The vehicle pulled up to a stark white, gleaming training barrack. The group of teenagers leaned eargley out the open windows, their previous terror forgotten, amazed by the glittering building— never before in their lives had they seen something so clean. It's seemed as though the vehicle slowed down for the children to look out and the gleaming edifice; the children thought not of what was to come, not of their inevitable demise for a cause they had yet to know, but they thought of happy things, their heads filled with hope, hope that somehow, through the army, they could become prosperous. The children, in that moment, believed with all their heart that the Chosen Ones would take care of them, that they mattered.
Promptly after that, the vehicle turned down a side street to the backside of the Mural, revealing the real training barracks. The actual training barracks were exactly like everything else in the country: old, crumbling, and in a perpetual state of disrepair. The children's hopes were dashed.
Upon pulling up to the barracks, the children were shooed out of the vehicle and into a line— where they were given a number, their room number, accompanied by either an A or a B. Alexander was 84A. Room 84 was far away from the dining hall and classrooms Alexander was told, room 84 was in the far left wing of the barracks, past two holes in the wall and mysterious floor and ceiling stains throughout. Three-quarters of the way down the hall, there was what looked like part of a rope hanging from the ceiling, directly above a disconcerting red stain on the floor. Alexander elected to keep walking at that part, counting the steps it took to get to his room.
Alexander arrived at his room first, in which the number 84 was over the names Alexander Murphy and Joseph Manor. Alexander had been ordered to immediately put on military issue schooling clothes, which he started to do, but immediately took them off as they were scratchy. Alexander couldn't wear scratchy clothes. Scratchy clothes made him want to curl inside his skin, scratchy clothes made him want to throw himself against the walls of the room to escape them. Needless to say, Alexander stayed in his own clothes, making sure the note was tucked safely in the inside pocket he sewed into his pants.
"Yoooo, sup Alex?" A loud, tall boy with pale skin and clothes like his family cane from money sauntered into the room. Alexander immediately noticed his blond hair was sticking over his SnapBack hat, which was worn backwards. Alexander thought wearing hats backwards was stupid, and things are made to be put forwards for a reason. Cars don't drive backwards down the streets, so hats shouldn't be worn backwards. Alexander thought it was a pretty simple concept, but unfortunately a concept this new person did not get. Alexander vowed to teach the backwards-forwards concept to this new person, whoever he was.
"Alex, broooo," new person waved his hand, adorned with a paper wristband used for fancy events, in front of Alexander's face. It occurred to Alexander that new person might actually be talking to him.
"My name is Alexander," Alexander replied, trying to introduce himself to new person.
"Yeah yeah, Alex," new person continued, using the wrong name for Alexander. "I'm Joe, sup?"
Joe held out a closed fist as an invitation to fist bump, and invitation Alexander did not grasp in the slightest.
"My name is Alexander," Alexander repeated, assuming this new Joe person didn't understand him. Like how he didn't understand how hats work.
"Dude I heard you," Backwards-hat Joe replied. "My name is Joseph so I go by Joe, your name is Alexander so I'll call you Alex."
"My name is Alexander, Joseph." Alexander believed in calling people by their actual name; it was like the backwards-forwards thing. Names were how they were for a reason. He was Alexander, not Alex.
"Okay AleXANder," Joseph said, mocking Alexander's unorthodox vocal inflections. Alexander didn't notice it, and as Joseph used his proper name, he found it unnecessary to reply.
If Joe was waiting for a reply, Alexander didn't notice; rather, Joe changed into his standard issue clothing and left the room in search other people.
Alexander was told dinner was at 5:30, and the clock on the wall above the wall said it was 4:47. Alexander immediately knew he had 43 minuets until dinner.
Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the new environment and new Joseph, Alexander got the note out of his pocket, re-reading the words he'd read a thousand seven hundred, twenty-three times before.
"You now have, in your possession, an article of the revolution. Whether you know it or not, whether you CHOOSE to believe it or not, your government, the 'Chosen Ones,' use and manipulate you. You are taught that the government is infallible, that the government is perfect, that the government's accuracy and honesty are unerring, incontrovertible. That is completely falsified- your government sees you as pawns in a bloody game of chess. Your government does not care about you- you work in arduous conditions, but continue to live in abject poverty. You have no benefits, you have no rights.
But that can change. YOU can change yourself, you can change the world. Spread this message- spread the message that the Chosen Ones are NOT infallible, spread the message that you DESERVE better, that things CAN be better. Resist. Rebel. Dissent. Prevail.
Yours,
Elizabeth Blair"
On the left were the words, that Alexander had also read a thousand, seven hundred, twenty-three times:
"You work in arduous conditions, but continue to live in abject poverty."
YOU ARE READING
We're Not Gonna Take It
General FictionFollow young dissent Elizabeth Blair, as she travels across the country to take down her corrupt, totalitarian government, along the way meeting the dorky former military general, Ben O'Brien. __________________________________________ Updates happe...
