Storage. Flash Fiction.

“How many are stored here?”
“Well, at the moment we have just under a billion residents, but we are at only 23% capacity, there’s still plenty of space.”
Joanne knew it wasn’t one of the larger storage facilities, but that still seemed almost incomprehensible. How could so many people fit inside such a place? She couldn’t even imagine it, she’d grown up in a small, exclusive town with only ten million people.
“it didn’t look that big from the air.”
The woman giving the tour smiled, “It never does. It’s pretty unassuming and that is both for our protection and the protection of our clients. There are a lot of groups out there against storage, but we have great security to deal with any threats that come our way.”
“Do you get many threats?”
“Nothing we can’t handle, a couple of hundred a week or so. Usually they’re just letters, maybe once every year or two someone will try to sneak in and blow the place up but our state of the art scanners and security system find and neutralise them quickly. The current average is about three seconds for detection time and elimination”
“Wow.”
“We keep the main facility deep underground for maximum protection and space. We keep the main building above ground as an entrance portal, it’s the only way in or out of the facility. You will be completely safe during storage.”
“Oh, it isn’t for me, it’s for my father. He asked me to tour a few of the places. He wants somewhere safe and discrete.”
“Of course and here we provide both safety and discretion.”
“How often do you rotate the bodies in storage?”
“Every three hours the bodies are moved to prevent bed sores. We have advanced medical technology built right into the chambers that keep constant track of the clients. Should they detect anything wrong that they cannot handle alone they immediately notify the hospital wing and the client is sent there for treatment. We have not lost a single client in over a two hundred years of operating.”
“May I see one of the storage chambers?”
“Of course, for privacy reasons we cannot show you one that currently has a client inside, but we’re more than happy to showcase an empty model.”

the tour guide walked through the corridors, still talking but Joanne had stopped listening, the place seemed good enough so far and really she was only here because her father refused to do his own legwork and she was in need of funds. The guide stopped in the middle of a corridor and pressed against the wall though Joanne could see no button, a section of it slid aside revealing a metal bed about waist height. It seemed small and dark, but the person inside wouldn’t care, not while they were unconscious.

After a moment the panel slid closed again, “This concludes the tour, unless you have any more questions. If you want a more in-depth tour I’m afraid it will take a few hours to clear you to enter. We keep the space extremely clean and you will be required to wear a full biohazard suit to prevent the introduction of pathogens.”
“No, thank you I’ve seen more than enough.” The tour guide started walking again, Joanne trailed after.

At the exit she was handed a packet of brochures and information leaflets before she was ushered out the door. Joanne stood for a moment, looking at the vast, flat wasteland around her. There was nothing here but that building and low, dead looking bushes. She smirked, the setting would really suit him. She walked to the shuttle, the door opening as she approached, “Are you ready to return?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She got onto the shuttle and chose a seat, then she spread the brochures out on the small table in front of her. The shuttle rumbled faintly as it came to life, she barely even felt the take off. She scanned over the brochures then tidied them into a little pile before leaning back in her seat. Already she could see space outside the windows of the shuttle, wouldn’t be long until she was back on the ship. This was the place, she could feel it. Her father could rot away here for millions of years and no one would ever find him, small enough to be over looked, but not too small that it would provide shoddy care. She had heard how these places worked and she didn’t want to kill her father, not outright, but if someone happened to mix up his paper work and he was lost for a few millennia, well, it would just be a tragic mistake, that was all. One that would allow her to take everything her father was refusing to give to her, she would have her birthright one way or another.

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About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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