The day after tomorrow

It's called the Day After Tomorrow, DAT for short. And because of it, I know exactly what to do in order not to get killed in two days. So I can relax, and I won't have to worry about anything any more. Brilliant, eh?
Honestly, this machine has the best VR graphics yet, and that is saying something. Those scientists have really got onto something this time. Imagine it, a machine that calculates one possible path of your future, and then simulates the results. And it's never wrong. The military and Secret Services have got them, all the rich people too. It costs a fortune, so the closest most people ever come to them are the ads in the Arcade. But those people don't deserve them anyway. It was their choice to be poor, DAT taught me that. Every part of your life is based on the choices you make, and so every bad thing that happens to someone was their choice, and their choice alone. It wasn't any fault of mine.
Those blacks starving in Africa? I reckon they're just trying to get our food, money and sympathy. Bastards.
Yeah, it's their choice. Life has just felt so much better since I bought that beautiful machine. Now I know that everything that happens in the world was because of someone else's choices. And it's entirely up to them if they want to die from the BioPlague or not.
Yeah.
Anyway, it's been interesting talking to you. Look, no offence, but I think you should change your mind about being a beggar. I mean, seriously. Do you really want to live the rest of your short life wearing rags and begging for money? Think about it, OK?
What?
No, you cannot have ten dollars. Haven't you been listening to me? It's your choice if you want to be poor, but don't go trying to inflict it on anyone else.
Of course it's your choice!
Yeah, well, it's entirely up to you if you want to get evicted.
Well, if you didn't want it, then why did you choose it, huh? Answer that then.
What did you just call me? Speak up! Don't look at me like that! How dare you! You know who I am! I could have you slung in jail for verbal assault you know!
You don't care? Look, I am the richest man in America!
Yes, it was my choice to be rich.
Well, the fact that my father was a billionaire might have something to do with it... But I chose him, as well!
Of course you can choose your parents!
Well, its hardly my problem if you chose to have a drunken gambler for a father.
I...
I'd better be going. I've got an appointment to attend to.
For the last time, you cannot have any money!
Look, that's what soup kitchens are for!
Now GOODBYE!

A monologue/dialogue

Drowning cats. That's what it sounds like. Drowning cats on drugs.
What? How can you say that?
Just listen. He sounds like he's dying really slooooowly. He's not even making any sense! I mean, what the hell is he supposed to mean by “I'm worst at what I do best?” That's such a contradiction!
It's not supposed to make any sense! You derive whatever meaning you want from it!
The only meaning I can see is: I'm on drugs and I can't think of anything else to say so, hey, how about we put in something that sounds really deep but is in reality a load of crap? And lets put it to some heavy music and scream it out real loud so that no-one can understand us!
Look, the lyrics are an anthem to teenage rebellion.
“Load up on guns, bring your friends?” Come on. It sounds more like the anthem for “Serial Killers United”! And what the hell does the mosquito and the albino have to do with teenage rebellion? Admit it, you have no idea what you're talking about.
Well... I... The music is great, you've got to admit that.
Oh god, now he sounds really strange. What song is this one?
“Come as you are”.
Well, this doesn't make any sense either. What's with the “And I swear that I don't have a gun” business?
Well, obviously he hates this person, and he's trying to get them to come over, or whatever, and he's swearing that he doesn't have a gun, when actually he does. I think.
Guns again. This guy is seriously wrong in the head.
Was.
What?
Was wrong in the head. Not that he was.
Why, did he burst his lungs trying to rasp out those lyrics?
No, he killed himself.
Ha, that proves it. Wrong in the head. Insane. How did he kill himself?
He shot himself with a sawn off shotgun.
So I guess he did have a gun then, huh?
It's not funny. He was a good man.
Good? I had no idea. What the hell is this song about?
Tea.
What? Tea? How can you have a rock song about TEA?
Well... He obviously liked it.
Tea. He liked tea. And so naturally decides to write a song about it. Cherry flavoured, no less. How very creative.
Hey, I like this song.
I thought you would. Seems like it would be just your cup of tea. Excuse the pun. I think I'll change the track. What in the name of hell is this supposed to be? This sounds like the sound effects to some low budget science fiction movie about flying saucers!
Radio friendly Unit Shifter.
Radio Friendly unit shifter. Radio... What the hell was wrong with this guy?
Nothing was wrong with him! He was amazing!
Amazingly high, by the sound of his voice in this song.
Look, just because you don't have a voice like Kurt Cobain, doesn't mean you have to insult his music.
Yeah. You're right. Sorry.
It's OK.
I'll see you round.
Bye.

Resilience

See this man, as he gazes out the window at rapidly passing scenery. The way his short blonde hair falls over dark blue eyes . He is one face of many on the train, but he is the one we will observe.
He is listening to music on his MP4 player, and tapping his fingers to the beat.

Lets hear what he hears...

“Well I think it's fine, building jumbo planes.
Or taking a ride on a cosmic train.
Switch on summer from a slot machine.
Yes, get what you want to if you want, 'cause you can get anything.”

Lets see what he sees...

The brick walls of buildings speed past, with the occasional blurred bit of greenery. The train stops as it reaches a station, and his attention is grasped by an old man sitting on the platform, his tanned, weather beaten face etched with an expression of sadness. His clothes are tattered, and he clutches his frayed and billowing jacket around him in a desperate attempt to ward off the winter chill.

The song changes...

“It doesn't matter to me
It doesn't matter to me
I'll sit home and watch you all on my colour TV”

The train roars on, the sound of its passing drowned out by the music. Into a tunnel now, lit by fluorescent lights. The walls are covered in graffiti, hastily scribbled tags that seem to blend into one another with the speed. The train slows at it rounds a bend, and his eyes widen as a huge artwork is revealed, the other more mundane graffiti leaving a reverent space around it.
Beautifully painted vines, covered with leaves and blood red flowers, seem to grow out of the wall itself. The word “Resilience”, entwined by the vines and painted in black and gold copperplate writing, glimmers in the dim lighting of the tunnel. He frantically pulls a camera from his bag, but it is too late. It's gone.
He slumps back and sighs, replacing the camera, as the train emerges into the bright light of day.

The song changes...

“Perfect by nature, icons of self indulgence,
just what we all need
more lies about the world.”

A billboard comes into view, a pouting female model advertising a product, saying,
“Life just gets better and better.”
Scrawled across her face in spray paint, are the words: “Sincere lie.”

And now the train stops again. He glances up at the sign on the station, and stands, taking his bag.
The doors open with a hiss, and he steps out into the open air.