I write very short dystopian stories with drawings – little warning signs disguised as jokes.
They became a book first: CHRONICLES FROM THE FUTURE: 111 Stories to Survive Tomorrow.
I self-published it on Amazon.
Almost nobody bought it.
Which, in a way, feels perfectly on-brand.
The stories didn’t appear out of nowhere, but that’s how it felt.
They dropped into my head uninvited – each one with a flash of an image attached.
I drew those flashes as honestly as I could: raw, simple, imperfect, but true.
So here’s what you get on this Substack:
Micro-dystopias you can read in 1–3 minutes.
Black-and-white illustrations for each story.
Dark humor, sexual and political radioactivity, and the occasional “oh shit, this is basically now.”
They’re not predictions.
They’re warnings – of the “what if we’re already fucked and still clapping?” variety.
Current total earnings from the book: roughly one euro per story.
I’m still laughing. Mostly.
If even one person, one day, writes
“holy shit, you called it,”
every unpaid hour will have been worth it.
Because in the end, “A Reasonable Amount of Dystopia” isn’t a theme, or a genre, or even a warning.
It’s just the most accurate description of the world we already live in.
I’m only writing it down.
And I’ll keep throwing these stories into the sea.
I’ll probably end up publishing all of them here on Substack anyway…
aren’t they basically messages in a bottle?
