TERRA AVSTRALIS / an Adult Bluey story

Under the Yoke

Art's day started like any other. Waking up at 5am, making breakfast and taking a train to the nearby weapons factory. Art was a Rough Collie and being the energetic type, wasn't too bothered about waking up so early, he didn't even need coffee most days.

Art, before the civil war, worked in Macdonald's as a cook. He didn't make much money off it but it was enough to afford a 1 bedroom apartment in the inner city. This was after his parents kicked him out for being a "lazy cunt"; after that he never heard much from them. Since the civil war, he hasn't heard anything from them. Presumably they died in the war, but Art tries to not think too much about that.

When he arrived at the factory, he was greeted by his 2 friends who worked in the same department as he did: where they made ammunition. One friend, who was named Bruce, greeted him by loudly exclaiming: "look who it is it's our best cunt in the place!" Art responded by pulling a small awkward half smile.

After 5 hours of hard work, the owner of the factory announced on the speaker that all departments would finish work early to watch the nuclear ICBM test that was heading towards the small Coral Islands.

Art and the rest of the department looked up at a large screen that was being projected on, he saw this large rocket flying over the Ocean. There was a countdown on screen reading 3:39 indicating that it wouldn't be too long untill the rocket had reached it's target.

After a few minutes, the rocket reached it's target. Everyone watched in awe as the mushroom cloud engulfed everything in its immediate vicinity. The light from the explosion was almost blinding. The powerful projector that was showing the broadcast made the whole wearhouse turn red. Soon the clouds dissipated and the island could be seen clearly. The few Palm trees on that island had been completely decimated.

Art felt a bit fuzzy while he was waiting for his train back home. Soon the train arrived and he got off at his local station. He noticed a few people selling posters printed by the government. One showed a picture of a looming figure above a map of the continent. The figure had the two letters: US on it. He knew the subliminal message the poster was trying to convey. Soon he got home and turned on the TV.

The TV only had a handful of channels; all government approved. He turned on the entertainment channel and opened up a can of beer. Beer was the only thing he could drink because the tap water was filled with sewage and would cause him to get sick. The state wouldn't care if he got sick and would leave him to die in his own filth.

He soon took out a photo book from his small bookshelf showing what life was like before the war. His eyes fixated on a photo of him and his friends on holiday in Fiji. He hasn't been able to travel much since the new government took contact and took away everyone's passports.

He put his face in his hands and sobbed. He wasn't like this most days but he realised that his government has taken away his basic rights of free travel. His mental health had been slowly deteriorating after he got kicked out of his parents and the isolation that he had been subjected to. The civil war didn't help too much with that either. He soon cried himself to sleep on his sofa while his half empty can of beer tipped over, spilling beer on the already dank carpet.