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Prosperity Rise: Shortbread's Light Bite

Published 10 months ago

For today's Light Bite we have a story from Shortbread's master of brevity, Michael Dhillon.

Prosperity Rise by Michael Dhillon

Part 1...

My wife was a hot-shot Manhattan lawyer. Last year a multinational offered her seven-figures and a transfer to England.

‘It’s great for kids,’ she argued.

We didn’t have any but relocated to Prosperity Rise, anyhow.

I’d been between jobs for three years, concentrating on painting landscapes. I determined England was where it – success – would happen.

Our first morning in Prosperity Rise – a self-contained settlement owned by the multinational – I painted the view from our rear garden.

‘You’re Constable’s child,’ my wife’s boss complimented later, considering the watercolour. ‘I’ll give you a hundred grand,’ he said, ‘and hang it in my office.’

Part 2...

My wife’s boss boasted Prosperity Rise was the future: multinational-owned oases of sustainable security; populated by the most talented and, by default, deserving.

After a month the place still chilled me. With a population of ten-thousand – half worked in the glass-clad corporate hive – the place was faultless. Each house was identical; as were the cars.

‘They’ve eradicated envy,’ my wife told me.

‘Why am I jealous of your job?’ I challenged. ‘I hardly see you.’

But my accusation lacked feeling. Besides, my painting had consumed me and I had neither time nor interest in my wife and our relationship.

Part 3...

The seasons changed but after nine months we hadn’t ventured beyond Prosperity Rise’s guarded perimeter.

My wife worked seven days a week. Within my garage studio I painted as intensely as she… What did she do? She hardly slept in our bed, hardly ate at our table, hardly showered in our bathroom.

When I stopped to think I got frightened: I saw or spoke to no one; groceries were delivered without being ordered; the house cleaned itself; my art supplies replenished themselves.

On the anniversary of our arrival my wife’s boss entered my studio.

‘There’s been a terrible accident,’ he whispered.

Part 4...

My wife had become addicted to amphetamines and barbiturates. The evidence was there to see but my eyes had been wide shut. When she slit her wrists in a washroom she weighed half what she had a year earlier.

‘You’ll leave with the body,’ my wife’s boss advised. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘I’ve a canvas for you,’ I murmured.

‘Have it delivered to my office,’ he dismissed.

Last month I painted the future: Prosperity Rise burning like Nero’s Rome. An hour ago my wife’s boss received that canvas. Now the sky glows with prosperity’s flames.

They eradicated my envy but created this despair.

If you have enjoyed today's story please let the author know!

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