Flash Fiction. Prompt is ‘The Ticket’

The Golden Ticket

The inhabitants of the shuttle Endeavour were buzzing with excitement. Only three minutes until lift off now! Three minutes until they left the shattered world behind them and went forth to Arcadia.

“I tell you what I won’t miss,” said one man. “The smog!”

They all groaned with recognition. How tiresome it had become to have to listen every morning for the alert level, for having to search the cupboard for the mask when it hit orange.

“The traffic!” suggested another eliciting more groans.

“The rationing!”

“I haven’t had vegetables for months,” admitted one woman. “They say the plants can’t take the air quality and there isn’t enough space for more biopods.”

Two minutes until lift off.

Each clasped onto their golden ticket, the piece of paper that gave them access to this craft, to Arcadia.

Dennis had found his in a box of cereal. Joanne hidden at the bottom of a crate of tinned tomatoes. Michael had dipped his hand into the pot of luck at this local craft fair and found his.

That was what was great about the golden tickets, everyone had a chance to win. It was a lottery in the truest sense of the word and that’s what made the shuttle so diverse in its contents: old and young, rich and poor, black and white. There was no discrimination, everyone got a chance to start a fresh in Arcadia.

One minute until blast off.

Before boarding they’d all watched the film showing their destination. Its lush green hills, a blue sky the like of which only the very oldest of them could remember and a sun unblinkered by dust shining bright warming Arcadia.

When it got to the part with the town, they’d scanned the faces looking for people they knew who had found previous golden tickets and taken this trip before them.

They all looked so happy the Arcadians, well fed, rosy of cheek, plump even. But nobody spotted a friend or relation.

FIVE

FOUR

THREE

TWO

ONE

BLAST OFF.

The velocity of take off pushed them back into their seats as they soared upwards into the cloudy, dust red sky.

When the G force lessened they were able to smile.

“Now, sir?” asked the operative to his superior.

“Give them twenty more feet.”

“Yes, sir.”

They waited in silence.

“Now.”

The operative pressed the red button. The shuttle exploding instantly, a fireball heading back downwards.

“How many is that this month?” asked the commander.

“Two thousand, sir.”

The commander shook his head, not nearly enough if they were going to get the population down to a sustainable level.