The following work of fiction is a horror story and may contain elements that some readers might find unsettling. Reader discretion is advised. Specific warnings include, but are not limited to: Authoritarian governments, bureaucracy, and death.

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The year is 2117, mankind has become compelled to ration their resources and strict social controls have become the norm. One’s economic class held great sway over the course of one’s life. Grant wasn’t bothered by any of this, he figured that he was well secured in his middle class life.

Until things changed in his marriage. Soon, he found himself with an empty house more and more. His wife grew distant when they were together. That spark he has always thought would be there was gone. It all came to a head one blistery gray morning when he found her waiting for him at the kitchen table, an empty coffee mug and a full suitcase.

“I’m leaving Grant,” she said as he tried to blink sleep from his eyes and process her words.

“Oh? When do you expect you’ll be back? In time for Christmas, I hope.”

“I’m not coming back, Grant, this is…hard. But it’s goodbye.” She slid a manilla envelope across the table. He didn’t reach for it. He could see the attorney’s letterhead on the packet.

Then with the creak of leather and the closing of the door, she was gone. He sank to the chair, numbed by more than just the cold house. He tried to rationalize this, told himself that he knew it was coming but that really didn’t make him feel any better. He let out a sigh and stood up. It was a shock, to have it end this way but it also felt almost like a relief. It left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

His wrist chimed, and he looked down at the implant there. It showed him that he had a message waiting for him. He was certain that it was the divorce attorney already informing him that he just needed to sign and the whole proceeding would be over with. His life transformed with a wave of a finger, permanently. Isn’t the way it goes? It wasn’t, however. It was from the Office of the Magistrate informing him that he has been selected for the promotion lottery, and that he needs to report to the office immediately to be informed of his new accommodations.

He laughed. Of course, the thing he’d been working for his entire life was to be upper class. To live in the clean streets and to be offered more jobs and positions than he could ever manage to work. And it figures that he would finally be selected for the mysterious promotion lottery the day his wife finally left him. Well, that’ll show her, since she’ll be staying in the middle class world after all.

He called off work and told them he had to report for the promotion lottery, they asked if he’d be coming back afterwards and he told them it really depended on how the selection went. He’d heard some people were offered new living arrangements and jobs almost immediately and for others it took some time. He ended the call and pressed a few buttons to call up a cab. The automated vehicle only took a few minutes to reach his address. Soon, he was sitting outside the government services building that housed the promotion lottery.

He presented his wrist for identification confirmation and walked through the scanners, when he was cleared a concierge showed him to the correct office among the hundreds that lined the labyrinthine hallways of the government services building.

It was a non-descript and sterile office space that held several uncomfortable looking chairs. There was a small glass window where a clerk was organizing papers and would occasionally call someone’s name and then have a brief discussion with them, before instructing them to walk through a door beside her window. He introduced himself and she asked him to have a seat.

Shortly, he was called back where a man in a suit sat at a low table, with different colored forms in front of him and a fresh pen. He motioned vaguely at the chair across from him, Grant took the invitation and sat down.

“I just have a few forms, already filled out with the most appropriate actions and I just need you to pick one and sign it. Before we begin, do you have a spouse or children?”

“I…I am in the process of a divorce, no children.”

“I understand, will your soon to be ex-spouse require any further accommodation?” The man asked, checking a few boxes on a form printed on a rather hideous shade of green paper.

“I don’t know, she only left this morning. I suppose you’ll have to ask her,” he said, just now realizing that he had no idea where his wife went or who she would be staying with.

“Very well, we’ll speak with her following your appointment today. Now,” the man sat back, steepling his fingers. “What should we do with the remains of your property? Such as the house, any belongings that will need to be addressed or should we leave it all for your wife to determine?”

“She can have everything, I don’t want it.”

“Very good then, that’s a much easier path forward for all of us then,  now just sign here and we’ll move you right along.” He selected a form from among the many in front of him and filled out his portion and marked where Grant needed to sign.

After a few scribbled signatures, the man showed Grant through a door at the back of the room. This room was almost virtually identical to the last one, only instead of a desk, there was just a man standing on the other end of it next to a door. He motioned for Grant to step closer to him.

“Are you Grant Bishop?”

“I am.”

“And do you swear that all of the forms you have signed today and the processes you have completed have been done of your own free will?”

“Well, I was told to come here…” Grant began, but the man raised a hand.

“It is a yes or no question, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

The man nodded and then slid a key card into a lock beside the door. A red light turned green and with a soft buzzing sound the door unlocked. The man grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. Grant let out a yell of surprise when he saw what waited on the other side of the door. It was a massive grinding machine of some kind, stained coppery red and the air reeked of death. The machine took up the entirety of the room beyond.

“Wait! I was getting promoted! This isn’t right! No!” The machine began to slowly churn, quickly gaining speed until the spikes were a blur.

“Sorry, but you seem to have misunderstood. There is a promotion but there are only a limited number of slots in each economic class so we had to…make some room. We do appreciate your cooperation.” The suited man shoved Grant, who lost his footing and fell forward. The man closed the door, trapping all of the sound behind it.

On the other side of town, Felix was just getting home from a long day at the factory he worked at. He lived in a small apartment and it never seemed like he had enough money to pay for more than one of his bills at a time. His implant chimed and he took a look at it.

Congratulations! You’ve have been selected for the promotion lottery! Please report to the local promotion lottery office immediately!

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© Tobias Gray 2024, released under a CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0 license.