Dystopian Short Story:In Her Sight

There is this world. A world where everyone must work. Absolutely everyone, even the children work. They all have a job. I’ve heard others say only adults had jobs and that children working wasn’t normal back then. You had a choice back then, one of them being what you were going to do with your life. But now they choose for us. They choose our life and decide what we’re going to do from the very beginning to the very end. It seems reasonable, but I wonder what it’s like to have a choice. Most of the time I spend thinking what my life would be like if I could have what they have taken away from us: freedom, parents, true friends, and a home.  I don’t know who “they” are, and I don’t think anyone dares to ask who “they” really are. I don’t know a lot of things, but what I do know that we all had a family once.

When we are babies they choose the job that best suits us. But when we are babies, how do they know what we’ll be like once we grow up? We’re only four years old, does anyone even have a personality and a life at that age? They train and teach us everything about our job for the first 5 years of our life and then we become a worker.  I am seventeen years old and I like my job. Most people don’t complain about their job and I know why. At a young age we are trained to love it, we have no other choice. They don’t want us to know that the world we live in is taking away our rights. I’ve heard that if someone complains about their job they get fired and I don’t exactly know what that means, but it reminds me about one of my work friends’; his name was James, and he was “fired” because he was complaining about being a counter. One day I saw him and then the next I did not. James was one of the few friends I had. I do not like socializing, let alone making any friends but being the nice person that I am, I decided to give James a chance. We had always discussed about how he was constantly interested in constructing things. “I want to be a builder, not an counter”, he would say with a passion. It seemed like he knew what he wanted. It’s what made him different and I admired him for having the guts to say what he wanted. Not many people do that here because the government is very controlling. It’s suppose to keep us in check and it’s for our safety they say.

It had been months since my friend James had been fired and I noticed that after the whole situation happened no one else was being fired after; no one had complained because we were all scared. We are allowed to be friends with other people, so I have acquaintances with workers that have a different job than I do. Today I was eating lunch with some of them and I leaned over to the one sitting next to me, who is a builder and I asked, “Do you happen to know anyone named James?” The reason I asked was because, maybe for some random reason, the government had let James change jobs and become a builder. I was trying to quietly ask because we aren’t allowed to talk about people who had been fired. He responded with, “Not that I know of, I mean it is a big world and I don’t know every single builder.” I should have known that the controlling government would have never allowed such an insane thing occur. It was at that moment that  I realized and processed that “fired” really meant those getting “eliminated”.

Later that week, I was peacefully sitting on my desk organizing some files on my computer when a couple of men and women came into the building where I worked. They were takers. They walked through the aisles of the small cubicles, stomping their feet, making sure they had the attention of all the counters on the floor. They yelled loudly saying, “We are looking for a counter named Grace!” He glanced down at the piece of paper that someone (probably his leader) had given him, to know for a fact that he had said the name correctly. Jeesh as least memorize the name of the person you are searching for. Try to look a bit professional and act like you know what you are doing, I thought as I sat on my comfy chair. They repeated the name again and that’s when I realized that my name was Grace. I had been so distracted in judging the takers that I hadn’t actually been listening to the name they had been yelling. I blushed as I then realized that all the counters around were looking directly at me. They headed towards me and asked if my name was Grace. I answered with a quiet yes and they immediately grabbed my hands and put an electric device that locked my hands into place. Then, they made me take a small white pill and I couldn’t resist, so I took it and it instantly numbed my mouth. I obviously couldn’t talk so I didn’t complain, or scream and they forcefully took me away. I was thrown into the back of a white van and we drove for what seemed like hours. When we finally arrived, they opened the metal door, locking me away in the van. My freedom was just on the other side of those doors. If I could’ve figured out how to unlock the door I would’ve jumped out and ran. I would’ve ran and ran until I could no longer feel my chest and sink into the ground until I could catch my breath and then I would keep running. Although I wouldn’t be able to keep running forever because there would be a lack or resources, I would try. But that didn’t happen, instead I was taken to a huge grey building.  As I was taken out by a pair of different takers, I noticed that the building didn’t have any windows and it symbolized the plainness and boring life I’ve lived. It was well structured but one day it would fall, along with everyone inside of it. I could not say anything so I just made a disgusted face at them. As I was dragged inside, I saw a lot of women and men in white uniforms. It seemed like they worked here. Some of them were about my age and then I saw children and I knew that they were either getting trained to work or they were being put away. They put me in a room with 6 walls. There were three white walls and three black ones, white, black, white, black….it seemed like they kept going and it felt like the walls were caving in. At that moment I felt more claustrophobic than I ever had in my entire life, which was ironic because I had always lived in a room like this except with 4 walls.

I found out who “they”are. I haven’t really thought about it but as they were taking me into another room to question me, we passed this open area and I saw a lot of adults. As I walked by I realized who they were and I slowed down and stood there for quite a while. I saw my parents, but they weren’t really my parents because I didn’t know them. The only reason I knew it was them was because the government had let me keep a picture of them in my house. The government knows that throughout our entire lives we will never see them. They have that thoroughly planned out and leave us with a piece of evidence that having a family like the previous generations was the wrong way of life. Taking away our parents made sure no one began to have sentimental feelings and get attached to people, but I never exactly felt that way, at least about my parents. Everyday I woke up to look at that picture on my nightstand and each day I cared more and more about them. I decided that I wasn’t going to forcefully pull my hands from the grip of the takers hands because all these parents in the room had changed, not because they wanted to but because our government had made them.

They took me into another room and they questioned me and then they began to know. They knew that I knew that this perfect world we lived in wasn’t actually as perfect as they have been making it seem. The world I live in is fake only because fake people like the government make it this way. Some things may be real but people aren’t realistic in this world. I was questioned for 2 hours and the only reason I knew was because there was a clock on the wall that read 2:39. I was surprised that there was a clock in the room. My life was ticking away and there was a small voice inside telling me that maybe there was hope, that I wasn’t going to get “fired” for knowing that the government we had was totally messed up. They made me sit in that room for three hours after the interview and then someone came in and then I was “fired”.


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