Patria
Patria
This is a work-in-progress story that I've been lingering on for a while, so I'll post what I have. Feedback is greatly appreciated.
Part 1
Part 2
This is a work-in-progress story that I've been lingering on for a while, so I'll post what I have. Feedback is greatly appreciated.
Part 1
Yawns reverberated across the classroom.
"Its a shame the other countries couldn't keep up with our vaccines."
Every child is told this in their Historical Development courses. In the same context, every year. The child vegetates in their laminated-wood desk. A select few may listen, but they have already heard this before. They have heard about their country's greatness; the unity of the nation was the prime reason its great people were unscathed by the Purge. The rest of the world was Purged, but these children knew nothing of the rest of the world. No one knew. The people of Patria only knew that the minions of the Purge might still lay outside the borders of Patria. No one had ever tried to leave Patria. No one wanted to leave Patria. Life was orderly, and Guidance had often said that "Order was priority".
Guidance: the powers-that-be to whom the people of Patria owed their lives; the government.
"Any questions?"
Silence, accompanied by children looking up at Mr. Ford. They slouched in their desks, leaning their heads on their hands. No hands were raised, and with a sigh, Mr. Ford walked back to his desk.
"Okay, head outside for recess."
The children straightened up almost immediately, bolting out the door. Mr. Ford was about to call out to tell them to slow down, but by the time he collected the nerve to do so, they were already gone. He sat down, closed his eyes, and tried to imagine a better place.
"Its a shame the other countries couldn't keep up with our vaccines."
Every child is told this in their Historical Development courses. In the same context, every year. The child vegetates in their laminated-wood desk. A select few may listen, but they have already heard this before. They have heard about their country's greatness; the unity of the nation was the prime reason its great people were unscathed by the Purge. The rest of the world was Purged, but these children knew nothing of the rest of the world. No one knew. The people of Patria only knew that the minions of the Purge might still lay outside the borders of Patria. No one had ever tried to leave Patria. No one wanted to leave Patria. Life was orderly, and Guidance had often said that "Order was priority".
Guidance: the powers-that-be to whom the people of Patria owed their lives; the government.
"Any questions?"
Silence, accompanied by children looking up at Mr. Ford. They slouched in their desks, leaning their heads on their hands. No hands were raised, and with a sigh, Mr. Ford walked back to his desk.
"Okay, head outside for recess."
The children straightened up almost immediately, bolting out the door. Mr. Ford was about to call out to tell them to slow down, but by the time he collected the nerve to do so, they were already gone. He sat down, closed his eyes, and tried to imagine a better place.
Part 2
March 19, 2007.
The light turned green at the intersection of Escher Avenue and Tesla Boulevard. I eased my foot onto the gas pedal, noticing the names of the streets as my sedan lurched out in to the intersection. Its interesting to see a street named after the late, great, mathematical artist M.C. Escher, but why were so many street names dedicated to intellectuals such as Escher and Nikolai Tesla? Did it somehow make the drivers of the asphalt feel more significant if they were driving, on, say Malcom X Street, than if they were on any other street?
As perturbing as my thoughts were, they were broken by the impact of my head on the window. Peripheral vision allowed me to see the big navy-blue SUV (or was it steel blue?) caving the passenger door in. The woman in the front seat still had her cell phone in her hand, evidently too distracted to stop at the red light on her side of the street.
Piece of advice: when you're hit by a car, it hurts.
The thoughts of Escher and Tesla were overcome by an orgasm of pain roaring through my skull as the window cracked under the force of my cranium. Windows hurt almost as much as cars. Despite the fact that I could hardly see through the commotion of broken glass and metal, I could see that the car was barrel-rolling through the air, right into the big stoplight pole, right into the names of Escher and Tesla.
Very few people are fortunate enough to achieve a state of comatose. Its like a lottery; you either die by whatever causes a comatose, or you go into a comatose. Regardless, even fewer people can reawaken from a coma - they really beat the probability gamble. And the most fortunate people, the winners of the "mega-millions" lottery, are the ones that wake up with all their brain cells and mentality still intact. I guess I'm just a lucky kind of guy.
The first thing I see when I wake up is white. Such a profoundly apparent color is painful to long-rested eyes. I blink, and rest of the room comes into view. A rhythmic beeping has increased in tempo, informing myself that my heart's finally getting the long-awaited workout it needs. I don't know why I'm in the hospital. I begin to straighten up when a funny tingling in my legs lets me know that they're cramped to hell. The only thing I can derive from the situation is that I've been here awhile. A nurse walks by the door, and glancing inside, sees me awake. She stumbled as she rushes into the room.
"Mr. Ford, its good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Uh.." I yawn. "Where the hell am I?"
The nurse smiled, shutting off the heart rate monitor. "Guidance Infirmary #19-B. Welcome back to Patria, sir. You've been in a coma for a long time. Please lay back."
I'm thinking, a coma? What from?
"What year is it?"
She stops what she's doing and looks over. "It's 2014."
The light turned green at the intersection of Escher Avenue and Tesla Boulevard. I eased my foot onto the gas pedal, noticing the names of the streets as my sedan lurched out in to the intersection. Its interesting to see a street named after the late, great, mathematical artist M.C. Escher, but why were so many street names dedicated to intellectuals such as Escher and Nikolai Tesla? Did it somehow make the drivers of the asphalt feel more significant if they were driving, on, say Malcom X Street, than if they were on any other street?
As perturbing as my thoughts were, they were broken by the impact of my head on the window. Peripheral vision allowed me to see the big navy-blue SUV (or was it steel blue?) caving the passenger door in. The woman in the front seat still had her cell phone in her hand, evidently too distracted to stop at the red light on her side of the street.
Piece of advice: when you're hit by a car, it hurts.
The thoughts of Escher and Tesla were overcome by an orgasm of pain roaring through my skull as the window cracked under the force of my cranium. Windows hurt almost as much as cars. Despite the fact that I could hardly see through the commotion of broken glass and metal, I could see that the car was barrel-rolling through the air, right into the big stoplight pole, right into the names of Escher and Tesla.
Very few people are fortunate enough to achieve a state of comatose. Its like a lottery; you either die by whatever causes a comatose, or you go into a comatose. Regardless, even fewer people can reawaken from a coma - they really beat the probability gamble. And the most fortunate people, the winners of the "mega-millions" lottery, are the ones that wake up with all their brain cells and mentality still intact. I guess I'm just a lucky kind of guy.
The first thing I see when I wake up is white. Such a profoundly apparent color is painful to long-rested eyes. I blink, and rest of the room comes into view. A rhythmic beeping has increased in tempo, informing myself that my heart's finally getting the long-awaited workout it needs. I don't know why I'm in the hospital. I begin to straighten up when a funny tingling in my legs lets me know that they're cramped to hell. The only thing I can derive from the situation is that I've been here awhile. A nurse walks by the door, and glancing inside, sees me awake. She stumbled as she rushes into the room.
"Mr. Ford, its good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Uh.." I yawn. "Where the hell am I?"
The nurse smiled, shutting off the heart rate monitor. "Guidance Infirmary #19-B. Welcome back to Patria, sir. You've been in a coma for a long time. Please lay back."
I'm thinking, a coma? What from?
"What year is it?"
She stops what she's doing and looks over. "It's 2014."
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