Origins

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

Chapter 6 (v.1)

Submitted: May 01, 2013

Reads: 69

Comments: 1

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Submitted: May 01, 2013

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I am now a Scribe of the Union. I am still alive which is pleasant for now, but in the long run…

I am being forced to write for the union, but let’s start with the past two days.

I was called into the office of Colonel Sanders, an ornamental bright blue room with vases proudly stated on white marble podiums. Several Union flags decorated the walls, the coiled snake hanging loosely underneath the big white letters. It was hot in his room, he had no windows just a glass pane on the door that gave a blurred view of the stone corridors beyond. A guard stood against the door, blocking my escape. Not that I would’ve tried to escape anyway. A skinny teenager attempting escape in a prison guarded by several hundred men in blue was a stupid idea, even to the insane. A large picture of Him hung behind the Colonel, I did not wander my eyes over the picture for long. I set my eyes on the Colonel and kept them there until he spoke.

The Colonel reminded me of my school master; rough stubble dotted the Colonel’s chin. Thin dyed hair swept across the top of his forehead trying to cover the bald spot. His thin pencil moustache twitched at the sight off me. I could see that they had printed my book to make it easier for the Colonel to read. I felt flattered though I could imagine whoever was copying it, spitting at the words he/she was reading.

The Colonel’s dark hazel eyes pierced my own. I could feel the little courage I had slowly bleeding into the Colonels merciless eyes. Why was it that in a seemingly never changing world, drained of emotion, you can still feel even more merciless, even more lifeless when in a presence of power?

The Colonel stood, his tight army suit becoming tighter with his bulging muscles. That was probably the weirdest thing about Sanders was how he had a thin wiry face but a muscular body.

Sanders took my book in his hand and flipped it in his hands for a moment.

He sighed and raised his eyes to mine,

“Why must the young generation be so easily influenced by their parents?”

I stifled my anger and swallowed my pride

The Colonel turned to face the portrait of Him.

“After all he has given you, you write against Him and what he stands for?”

He turned back round to face me and stared at me, his moustache twitching with anger.

“I would torture you on the spot for such a heinous crime but another copy of this book was sent to Him.”

Sanders noticed the anger in my veins among my neck, I could feel them bulging too, and tried to calm myself with fail.

“Why does anger fill you when you hear that? It is an honor for Him to read a piece of your work, even if it is so scandalous. Now, I would kill you and bathe in your blood to make me stronger, but Him has other ideas. I don’t know why, but he sees a gift in you.”

I mustered up my voice, teasing it out of the corner it hid in,

“What gift?”

“Ah, the gift of words.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if this was to become public, the Union would probably have a full scale, world size, riot on their hands. In short, this is very persuasive stuff to the common civilian, or the “cog” as you rightfully put it in your book.”

The Colonel gave me a sly smile,

“Yes, in your book you portray ordinary people as cogs on a rusting machine. That they are merely there to keep the machine happy, and are easily replaced.”

I shook my head,

“No, I meant people’s lives are in routine, there is no freedom, and they are confined to the surrounding shell.”

The Colonel looked impressed,

“Well, it doesn’t matter. We want you to change the analogy. Keep it as cogs if you wish, but change it to; They are essential, if one cog stops the whole machine stops, everyone is important.”

The reason why they wanted to keep me alive sank in,

“You want me to write for the Union, not against it.”

“Yes, and if you don’t you are killed. Though if you do, you will be rich and famous.”

“But for all the wrong reasons…”

The Colonel motioned to the guard by the door and he came over and kicked me under, tumbling me to my knees. The colonel came over and punched me round the head,

“If it is for the might of the Union, there are no wrong reasons!”

He told me to rewrite my book but promoting faith in Him and the Union.

So I am now a slave amongst men.

Forced to write lies.

It is the end of the same month it all started.

Who knew I would wake up to be this person?

A Liar.


© Copyright 2019 Aaron Crowley. All rights reserved.

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