The F Word

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


In a word where words are the enemy and everyone is looked at with a suspicion, a man sets out to save the last remnant of the F word.

Submitted: October 12, 2017

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Submitted: October 12, 2017

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The F Word

The book traveled with him everywhere. It had to. It had language unacceptable to the government, to the ruling party. There were others along the same line, but none that mentioned the F word, the unacceptable language, as often as this one did.

They were on the lookout for it. This and other materials like it, everywhere these days. People were stopped at airports, train stations, even walking down the streets. If you looked suspicious enough. If you looked like you were hiding something or just happened to look different, the suspicion of a contraband document would always appear later in police reports and court arguments while you were held somewhere in a jail cell. There was no need for you to be there, if they had your book or one that could be linked to you, that was all that was needed to be convicted.

It wasn’t always like this but as the years went on radical ideas became threatening to power, words themselves became radical. The speech, at least of these words, became unacceptable and soon the books that housed such words and thus the thoughts they created in the readers mind, became evil in themselves.

That’s why this one document and it’s protector were on a mission today. This book of contraband he carried, with the last known copy, this underground literature was his alone to save. It was safely tucked away in a pocket inside his coat lining, disguised on the outside by a businessman’s work attire. They were all businessmen now or at least dressed as them. The conformity somehow comforted the world that had been created. That was all that mattered to them.

There was a library, a safe place for this thin volume. An underground room, he had been there himself attending meetings and readings. It was a place where he could enjoy the collected works containing the F word, as well as those that only hinted at it, without worry about any repercussions.

And there were repercussions, far beyond the physical abuse. Radicals was sent behind the wall to live in a world they did not stand, with a did not long, to build a new life as the lowest of low castes in the society.  A place where non- radicals, conformists as they were called, stepped on you, marked you as trouble and let you survive on the bread crumbs of society. He was on the ferry now and so far he had not been questioned. The F word book burned in his pocket as he continued its escape.

Taxi rides pushed him further on, he was now within walking distance by a block or two. Soon he was there or there where the building that had housed the words before stood. Burned rubble with a million F words and the words that surrounded them, sailing in wisps toward the sky. People, stood nearby in handcuffs, Radicals, Revolters, lover of the F words, being readied to pay their price.  The man and the F word he carried, walked briskly by the street but not briskly enough not to be noticed.

They called out to him and he kept walking faster and faster to match their footsteps, speeding up.  Galloping now, he look for left, right, anything that could lead him away with the F word that he so vehemently protected. They gained, as he saw his only option. He jumped into the river, his F word book firmly protected in waterproof wrapping. The Conformists arrived a minute too late, heard the splash and realized this Revolutionary had met his end. Easily, quickly and with no paperwork to file.

They walked to the far end of the bridge and off into the distance before he pulled himself out of the water, hiding himself deep in a nearby drainpipe. It was dark, he was alone now, totally alone, a wanted man.  With no idea what to do next to where the goal of this precious F word cargo.

This was his only priority, his life was only his life, his F word document was ideas, was the future. He carefully placed his hand inside his suit coat and slipped the U.S. Constitution out of its plastic sleeve to assure it had survived, the paper aged, though it was, was still brittle and dry. This was Freedom, the F word and it’s preservation rested on his shoulders alone. He placed the papers back in their sleeve and then into his pocket and he continued on.


© Copyright 2018 Carla Charter. All rights reserved.

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