Tax Day

Tax Day
By Stephen A Abell

Number of Words: 297

The old saying was right. Only death and taxes were certain. As he looked down at the figures on the screen, his head pounded like a timpani drum. His eyes ached and the pixels on the display distorted.

Breathe, he told himself. Inhale deeply - exhale slowly. Don’t let the nerves defeat you. You can do this. You’ve done it before - one day every year, for the last twenty-five. He looked at the two boxes of paper, don’t fret you know you’ve entered all the incomings and outgoings correctly...

...so breathe...

...and calm down...

Damn this rescission. This quadruple dip economy. This so small planet.

Just as he’d regained control of his nerves and the headache began to slip into memory the screen flashed the warning:


DEADLINE: 10 Minutes

Failure to comply with regulations or intent to cause fraud are punishable by death.


The headache returned with a resounding boom, along with his contorted vision, and now his hands were shaking badly.

Since 2055, the world government had brought in this wonderful test to weed out the weak, insecure, and educationally challenged from the ever growing population. Everything about everybody was recorded. How much you earned and how much you spent were tallied up and once a day, every year, were matched with the figures you provided. Should you get through the confinement and constant reminder of impending death without making any mistake on the form; and should you be within a thousand rhyarc of the governments total, then you lived.

However, if mistakes were made and you were a single drall over or under the threshold...

He looked at the myriad holes in the cell walls waiting to release their deadly gas: The screen glared:


DEADLINE: 30 Seconds.


He tapped the send key...

...and waited...

For the "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"   by Arakun the Twisted Raccoon

15042013-2125