Friday, October 1, 2010
Creative writing
Apostasy
Mr. Morris was walking down a long dark hallway. His hands were shaking and he kept looking nervously around. He entered a room to his left and closed the door softly behind him. Inside the medium sized room was dimly lit and there was barely any room to move. The air was thick and suffocating but there were no windows to open. Mr. Morris pushed his way through the crowd with his head down, muttering “Sorry,” and “Pardon me” two dozen times until he reached a small corner near the front.
“We are too few in numbers.” Someone said in the middle of the room. His voice was not loud but instantly the buzzing in the room died down. It was Johan Marley. He stood with his hands in the pockets of a particularly dirty pair of jeans. The jacket he wore was once beige in color but now it was splattered with mud and red paint. There was a long tear in the right sleeve where the flesh of his arm, raw and bleeding could be seen.
Mr. Morris, looking around, saw that not only was he the only one in clean clothing but also the oldest. He searched the crowd, his neck craning around, and frantically looking.
But they are just children, he thought.
Johan Marley face grew red and he shouted into the room, “We are not going to give in!”
The crowd yelled their approval, some thrusting weapons into the air. On closer inspection, Mr. Morris saw that they were wood widdled into sharp spares and some were kitchen knives.
“The ones who sit in jail or have been captured are not giving up, they are spreading the word! They’re giving those bastards hell!”
More cheers from the crowd.
“Now that our democracy has fallen and the public knows, our numbers will get bigger. Soon they will find out about the experiments!”
Experiments? Mr. Morris thought. Where is Charles?
Just then Johan Marley looked at him. He stared for a few seconds and then before Mr. Morris knew what was happening hands were grabbing him roughly from all sides. Marley walked up to him, and leaned in inches away from his face.
“Who are you? Are you a spy, come to see what the rebels are up too?” He demanded in a harsh voice.
“No!” Mr. Morris shouted. “I’m looking for Charles! He’s my son. I found this address on a piece of paper in his jeans pocket.”
The hands instantly fell away. Marley stepped back and his shoulders relaxed but he did not look away.
“They have him.” He said.
“Who does?” Mr. Morris asked straightening up.
“The government.”
“What does the government want with Charles? He hasn’t done anything!”
“Yes he has! You should be proud of your son, fighting the establishment! Do you know what they’re doing? I bet you don’t. You old idiots kept voting these evil absolutists into office, year after year! You refused to give up your traditional ways, and failed to see that the world is a different place! These puppets are not answering to you, the people, anymore. They’re just the face of the operation.”
Mr. Morris had not realized it, but the room was quiet again. He knew who Johan Marley was. He saw him on the news, talking nonsense. What was Charles doing getting involved with these nuts?
“Of course, none of you really believe what’s going on. You don’t want to open your eyes! Do you know that right now, they’re doing horrible experiments on prisoners? Trying to create a super army that they can control? There are camps everywhere in every city concealed from the public. It holds thousands of people, citizens that came too close to finding out the truth, or those they know they won’t be able to control easily. They too will become test subjects for new drugs and chemical warfare. They’re trying to press reset, and gain back the power we once had. Everything you know to be true, isn’t. Everything that made you sleep soundly at night, isn’t real. If we don’t stop them, the future will be terrible. Your freedom is gone already. One by one, we either join them or fight. Which is it Mr. Morris?”
Mr. Morris looked around at the crowd. The man next to him stretched out his hand holding a knife.
Freedom gone? Join them or fight? Charles.
Mr. Morris took it, and the crowd cheered.
Mr. Morris was walking down a long dark hallway. His hands were shaking and he kept looking nervously around. He entered a room to his left and closed the door softly behind him. Inside the medium sized room was dimly lit and there was barely any room to move. The air was thick and suffocating but there were no windows to open. Mr. Morris pushed his way through the crowd with his head down, muttering “Sorry,” and “Pardon me” two dozen times until he reached a small corner near the front.
“We are too few in numbers.” Someone said in the middle of the room. His voice was not loud but instantly the buzzing in the room died down. It was Johan Marley. He stood with his hands in the pockets of a particularly dirty pair of jeans. The jacket he wore was once beige in color but now it was splattered with mud and red paint. There was a long tear in the right sleeve where the flesh of his arm, raw and bleeding could be seen.
Mr. Morris, looking around, saw that not only was he the only one in clean clothing but also the oldest. He searched the crowd, his neck craning around, and frantically looking.
But they are just children, he thought.
Johan Marley face grew red and he shouted into the room, “We are not going to give in!”
The crowd yelled their approval, some thrusting weapons into the air. On closer inspection, Mr. Morris saw that they were wood widdled into sharp spares and some were kitchen knives.
“The ones who sit in jail or have been captured are not giving up, they are spreading the word! They’re giving those bastards hell!”
More cheers from the crowd.
“Now that our democracy has fallen and the public knows, our numbers will get bigger. Soon they will find out about the experiments!”
Experiments? Mr. Morris thought. Where is Charles?
Just then Johan Marley looked at him. He stared for a few seconds and then before Mr. Morris knew what was happening hands were grabbing him roughly from all sides. Marley walked up to him, and leaned in inches away from his face.
“Who are you? Are you a spy, come to see what the rebels are up too?” He demanded in a harsh voice.
“No!” Mr. Morris shouted. “I’m looking for Charles! He’s my son. I found this address on a piece of paper in his jeans pocket.”
The hands instantly fell away. Marley stepped back and his shoulders relaxed but he did not look away.
“They have him.” He said.
“Who does?” Mr. Morris asked straightening up.
“The government.”
“What does the government want with Charles? He hasn’t done anything!”
“Yes he has! You should be proud of your son, fighting the establishment! Do you know what they’re doing? I bet you don’t. You old idiots kept voting these evil absolutists into office, year after year! You refused to give up your traditional ways, and failed to see that the world is a different place! These puppets are not answering to you, the people, anymore. They’re just the face of the operation.”
Mr. Morris had not realized it, but the room was quiet again. He knew who Johan Marley was. He saw him on the news, talking nonsense. What was Charles doing getting involved with these nuts?
“Of course, none of you really believe what’s going on. You don’t want to open your eyes! Do you know that right now, they’re doing horrible experiments on prisoners? Trying to create a super army that they can control? There are camps everywhere in every city concealed from the public. It holds thousands of people, citizens that came too close to finding out the truth, or those they know they won’t be able to control easily. They too will become test subjects for new drugs and chemical warfare. They’re trying to press reset, and gain back the power we once had. Everything you know to be true, isn’t. Everything that made you sleep soundly at night, isn’t real. If we don’t stop them, the future will be terrible. Your freedom is gone already. One by one, we either join them or fight. Which is it Mr. Morris?”
Mr. Morris looked around at the crowd. The man next to him stretched out his hand holding a knife.
Freedom gone? Join them or fight? Charles.
Mr. Morris took it, and the crowd cheered.
Week 5
"I thought, We have geared the machines and locked all together
into interdependence; we have built the great cities; now
There is no escape. "
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