Dystopian reality

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Not too far from reality, the Dystopian world takes over little by little, just not all of us are able to see it...

Submitted: March 31, 2015

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Submitted: March 31, 2015

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I can hardly remember our freedom. What does freedom even mean? I can’t remember. It’s been 28 years now, everything has changed. The world I lived in is gone, far away in the past, forgotten in the dust of our rotten minds. Dystopia they call it, small hell on earth.

I was twelve when it all happened. My memories have nearly faded out with the time, but this day I can never forget. The sun was on the horizon, autumn breeze was shaking my hair, leafs were dancing gracefully. I was admiring the sunset laying calmly underneath a tree in our backyard. My mum and dad were at work, they always were, never really had a spare moment for me. I was used to it and most of my day I would spend in the tree house I had built, my favorite place. This day didn’t seem any different than the others, same silence, same house, same tree. But something was wrong and I could feel it. Something that had filled my lungs since the moment I woke up, something that made me feel exceptionally nervous. A worse feeling was yet to come.

The evening came quicker than usual; the air was still, not a single movement, not a single noise. I, standing in the kitchen, was waiting for my mum and dad, prepared the dinner myself, because they would be too tired from work. They were late nearly with two hours, but I thought something urgent might have forced them to stay a bit longer. I was definitely wrong. Someone knocked on the door; I ran towards it and opened it widely. No one was there. Paranoia took over me. When I was about to close and lock myself inside, I saw it in the sky. Planes were flying like birds all over it, dropping small bombs which created a symphony of destruction. Everywhere was red, poisonous smoke was coming from every direction; the air was filled with fear and panic, shock and quick death. Our small city began to fall apart, little by little. Scared, I ran towards the town centre where my parents would be, hoping I will find them. By the time I got there, all the streets were on fire, some buildings fallen to the ground. Strange men in pitch black uniforms were destroying statues, cutting of the trees, forcing families out of their houses, beating everyone who disobeyed them. No one seemed to know what was going on, neither did I. The strong men started pushing everybody towards the heart of the city, where
our fountains used to be, now destroyed. When the people managed to calm themselves and stop the crying of their children, a tall, wide man appeared in front of us. His narrowed eyes were piercing through every single of the gathered people. He had dark hair; tough skin; strong body. “People”, his deep voice broke the silence. “Kneel before me as today you become a part of a new world, new era. Your town is my town now; your lives are my lives now. Be obedient and you will feel no harm.”
 
What happened after is just a shadow, a long lasted memory that seems like a nightmare rather than reality. We were under control, under foreign control. Many lives were lost that day, many innocent lives. I never saw my parents again… Never felt the kiss of my mother, the scent of my father. Never heard their warm words anymore. People began to suffer, starve and freeze. Hope was lost with the passing of the next few following years as anybody who tried to stop or go against the ‘Conqueror’ would face the most painful death. Children, a lot younger than me, lost their parents, their homes. This is what led us to where we are now.

From years our society is trying to rebel. We don’t have enough of anything, clothes, food, water, shelter, safety. Only rules, laws, hunger, pain, sorrow and death. Not everybody has given up yet, there are many of us who gather in the secret tunnels under the city, planning how to free our children, our families or what is left of them. Planning how to give future for the next generations. Everyday people are coming out from the remains of their houses, marching in the streets, rebuilding what we once had, shouting and fighting with the uniformed men who protect our invader. We aren’t making much of a difference but at least we’re giving hope and strength to other people so they can join us as well, rebel with us. We will destroy all of his statues, just like he did to our ones; we will burn down his home, just like he did to our ones. Smashing windows, bombing places, killing if necessary. Fighting to get back what we once had is what we do, call it rebelling, call it strikes, riots, call it war, but we will continue. I might not have been that close with my parents, but I learned one thing from them: “When you have lost hope, you have lost everything. You have no idea what you’re capable of”. I haven’t lost hope, not yet and I will help all those people in the riots that will lead us to freedom. It’s the ones that matter for you that make you feel at home. This will continue today, tomorrow, the day after and the day after that, and after that. No one can make free people his slaves and that exactly is why we rebel. 


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