The Order Of Lies

Chapter one: Salty Cardboard

Block 18, level 22, hallway F6, room 49. My home. I know thats not true, I know that nowhere in block 18, nowhere in a world with the order in power could be home to me.

I place one foot in front of the other, my shoulders spread and my steps equal.

One, two, three, four. I move to the rhythm of the other workers footsteps. I school my face into a placid and unwavering expression. I show no signs of life, of emotion. I look dead. I feel my heart pounding furiously in my chest. I thought that the pretending would get easier with time. Oh how wrong I was.

I was 10 when I came to the block, 10 when I took the pill, we all are. 10 when it didn't work. I remember the day as if it were now, preserved perfectly in my mind, a picture that is never truly gone.

I was a kid but I wasn't clueless. I knew to lie, to act as if my mind was under their spell, my body left to their control. And it worked. I have survived 7 years since that day and they have not found out, have not broken me.

7 years of being 265 774 128 not Amelia just 265 774 128.

I might be the last person here with a name.

The order have taken everything from us and that includes are identitys. The workers no longer know who they are. I used to think that they were still aware of what was happening, but were unable to do anything to stop it, as if their bodies had betrayed them and that maybe you could see a glint of pain in their dazed eyes if you looked close enough but now I know thats not true. I knew it the moment that the supervisors started escorting in the new batch of 10 year old workers. I looked at their eyes and they were emotionless, completely oblivious to the sight of young children lined up against the wall having their numbers read out to them.

I might be the only human left here.

The order and the supervisors certainly aren't. They use their own kind as slaves, only sparing the flithy rich that joined their cause, the poorer were sent to work. The workers aren't human either, they have lost their emotions, their identitys, their personalities how could you call them human when nothing left of them is.

I step forward and collect my food. Rations. Its a little brown square that has all of the important elements of a healthy diet perfectly measured out to keep us in prime condition for working but they missed out one essential component: flavour. It tastes like salty cardboard, but i guess that flavour is irrelevant when the consumer doesn't even recognise that they are eating.

My eyes stay fixed on a spot directly in front of me as I walk out of the feeding zone, fighting a grimace at the salty taste in my mouth. It's not like there's anything to look at anyway, there are four concrete walls and a belt sending a continuous supply of food along, ready for us workers to collect. Harsh light pours into the room from the panels in the ceiling. Thats it, no need for decor that nobody can appreciate so instead we have grey concrete to keep us -me- company.

I follow the sound of boots slamming against the metal grate flooring. As I said, the order don't care for looks only durability.

Opening the door to room 49, I breathe out a sigh of relief. The rooms don't have cameras or supervisors because what's the point of watching people that only do as you tell them? The order are arrogant and positively evil yet not stupid, they know to put supervisors in main work areas but there's no need for anything in the dormitories. Cells. Even if you weren't under the pills trance and somehow got out of the block they have snipers on the roof as well as in stations across from the building. There's no escape, no freedom.

While I lie in my bed which is barely more than an inch of too hard foam and a thin polyester sheet, I stare at the stone grey ceiling and begin to talk. I say my name, age, and anything I actually know about myself. I practise sentences, forming the words on my lips memorising the different movements, the noises they make. I refuse to forget both the action itself and the information I say to myself. I can't forget who I am.

I talk to myself all night long and into the early hours of the morning, repeating lines over and over again but not once do I mention them. The order.

***

I have a fiancé apparently. I do not know his name. The chip in my neck feeds only the important information into my mind and it seems that names are insignificant. They don't mean fiancé, they mean my breeding partner. I knew that this would happen eventually seen as they have to get more workers somehow. They force you to have children, to care for them, and then to send them away to take their pills. The children already have the chips as they are put in whilst they are still infants, they grow up learning different skills to help with their work in later life. They grow up believing that the pill is here to save them, to keep them happy and well. I've seen children go to take the pill with smiles on their faces, not knowing that it will be the last time they ever will.

Of course I resent the idea but its not the breeding us like animals that scares me the most. No my main fear is that after this, I won't ever be able to stop pretending I'm under the snare of the pill, I won't be able to speak, move, or even just relax for a second.

I fear I will forget myself.