The Billionaire

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 29, 2016

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Submitted: July 29, 2016

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There was once a billionaire. He was one of those billionaires that other billionaires looked at and said “Now that’s a billionaire”. He had a lot of money. As you can imagine, life was absolutely brilliant for this billionaire. All that money had bought him everything he wanted and stuff he didn’t even realise he wanted. The thing was though, he had made his money in things nobody paid a second thought to. It wasn’t like he was Bill Gates. Bill was a rarity among billionaires. In a weird way people actually liked him. They didn’t resent the fact that he had all that money. Maybe It’s because he gave the people something they all recognise and appreciate. People love technology. And then there was all that giving his money away nonsense. I give money to charities he thought. I’m not a household name. Nobody gives a fuck. This was in part due to the fact the he hated being in public eye anyway. But when all was said and done he was going to die. And nothing got his brain working and his body moving quicker than the thought of himself lying on his death bed, looking back on his life and thinking shoulda done that. In fact, when he eventually dies there will probably be a brief segment on the news Billionaire dies….he made his money through this and that…. he left behind a wife and blah blah blah. The thought made him queasy. When Bill Gates dies they’ll probably make a fucking movie about the cunt.

He had good reason to hate Bill. At a recent benefit charity gig. Bill had a made an introductory speech that had poked fun at Billionaires like himself for not giving enough to Charites.

We’re business men you prick. The billionaire had seethed to himself. We exist to make money. Giving money away is literally the opposite. It baffled the billionaire. Making all that money only to turn around and say “Woops made a mistake, giving it all away now. Oh, and you’re all cocks if you’re not doing the same” I guess that’s the difference between someone who has made their money through a passionate and artful will to create. And someone like himself who just had this basic need to have more.

The thing that irked him most was that he didn’t really have the capacity to create anything that would make people sit up and go There’s that guy who done that thing. Fuck Bill Gates! The problem was that he had made his money through smart investments. And even then, the decision to make those investments was based on the expert advice of his advisors. Even the initial money to make those investments was loaned to him by his Dad. He hadn’t invented anything and couldn’t even if he tried. He wasn’t really the creative type. He could hire a bunch of creative types and have them make something amazing, fuck knows what though. And then what? Have them all killed so that the credit goes to him? He could. He had the resources. No. Too much effort.

From his penthouse apartment the billionaire gazed out across the city skyline. It was stunning and he was bored. He made a call to his driver to be ready for him in five minutes. Getting up he moved over to the lift that acted as the front door to his apartment. He could have taken the helicopter straight from the roof but he had taken the lift specifically in the hope that someone else would get in with him on the way down. For no other reason than he needed to fart. He only passed by two floors on his way down before a janitor got with him. The billionaire owned the entire building and the janitor was one of his employees. The janitor, realising who he’d stepped into the lift with, rather unconvincingly tried to hide how nervous he was. This pleased the billionaire.The janitor gave a short nod “sir” and pressed for the ground floor. Good he’ll be with me all the way down. Thought the billionaire, smiling to himself.

The billionaire checked his wrist, on it was what looked like a watch. Indeed it wasn’t a watch, it was a control device. It controlled a number of different things both externally and, more interestingly, internally. The technology was only available to the elite few like himself whom could afford it. The device came with a whole host of features including increased life expectancy, resistance to most cancers and the ability to remove toxins from the body. What he was searching for at that moment was a parameter that controlled the millions of nanobots throughout his body. Nanobots that could become anything, rather like stem cells in a sense but far more flexible and easy to manipulate. One such ability they had was to change the chemical composition of his gut. This was designed to deal with fairly mundane maladies like lactose intolerance and keeping the so called good bacteria in check. After much experimentation however, a peculiar little gimmick had arisen. You could actually change the chemical composition of your feces so that when you move your bowels or flatulate, it comes out smelling really quite nice. There was lavender, fresh linen, summer breeze, bacon, petrol, the list was endless. It had amused the billionaire no end to fill himself up with Mexican food washed down with protein shakes and spend countless nights wafting the air escaping his anus to his nostrils, his mind deep in assessment of his most recently concocted bouquet. Quite often, actually, he would take a shit and just leave it there in the toilet, for the rest of the day. After enjoying the smell of your own shit you couldn’t go back to the harsh chemical smell of artificial sprays. A gorgeous smelling shit had a different character to it. More full bodied and organic. The darker side to this was that you could also make bad smells. Smells far worse than those that can be produced by the human body naturally. Even those with the most terrible diets imaginable couldn’t come close to the foulness the billionaire and his nanobots could achieve. Scrolling through a list of smells he had concocted and named himself, he found what he was looking for. A smell or rather, a stench, labelled “The Devil’s Own Eggs”. A rueful smile crept along his face as he set the nanobots to work.

There was no sensation whatsoever within the body of the billionaire. He could have been setting the time for all he felt. He knew that they worked almost instantaneously so he gave it another few stops on the lift. To his absolute delight more and more people were getting on. The lift was becoming quite cramped but he made sure to position himself near the front. With 22 floors to go he felt the time was right. Accessing his device again he logged into the buildings electronic interface and locked the lift doors. The fart he was about to release had been gently stewing just beyond the opening of his anus like a deathly ghost behind a curtain. He released it unto the world, expertly and without sound. He could see everyone’s face in the reflection of the metallic lift doors. The first to react was the janitor who stood directly behind him and slightly to the left. His reaction began with a slight furrowing of his brow which then deepened as his mouth turned downwards. Fuck the money. This is what I live for. Thought the billionaire, with eagerness fizzing throughout his body. The next person to fall victim to the ever increasing whiff was a serious looking man standing on the right hand side of the billionaire. He brought one fist up underneath his nose. It looked like he was trying to hide the fact that he was pinching his nose between his thumb and index finger. The billionaire pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle a giggle. Although the billionaire's gas was colourless he could almost imagine that he could see it. Tracing its path through the reactions of his sufferers. Rising among the nostrils of his fellow lift riders. Like a serpent under the charms of the pungi. Creeping. Slow to move but striking hard. “Oh!” said a woman at the back. Sounding like she’d just been told something incredibly surprising. Her reflex was the least subtle so far. She brought an arm up and buried her face in the crook of her elbow. Another muffled exclamation of disgust escaped her. “Jesus Christ”. That was almost too much for the Billionaire. He tucked his chin into his chest. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. The woman’s vocal distaste of the billionaires pollution seemed to give the others license to speak up. “Fuck that’s nasty!” and “Oh My Fucking God!” were among the many expressions of revulsion. It took every bit of the billionaires self-control to not burst out laughing. Only he knew that it would get worse. In those moments before the smell really hit, only social inhibitions stood in the way of an absolute breakdown. Only he knew that no one but himself could stand just how smelly his farts were. We can all relish the hum of our own sweet aromas Thought the billionaire with satisfaction.

The commotion in the lift was building to an almost hysterical frenzy. The billionaire wore a wide open grin. He couldn’t hide it any longer. He had begun to join in on the chorus of disgust. Half laughing as he said “oh my, that’s a bad one, huh?” and “Man that’s a bloody stinker, jeez” he said causally waving a hand in front of his face. Nobody paid any notice to the billionaire though. The janitor had taken to pressing all the buttons for each floor and wildly tapping on the emergency help alarm. The serious man was pounding on the lift doors screaming “HELP! HELP! LET US OUT!” The woman had curled up in a foetal position and was openly weeping. “Aw man, so stinky” said the Billionaire with a feigned look of mild confusion.

OK that’s enough. I’ve got places to be. The Billionaire thought to himself and with that he opened the doors to the lift via his wrist device. Everyone in the lift except him rushed out to the lobby, gasping greedily for fresh air. The billionaire immediately turned to the next lift, entered and went straight back up to his penthouse. He would have to dispose of the suit he wore which was now saturated with the honk of a thousand skunks.  Oh to be rich. Chuckled the billionaire


© Copyright 2017 Stuart Carroll. All rights reserved.

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