with our lives was a big subject featuring in the majority of the stories from erasing memories and genetic cloning to body transformation and day-to-day admin.

And despite these stories taking place decades into the future, they still touched upon issues that are close to our heart today. In fact, one story – our final, world ending scenario – changed the ending to reflect how our country responded to one of 2017’s major events – the Westminster terror attacks.

Later this year, we will be re-launching the site looking for more ideas about how the world will change in the coming decades. And it’ll be interesting to see how this year affects the entries.

Rat farm

Tom Leins

Date: 2031

The fluorescent poster above the urinal advertises a doctor who purports to cure pig lice, clean dirty wombs and finish unfinished jobs started by other doctors. I feel my ruptured shoulder tingle involuntarily and wonder if he could do anything about the hot metal that has been embedded in it for the last seven months. I was advised to go to Plymouth for corrective surgery, but I couldn’t afford the train ticket – let alone the cost of the surgery – so I left the bullet in there.

I head back into the bar area.

‘Water. Please.’

I slide a crumpled five pound note across the bar.

The shaven-headed barman glares at me like he is committing my face to memory, before pocketing the note.

The glass of water he hands me looks more like cloudy piss. I shrug and make my way across the room.

I’m old enough to remember this place when it was still called Slattery’s Meat Market. The décor was… utilitarian. Bare brickwork, rusty pipes and paint-splattered wooden planks. It was my favourite place to unwind – at least until it was petrol-bombed.

Philip Erskine is wearing a mud-brown suit, reclining on a cream-coloured leather sofa. He used to be Paignton’s Meat King. Now he is Paignton’s Mayor. Party politics is largely irrelevant nowadays. The wealthiest man in town merely throws his weight around until he gets what he wants. Until a wealthier man arrives in town – licking his own wounds – and steals the crown, that is.

He looks sweaty, despite the air-conditioned chill of the bar. The girl next to him – and she is a girl – looks like her skin has been swollen with backstreet Botox. It makes her look older than she probably is. She chews gum lazily and winks at me when I sit down.

I shrug off my jacket.

‘Why me, Erskine?’

He removes his tinted yellow sunglasses and places them on the greasy table-top. His eyes look red and puffy. His complexion reminds me of a used soap-on-a-rope.

‘We can't afford anyone else,’ he grins, indulgently – the way only a truly wealthy man can.

I know the drill all too well. If you want a job done properly, you hire a professional. If you want a job done quietly, you hire an old drunk like me.

‘I’m joking of course,’ Erskine says.

‘Of course.’

He clasps my hand with his own liver-spotted claw and passes me an envelope.

‘I have been assured of your absolute discretion.’

Shit. The old bastard doesn’t even recognise me.

Sure, the last two years have aged me, but I am genuinely surprised that he doesn’t remember me. Hell, the last two decades have aged me, but people in this town have depressingly long memories – especially where I am concerned. I scratch my thick beard thoughtfully and stare out of the window.

Outside, the lights from the nearby chemical plant glow white in the night sky. There didn’t even used to be any windows in this building. This is the corner where the pussy shows used to take place.

Erskine clears his throat.

‘You have seen the local newspaper, I take it, Mr Rey?’

I nod. It isn’t a newspaper any more, more of a pamphlet – churned out in a basement grotto on Winner Street or Palace Avenue. The publishers resurrected the Herald Express name for reasons known only to themselves. I glance down at the inky rag…

In recent years cash-strapped local farmers have taken to breeding rats to make a living. They can grow up to 50cm in length and can weigh as much