"Yellow Teeth Dye"

Gets the reader familiarized with the character, though more so with the setting.

“In more relative news, France has declared war against Germany. French ambassador, Jean DuPoint is shown here, at a meeting with his peers, discussing the matter.”

                The news was on. It was simply noise.

                Sonny, a young and bright general for his home country of England, peered over towards the television and blinked.

                Respectively, the television shut off. It hung, a whole ten feet by seven, from the ceiling, almost covering the entire wall it stood in front of.

                Sonny shook his head in disappointment. He never really liked Sony brand televisions.

                It rose into the ceiling and was enclosed, revealing the blank wall behind it.

 

*             *             *

 

                That was the advanced technology of 2112: televisions that rise into ceilings; other than that, an entire generation of new mobile vehicles known as “Veets.” Fuel had also become more efficient; gas was long extinct. In its stead was—and this was used for everything that needed energy, replacing all of what used to be referred to as energy, such as electricity—an evidently more proficient kind of fuel than gasoline: elemental energy.

                The design of elemental energy-applicable appliances and electronics allowed for energy to be absorbed directly through molecules in the air and in matter around it.

                Though very complicated, it worked.

                And, because of its usefulness, the economy was fairly well since years preceding; things like global warming were far from the minds of the big wigs up high in politics because there merely wasn’t any threat of such.

 

                All was virtuous and just in this world. Why, then, would France declare war on Germany?

                It’s a result of a series of events that were set in sequence by something that had nothing to do with just France and Germany. It was more or less the entire world.

 

                It started at the very core of the flat atlases of the world with France versus Germany, not ceasing or at all lessening its pace of spreading throughout the planet onto the very corners of the map—a world war of sorts; however, before assuming that a world war is what we take on as its meaning, one must look at the literal meaning of the phrase, which, when translated to lay man’s terms becomes: “a war between worlds.”

                Is, by a “war between worlds,” one to assume that another world is forcing their services upon us and grasping hold of the newly generated well-being that has been established within the past half-century, or is it just another metaphor?

 

                Moreover, what does the alleged grand scheme pose to a young English general? He is, after all, one person out of several billion.

                To be more exact, one out of nine billion seven-hundred thirty seven million four-hundred ninety eight thousand three-hundred and twenty eight—nine, or, rather, thirty—women are plainly giving birth.

                Conveyed as a fraction, this poses the evident postulation that the one out of nine billion seven-hundred thirty seven million four-hundred ninety eight thousand three-hundred and thirty is so very insignificant. However, by means of reciprocal transition, it appears as nine billion seven-hundred thirty seven million four-hundred ninety eight thousand three-hundred and thirty over one.

 

                Now, that changes things a bit.

 

                Perhaps the strange occurrences constitute a means for using some basic algebraic configuring. Sonny is special, on balance; and most likely enough so to put on a show.

 

*             *             *

 

                Sonny sat, biting his nails, thoughts purging the very cords they travel through as they make their way to his brain. The television had been turned off, as well as the air conditioning and pretty much anything else that would make any noise. That’s the method in which geniuses devise—through complete silence, or, at least, it was so in Sonny’s case.

                In fact, the only thing that kept Sonny from concluding that which poked as his brain was his frustration from not producing ends, and that, as silent as portrayed through the memory of the reader, was as loud as an airplane turbine, working its gears centimeters from Sonny’s face.

 

                In light of his obstruction, Sonny stood fast, knocking his chair back. He shed a tear; one with the embrace of defeat through the eyes of a child contained in it.

                Sighing, he put the chair back to its original place and seized his overcoat.

 

                He slid his arms through the sleeves, the hairs from his limbs being moved slightly by the interior of the leather coat, causing a tickle. A warmth came with the coat as well, and it was particularly cold that morning and so the warmth was welcomed.

                In spite of the short-lived good feelings that came with putting this coat on, the weight of it forcing his shoulders down seemed to more than balance things out.

 

                It was commonplace, and so, accepted. Sonny proceeded to his door, and then outside, where he started down his street, off towards a local café.

 

                The chilly wind coursed through Sonny’s long, black hair, the hair itself nearly indistinguishable from the shadow that lurked behind him. It brushed past Sonny’s cheek; past his ears, distorting his hearing.

                Sonny quickly calculated the speed of the wind, the humidity in the air, and the present temperature to find out that, with all factors, it was a very cold -12^o, which entirely contradicted the weather man’s forecast that morning of a temperature without a negative sign preceding it.

                Sonny laughed to himself, in his mind mordantly complaining that the weather man had lied to him.

                So it goes.

 

                As the smell of coffee beans brewing grew closer, Sonny found his tempo hastening. It filled his nostrils, the uplifting smell of the coffee, accompanied by a knowledge that his exhaustion would soon be swept away by a steaming cup of yellow teeth dye.

 

                Sonny soon found himself standing in front of the door to the café.

                      A sign above the door read, “Café de Obama” while, below that, a banner read, “Celebrating the washing away of America’s stupidity with the best coffee England can brew since 2008.”

 

Author's Note

Enjoy that last paragraph.
I felt the need to add a bit of political satire, since I personally believe that will end up happening eventually. :]

1st draft.