Friday, April 4, 2014

Someone asked me what life under Fascism would be like.

You wake on a mattress previously owned by someone who was killed by the state for failing to seig heil fast enough. You were very lucky to win it through the state run lottery. Your alarm is the blaring of air raid sirens at 5 AM, and you don the jacket you had used as a blanket to fight off the ever present chill in your unheated room. If you sleep in, guards will break down your door and shoot you in the head for betraying The Cause.

Leaving your door open and unlocked, for easier searching by Labor Enforcement, you march down to the street and join the throngs of people exiting their homes. As you exit the building you are handed what is essentially a Power Bar in unmarked wax packaging to eat on the way to work. The wax is edible, sort of, but you're not that hungry this morning so you pocket it for later.

You work at a Solution Factory in Resource Reclamation. If you are lucky you will find enough teeth with gold fillings to earn lunch that day. Today is a good day and you meet your quota. Lunch is a weak soup and something that tastes like unsweetened energy drink, but with meth so you can focus on your job and not be distracted by hunger.

Hey, it's your friend Steve. Steve works in Materials Processing. His hands are always covered in ink because he tattoos serial numbers onto the Problems as they're inventoried. Steve waves at you from across the lunch room. Seconds later, guards swarm him and he is taken away for questioning about why he would make such an extroverted gesture. You never see Steve again.

It is now 3 PM. You are allowed a 10 minute break to use the bathroom. A guard stares intently at you as you shit. His job, among other things, is to ensure that you do not use a decadent amount of toilet paper. As per your high school education, you fold your 3 squares of toilet paper in half after the first wipe so that you may use them again. The guard counts each section you pull off the roll loudly, and you are required to show the front and backs of each hand before each set of wipes. Last month you were allowed a day off to visit the State Museum because you used the least toilet paper out of anyone in your division. Once you are finished, you stand next to the toilet and salute so that the guard can examine the contents of the bowl before he flushes it. He is checking the size and consistency of your stool to ensure you are not stealing food or drinking contraband liquor.

8 PM rolls around. Work is over! You are allowed 30 minutes of supervised personal time in the town square. You and a few friends accidentally stand too close to another group of people and the guards beat you for, as they describe it, "conspiring like Jews."

The half hour passes. It is now time for the silent walk back to your apartment. What a day! You reclaimed so much gold, and you even found a pace maker! You know it contains something called plutonium, and you know the state thinks plutonium is good. You don't know know why though, because you were beaten severely the first and only time you ever asked why it was good. The air sirens blast the national anthem as you fall asleep on your precious, precious mattress in your otherwise bare room.

It is now 2 AM. You wake up and require use of the bathroom. You press a button on the wall and await the Bathroom Guard to escort you. He arrives 15 minutes later. He is especially fast for you because you sometimes smuggle him a tooth as a bribe. He hints that he will allow you the time and privacy necessary to masturbate on your next escorted restroom break if you bring him a breakfast bar, but your education was focused on the duties required of a good citizen so you don't know what he's talking about. After he radios in the amount of toilet paper you used to Central Resource Management, you go back to bed and have dreams of the glorious future you and your people are working toward.