Sunday, 19 July 2009

And now for something completely different

Because there is nothing of any interest going on at all in the world at the moment, I decided to dig out some stuff I'd written about a year ago because I sprung upon some inspiration. I think I may have just read 1984, or something given the basic premise. Anyway, have a read and tell me what you think.

Two days ago I killed a man. At least I think it was two days ago; I’m not quite sure. The last 48 hours (or however many hours it actually is) have been timeless. You’re probably wondering why I have thrown you into the end of this story, not the beginning like any mentally stable person, but I want you to understand my motivation for writing this down and inevitably incriminating myself. The truth is not, as you might reasonably assume knowing nothing of my situation, that I am feeling very guilty and regretful over what I’ve done. The truth is that I am actually quite proud of myself; the man thoroughly deserved to die. No don’t suddenly assume that I am psychopath who has some shallow, contrived reason why my victim had to die, I’m not.

The reason the man had to die is quite simple; the more of them I kill, the more it hurts them, and the more it hurts them the better. ‘They’ are the people who rule this country, who watch our every move, who regulate our every act. The most tragic thing is that we actually elected them. Their arguments seemed so persuasive, so innocent. They were going to protect us, they said. They were going to stop the attacks, they said. They were going to protect our liberty, they said. 10 years they have been in power (10 years without an election by the way), and none of these have happened; the attacks still happen, we feel less secure that we did before and they have slowly eroded our liberty.

First it was our anonymity; the cameras, the ID cards, the constant tracking. The government now knows exactly who we all are, exactly where we all are and exactly what we have ever done. We cannot do anything without them knowing about it. They can even predict what we will do next; they are always a step ahead of us. You might want to know how this happened, how we let it happen. This is one of the things we actually accepted, back when the government listened to its people. They told us that it was to stop the terrorists, to stop the people who wanted to kill us. ‘What have you got to hide?’ they asked, ‘If you haven’t done anything wrong, what are you worried about?’ So, a little begrudgingly at first, we accepted the legislation.

I suppose that there is nothing inherently bad about the government having all of this information, when it is a good government. When it isn’t, the information gets abused, and that is exactly what happened. At first it was people who preached terrorism and spoke up for violence against people. It was not long after this that they began arresting people for speaking out against the government. ‘To present a united front,’ they told us. They shut down any newspaper that spoke out against them and now the only papers left are filled with government propaganda. Anyone who doesn’t read them gets arrested.

Despite all their measures to stop the attacks, they only got worse. They called a state of emergency and suspended the election, then they dissolved parliament. Decisions were no longer debated, they were just enacted, and no one had anywhere to voice their complaints or grievances.

The last straw was taking away our children. At first it was voluntary to send children away to government run boarding schools, now it is compulsory. If you refuse, they break down your door, steal your child and throw you in prison. No one knows what happens to them in the school or the prisons, but when they come out they are a different person. There is no mark on them, but they are different: you can tell when they talk. It is a toneless drone and whenever you mention the government they are full of praise.

As I said, it was the last straw. We rebelled. Well the word ‘we’ is a little misleading; it implies some sort of cohesive group, implies that we rebelled in an organised, collective way. But how would that be possible in a society were your every move is monitored, your every word documented? No, it would be more accurate to say that I rebelled at the same time as thousands of others. We rebelled for the same reasons, at the same time, but we were not together; we were a collection of individuals, acting for our own reasons and for our own cause. Because of this we are unstoppable; there will always be rebels, so long as we are free.

So, two days ago killed a man. I went to the government offices and waited for one of them to come out, I didn’t care whom; in this battle anyone is a target. I still don’t know who it was that I killed; it may have been a senior government official, or just a pen pusher. It didn’t matter because the more we hurt them the less able they are to hurt us and the more afraid they become, the more they will think before they act. Before the attacks have all been on civilians; the occasional government official has been caught up in the blasts, but never before have they been targeted specifically. Now that they are being targeted, they will fear us, and that fear will destroy them.

So I followed this official, through the streets, passed the occasional bombed out building. Most of the streets are quiet; people tend not to go out anymore; they’re afraid of the attacks. I don’t know whether he was aware of me or not, but he seemed to take a very roundabout route; down back alleys. I followed, and when I was in one particular alley I made my move.

Fear and anxiety drove me; the adrenaline pumping through my veins gave me the extra strength needed to make it a swift kill. I bent as if to tie a shoelace and my fingers groped for the brick I had spotted to my left. Grasping it in sweaty palms, I knelt like a sprinter, I daren’t look back; there was a camera behind be. I chose this spot because the camera would not see my face; maybe I would be able to delay my death for a few days if they weren’t sure of my identity.

The brick was heavier than I have expected and I got off to a lumbering start, eventually however I built up pace. I sprinted down the alley and leapt onto the back of my target, taking him to the ground. He was smaller than I had expected; the thick winter coat he was wearing hid his true physique. It was not easy to subdue the man; he fought ferociously, like a cornered dog, starved to desperation and frothing at the mouth. Eventually my greater strength and the advantage a weapon afforded got the better of him. I struck him until his brains spilled out onto the ground. It was a disturbingly pleasant feeling. I looked back up the alley to check that my act had not been seen by anyone, turned and walked away briskly.

Near the end of the alley a hand wrapped itself around my mouth and I was hauled through a door to my left. I stab of fear shot through me: I had been caught.

“Your first mistake was allowing them to watch you as you followed him,” the harsh Scottish accent whispered harshly in my ear. “Your second mistake was killing him in the open.” The voice went on, I was frozen by terror, like a rabbit in headlights. “Your third mistake was looking up after you smashed his brains in; you got caught on camera; they know who you are and they will stop at nothing to kill you.” he paused, releasing his grip on my mouth. I turned to face my kidnapper. He wore a balaclava so I could not see his face.

“All in all though, not a bad job; you chose a secluded location and managed that camera well enough until you gave yourself away afterwards. You didn’t let them know what your voice sound like, which is a good thing and no one but me saw you. Most people fair much worse on their first go.” I didn’t quite no what to make of this strange faceless man who talked of death so calmly, as if he was experienced at the act.

Eventually I found it within myself to speak. “So you’re not one of them?"

“Very perceptive. I’m just like you in fact.” He came very close to me. “A rebel!” he whispered in the same tone he had addressed me with at first.

“So there are more of us?”

“Oh yes, lots more, but I can’t say anything more here, it’s not secure enough; we want to keep a secret as possible. Come with me.”

He led me down into the basement of the small terraced house. He pulled off the cover of the entry shaft into the sewers and ordered me down. We landed in a foot deep of water. The tunnel was not wide enough for both of us to stand straight, so, because I wanted to question the strange man, I was forced to crane my neck against the curvature of the tunnel wall. My companion fished out a torch and turned it on; the tunnel was illuminated to reveal grime-covered walls.

“You’ll be needing this.” He said, handing me a balaclava, much like the one he was wearing.

“Why do I need to wear this down here? Surely there are no cameras here?”

“No, but we can never know whether or not we have been infiltrated, so long as no-one knows who anyone else is, they can’t tell them who we are.” I put the balaclava on.

“But if someone has infiltrated us, couldn’t they lead the police to us?”

“The tunnel system’s huge and we know it a lot better than they do. We could fight a guerrilla war against them down here quite easily, and win it in no time.”

I had meant to question him more, but there didn’t seem much more to ask; I could answer all my own questions with relative ease.

I spent the next few hours on a guided tour around the sewer system. I met many of the other rebels. There was a good number more that I had expected; some it seemed had fled down here when things first started, many more had arrived as things became gradually worse. They also had a startling number of weapons hidden away, as though they were building an arsenal.

So for the last two (or three) days I have been living down here, in the sewers. When I first asked if I could keep a diary they were sceptical, but after a while a persuaded them. So long as I didn’t give anything away about our location, they said.

The Scotsman walked up to him as he was writing in the diary.

“Come on.” he said, “Time for your second murder.”

The man put the diary and away in a safe dry place and followed the Scotsman.

I've written a couple more instalments, which I may post in the next few weeks, I may even write a bit more if inspiration strikes. Tell me what you think

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