A Quick Word From Our Sponsors:

Tokyo, Japan. 2018.

Live your best Pre-Life!

Once a day for a randomly assigned minute you get to see your future. This is what we guarantee, this is what we promise.

Sounds too good to be true right? Not with ChronoCorp’s new Pre-Life implant.

Pre-Life what now?

Once a day an alert from the future gets sent straight to your mind. Utilising new Time Loop technology we take a picture of whatever your future self can see in front of them and send it back in time for your viewing pleasure. We call them Pre-Pics.

You get a full minute to see what you’ll be seeing in one, five, a hundred years. The potential of Pre-Pics is endless.

Imagine, seeing your children that don’t exist yet, countries you haven’t visited yet, food you haven’t eaten yet. These are all experiences and sights you can experience and see right now.

Hold on, what is this implant?

The Sequential Memory Image Line Enhancer or S.M.I.L.E. is the latest and greatest piece of time technology ChronoCorp has yet to present on a commercial scale.

It is a small expandable antenna that we insert in the base of your skull through a painless, simple and free procedure. It is calibrated and unique to your DNA and only picks up information beamed to it from your identical implant in the future. Think of it as a television that only picks up channels that are about you.

Transparency and honesty are key to our ChronoCorp ethos. Be sure to read the terms and conditions of each product before determining their suitability.

Alright but surely that’s going to be expensive?

Not at all! Here at ChronoCorp we believe everyone should be able to see through time. We’ve made it so the implant and installation of the implant is free* with no extra costs in store.

*In-app purchases mandatory.

This sounds incredible! Where do I sign up?

Send us a vial of your preferred bodily fluid and a comprehensive list of your family and friends (including social security numbers) and we’ll contact you in the next three business days if you are an eligible candidate.

FAQ:

Why are all my Pre-Pics blurry?

If the implant is not calibrated properly you may receive blurry images from the future. Please read the troubleshooting section of our instruction manual or contact your closest service professional if this doesn’t resolve itself.

I started getting headaches behind my ear when I first installed my Pre-Life implant. Is this normal?

Yes this is perfectly normal. Most subjects will experience side effects based around their implants including but not limited to:

⁃ Headaches (mild)

⁃ Headaches (extreme)

⁃ Nosebleeds

⁃ Hair loss

⁃ Itchy and irritated skin

⁃ Hallucinations

⁃ A sense of isolation and inconsolable loss

⁃ Piles

What happened if I don’t receive an image?

This means one of either two things. In the future you have ceased to exist or in the future you have removed your implant. Customers should note that improper removal of implant will result in a fatal solution.

Do the implant come in different colours?

They certainly do! As well as your standard primary colours we are proud to announce our new metallic range as well as our collaboration with the Democratic Republic of Disney to bring you a whole new way to express yourself.

Live your best life with Pre-Life!

Sacrifice.

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Adelaide, Australia. 2018.

Martha turned the wine glass on the table then stood back and frowned. She then leant back and turned it back to its original position before smiling and stepping to the next place setting. The sound of her shoes against the floorboards echoed through the room.
The house was quiet, empty and waiting.
After checking each glass Martha stood back and took in her handiwork. The table was square, wooden and simple and Martha had set it meticulously. Every element before her was arranged by a formula only known to her. Chairs ordered, plates stacked, candles placed. Cutlery lay parallel to their neighbours and sparkled under the lighting of the carefully dimmed bulbs above them. Flowers twisted and curled in the most particular way and together it surrounded a curiously empty centre. A horseshoe shaped hole that ended on one side of the table where there were no plates, cutlery or chairs at all. It was purposeful and calculated.
Martha looked up at a clock on the wall. Archaic and ugly the clock stood out against the elegance of Martha’s modern place setting. Gold around its edge was faded and rusting and scrawling symbols of some unknown language had been cut into its face. The clock hands were bent and still and had not moved for centuries.
Martha looked up at the clock and nodded to no one. They would be here soon.

There was a tap at the window.

Martha turned and saw no one in the darkness outside. Her own reflection stared back and watched her as she exhaled then turned back to the table. Her reflection did not turn with her.

There was a tap at the window.

Martha whipped around, facing herself. Her reflection smiled at her, a smile that Martha did not echo.
Martha tilted her head.
Her reflection did not.
And then its smile grew wider.
The edges of the reflection’s lips stretched further and further up its cheeks in a way that flesh should not allow. Martha, unchanged, watched as her face split in half. The eyes of her reflection rolled back and turned red.
Now Martha smiled. They were here.
Martha opened the windows of the room and beamed as her guests crawled inside. Pale figures, skeletal and hairless, slid headfirst into the room. Their long and bony limbs twisted around each other as they fell forward, so eager to get inside and take their place at the table. When they stood upright they loomed over Martha and had to bend their necks to stop their heads from scraping against the ceiling.
Once settled they turned to their host. Martha smiled at each guest before leaning back against the table and carefully laying herself in the centre of the congregation. The hole in the setting was filled.
The figures stood silently, their skinny chests rising and falling rapidly.
Martha nodded and her guests sat down.
A ticking began from the clock on the wall and Martha’s guests started to feed.

The Elephant In The Room

The tiny man that lives in my chest is breathing louder.
Longer.
His lungs swell and ribcage expands and with each breath instead of retreating his body continues to grow. He sits curled, his spine arched and face unseen and with every inhale I feel my bones creak. You stand above me, watching me from the ceiling. Glaring and spinning as the room spins with you, one eye is fire, the other a ticking clock.

The clock strikes one.

You scream at me with a mouth invisible. From screens taped to my hands, pasted on every desk and available wall space you scream at me. Miles away, you remain in my view and in my head. Frightened by your screams the man in my chest breathes heavier and heavier.
I watch my skin stretch and distort. Like bubble gum on the pavement, like cling film torn on a serrated edge, my skin is changing. The colour becomes pale in the spots that are thinnest and scars once thick and healed become pink and splitting. I am breaking.

The clock strikes two.

You are everybody that isn’t me. Everybody that hates me. You are the news in my feed, the looks on the train, the scorned lover that believes me dirt. You are strong and I am weak. The man in my chest cannot withstand your war and my flesh and blood cannot contain him.
In my body the second room that is the housing that holds my heart and lungs aches. Walls are cracking and foundations below are receding. I want to open the door. I need space so the man can expand without hindrance but the key I have been given does not fit the lock. The man does not heed the cries of my insides as they are crushed.

The clock strikes three.

My stomach bursts as the man breathes in once more. I want to stop him. I need to stop him. With every message and hint of you the man breathes in and I am terrified he will not stop. Please stop screaming at me. I can be better. I can be good. But I need you to stop. I want this to stop and you want this and maybe you want him.
When he emerges maybe I will be replaced. As he stands in my stomach, my body twisted and broken underneath him like the shell of an egg, maybe he will step forward and become me. Be the me you always wanted and maybe finally I will be better.

I want it to be over.

The clock strikes four.

Goodbyes Are Hard

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Washignton D.C., U.S.A. 2017.

It was time. Finally.
Shaking hands grip my bicep and without looking up from my phone I pull my arm away. My gum has lost its flavour which sucks.
“This sucks.” I say.
His hands move from my arm to my waist, pulling tight. The feather tucked in his hair tickles my nose and I try not to sneeze. My chest feels damp and it’s now I realise he’s crying. I put my phone back in my pocket and pat his head.
“I’ll miss you.”
“It’s only a month.”
“Forty days.”
“Whatever.”
He pulls his head from my chest but leaves his arm around my waist. I sneak my phone back out of my pocket and pretend I can’t hear his sniffling. A mechanical voice plays from speakers above us.
“Unattended baggage will be incinerated.”
Sweaty fingers slip through mine and stick there like butter on toast. I distract myself with the news. Some politician has been filmed rubbing his wang against Uluru and he looks furious when a reporter asks if it’s because he’s a bigot. He bemoans that there’s no decency left in the world and I’m poked with the pointy end of the feather.
“Stop.”
“I want you to take this. For good fortune.”
“It looks diseased.”
“Just take it.”
I sigh and shove it in my shirt pocket. Two pilots walk by in jackets with gold trim and matching flamboyant chains. Their company logo is emblazoned on each of their foreheads.
When they’re across the gangway and inside the plane a voice calls passengers forward for boarding. He’s crying again and before I can stop him he kisses me. I keep perfectly still until he pulls away.
He hesitates before leaving to join the queue. I smile thinly and wave hoping he can take a hint. Instead he reaches up to his left ear, shuts his eyes and grips his earlobe. He pulls and without resistance his ear comes off in his fist.
Blood spurts from the side of his head, splashing a lady in the face as she runs past. She doesn’t stop.
With red stained hands he offers me his ear.
“Take it.”
I roll my eyes. He’s always doing stuff like this. I snatch the ear from his hand and mumble thanks.
“So we can talk.”
“Yep.”
“Because it’s my ear.”
“I get it.”
He smiles and I wave. This time he understands because at last he walks away. I watch him stumble down the ramp to the gangway, looking over his shoulder back at me. Blood pours from his skull.
I wait until he is inside the plane and out of sight before spitting out my gum, wrapping it in his bloody ear and throwing both straight into the trash. I take the feather out of my shirt pocket. Instead of doing the same I roll it between my fingers, watching it twist in the air. I put it back.
With headphones in and no music playing, I make my exit.
Finally.

(who)le

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Adelaide, Australia. 2018.

There’s a hole in my head and everyone is looking at it. Looking through it from one side of my mind to the other.
The hole is growing. Stretching. Across my forehead meeting tear duct
nostril
then mouth.

Everyone is looking at me.

The hole in my head spreads down my body to the floor. I consume the room.
I consume my friends
the music we listen to
the roof above our eyes
the night sky

falls in.

No one is looking at me anymore.

Hard Rubbish

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Adelaide, Australia. 2018.

Next to a broken set of drawers is a couch with the seat pillows missing and on top of the couch is a mattress and between the mattress and the couch is a dead body. I’m pretty sure it’s dead. The arm dangling down the side of the couch is bloodied and one of the feet are missing from the legs sticking out the other end. I squint and take another bite of my Crunchy Nut. Yep. It’s dead alright.

I think about calling the cops. I’ve never called the cops before. I Google to see if I can just book them online or something but they said in a case like this I should call. They need an app for these sort of things, like an Uber for the police. I decide one of the neighbours would probably call instead.

That night my alarm goes off reminding me to put the bins out. My roommates are away so I can’t ignore it. The dead body is still there but the mattress is gone which means now I can see his face. He’s lying face up, his head tilted to one side so he’s looking straight at me. The blood from his arm stops at his elbow and his mouth and eyes are open. Mosquitoes fly lazily between what’s left of his teeth.

The next morning I rush out the front, half asleep and already late for work. My car starts on the second try and I look over my shoulder to check for oncoming traffic. One of the ladies from down at the retirement village is out walking her dog and I watch her stroll by the dead body. She lets her dog leap up onto the guy’s lap and lick his crotch. I get a funny feeling in my stomach that I pretend doesn’t happen then take off with a squeal.

When I get home the couch is gone but the body is still there. He has been rolled off the couch so now he has his face in the dirt and arse in the air. I feel a sense of loss and sadness come over me. I liked that couch. I ignore the bins so I don’t have to take them back inside.

I get woken up in the middle of the night by my roommates who are home and without keys. I glare when I open the door but manage a bleary hello. Reluctantly I follow them to the kitchen and ask them about their trip. After they’re done I ask,
“Did you see the body?”
We all wander outside. The gravel of the driveway hurts my feet and they walk ahead of me. When I catch up I point across the street but the body is gone.
“That’s a set of drawers.”
I shrug, “Someone must have taken it.”
“Should we grab the drawers?”
“Nah they’re broken.”
A wind whips down the street and I shudder. We argue over who should take the bins inside.

Anything You Want, You Can Have.

I check the cable ties again and frown. He’s sweating and keeps moving about so much I’m worried he’ll get loose. I’ve always trusted rope more than these stupid bits of plastic but the company won’t fork out for anything these days. ‘Superfluous and unreliable’. Idiots. I use a second tie around both his wrists and ankles. How’s that for superfluous.
He woke up about twenty minutes ago and he hasn’t stopped screaming. I can tell because spit and blood keeps dripping out from underneath the duct tape across his mouth. I’m listening to an old ‘Pavement’ record and can’t hear anything he’s trying to say.
I double check the chair he’s strapped to, kneeling down and running my fingers over the bolts connecting it to the floor. No bends or movement. Good. He’s thrashing pretty badly but the second lot of cable ties are doing the trick despite my misgivings. His head is flopping around something chronic so I loop a final length of plastic around his neck and pull it tight against the back of the chair. His chest is heaving but he’s not moving any more.
I pull a checklist up on my phone and make sure I haven’t missed anything. In my head I tick things off. Towels in the corner are fresh. Three separate drains are clear. I walk around the small five by five metre space we are in and run my fingers along the padded foam walls. No cracks. No gaps. Perfect.
I take a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and place one unlit in my mouth. I stand in front of the chair and for a moment, take him in. His eyes are wild and red-stained and snot is hanging out both nostrils. He hasn’t stopped crying since he woke up. Pathetic. I’ve left him in only his underwear and he’s shiny with sweat.
I think about letting him have a cigarette and think of the irony of giving him a final gift. Instead I step forward and punch him across the jaw. What a piece of shit.
I open the roller door and step outside. It shuts again behind me.
I light the cigarette in my mouth and take a long drag before closing my eyes, letting my body lean against the wall of the storage container. It’s cool out here. It’s hitting the low twenties now that the sun is down and the wind against my face is a dream.
The screaming behind me is dull which means the soundproofing is working. I make another tick.
It’s a beautiful night.
Headlights enter the storage yard and I watch them cut in and out of gaps in containers before turning down the lane where I’m standing. I wave them in and put out my cigarette as the van pulls up in front of me. I can see pink cursive lettering written across the side but can’t make out what it says in the dark.
I replace the cigarette with gum as a woman in a red jumpsuit steps out of the driver’s side. We nod to each other and I open the side of the van. Already out of her seat, Clara steps towards me. She puts a hand on each of my shoulders and I grab her waist, helping her down onto the bitumen.
Tall for her age, but thinner than she should be, Clara takes a moment to breathe in before looking to me. Her head has been shaved since I last saw her and there’s a clear tube running from her nose and across her cheeks, underlining her eyes. Sunken into her skull they are two pits of fire, a contradiction to the fragile frame around them.
I smile at her when I see she’s wearing the yellow dress that she got for her thirteenth birthday. Clara doesn’t smile back.
“You’ve been smoking.” Her voice is faint and she’s breathing rapidly.
“Sorry.”
“Is he here?”
My heart thumps uncharacteristically and I nod before stepping aside. Clara walks towards the storage container and stops. Her thin fingers are fists and they’re shaking.
Gently I take one of her fists in my hand. It melts and loosens in my grip. I pull out a hammer from my back pocket and place it in her now open hand. There’s hesitation before the fist closes shut again.
I hold my hand under hers for a moment.
“Are you ready?”
I can see trepidation run across her face, closely followed by steely determination. She adjusts her grip around the hammer and nods. I nod back and let her go.
I hit a button besides the door and watch light grow up from the bottom of the roller door. It travels up Clara’s legs, chest and finally her face. There’s a moment of quiet. A muffled recognition. And then screaming that fades as I drop the shutter back down with Clara on the other side.
I sit on the ground, back against the corrugated steel of the container and the woman in red sits down beside me. I light another cigarette and pass it to her. The orange glow as she inhales lights the embroidered pink logo on her breast.
‘The Make-A-Wish Foundation: Dreams come true.’