JANUARY 2005
CITY THREE
CAMP FOR YOUTH
"I remember. Two of those cunts already gave their life away. What did they get? A gun and some authority. Did they really need those guns? Why didn't they just shoot us then? Guns and children don't mix. No, they wanted us. They wanted a workforce. They didn't give a shit about your gender or your age. You would work anyway."
"We were about to give them our lives. What would we get? Their ideas drilled into our brain free-of-charge."
"Their plan was already in full motion by this month. It was something along the lines of;"
...
"Lobotomize as many innocent children as possible."
She stepped off the train in an orderly line. The oldest were to be in front, the youngest at the back. She was the second one in front.
Two more guards came. They flaunted their authority without an ounce of shame. Spitting directions at unbearable noise levels.
There it was. A damp, brutalist facility in disrepair. Blinding white light illuminated the corridors.
All the children moved ahead without question, some crying, and some frightened to the core. She didn't have an expression to give them.
But she was still scared. Just didn't have the energy to sob, or shiver, or anything.
"Life has taught me one lesson - be good, and listen to whoever the bigger fish is. I hated that. I don't know why. I knew this certain disdain would get me killed, so I listened."
She followed the line, and the line followed her. The atmosphere changed. Clinical and lacking of life. As if this was an old hospital.
A differently dressed lady hands over a set of clothing to the oldest in front of her. It's not long before she's given the same blue institutional garb.
"Put these on. Your number is on the shirt. Go to room number 52. Fifty-two. Got it? Follow the corridor, and take a right. Your new home awaits."
"Looking back, I fucking hated it there. I tried my best not to pay attention to their stupid classes. Breen this, Breen that. I'd cover my ears, but I'd get beat up if I did. When they weren't teaching borderline bullshit, they made me wash the floors with the stinkiest and dampest rags. I was their number two priority. The oldest were put to work. The youngest ones probably got more class time, so they would turn out to be 'good citizens'. I heard them talk about me, when when they weren't talking about the oldest. They called me a hard worker. I knew they were still gonna try to brainwash me. I wasn't dumb. I was probably the smartest out of that asylum-looking place.
I didn't miss my parents, unlike everyone else. I wish I did, though. I guess their plan worked on me, after all. I felt numb. Too numb.
Tomorrow was always yesterday in my head."
Time.
Time.
Time.
Time.
Time.
NOVEMBER 2019
CITY SEVENTEEN
CIVIL WORKER'S UNION
"Alina. You're late, again. This is the fifth time this week. What the hell is wrong with you?
If this persists, i'm going to have to fire you. You can do better than that, come on."
"He had the kind of look that told me i'd never amount to anything. Like he was thinking of calling me some kind of lazy bitch. I didn't need him to say it. No, it was right there in his eyes. It was all that I ever saw when I looked at him for the years that I worked there. It wasn't my fault I was late. I don't like being told what to do. I just don't. I asked myself - should I do it? And I did it."
She stared at his eyes with a slight scowl and a glare. Another Seven Hour War began. Except it was in her head. And it only lasted five seconds.
don't do it.
do it.
don't do it.
do it.
don't do it.
do it.
"Go fuck yourself."
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