Glasgow Pride 2069 - Dystopian flash fiction by Russ Cavanagh
Firm friends Big Rod and Roger the Pole met up at the 2069 Pride event in Glasgow. It was a sparse affair, turnout being lower than at any time in living memory.
'Ooh, Big Rod ... Lovely to see you again darling ... Mwah!' said Roger, kissing Rod's wrinkled face.
'Hello Roger, darling. You're looking handsome as ever,' Rod lied, noting the other now used an albeit stylish walking stick.
'How long is it now, Rod?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'How long have we been coming here to Glasgow Pride?' replied Roger, adding, 'Silly boy!'
'This will be my fortieth year at the parade. You?'
'Yes, about the same for me, dear.'
'I see the Church of Scotland float is leading this year,' said Rod, proudly showing Roger he still had his beloved 2029 Pride scarf.
'Yes, they've always been right behind us. Can't keep a good man down, eh?'
'But aren't they looking rather, um, old?' Rod said, surveying the entire assembly in front of him.
'We're all getting on, dear. There are no more youngsters in the world. No one left to recruit.'
Both Roger and Rod looked sadly at each other. Pride had proved too successful in turning the world LGBT+ and so the entire population was dying off, not being replenished by biological reproduction.
'Limp on until we die, I suppose,' said Rod as if reading the other's thoughts.
'Let's go out with a bang then,' said Roger, winking.
'Ooh, thought you'd never ask ...' squealed Big Rod.
Copyright © Russell Cavanagh
