Untitled Story (Corrupt governments, aliens, and rebellion to come.) (71 hits)
Category: Noneno reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Congressman Biff (View user info) at 2009-10-01 12:23:03 EDT
So it's been a while since I've done this, but I figure it's about time considering the giant bottle of cheap vodka being haphazardly mixed with RockStar in my cup.
And yes, I know, there's no title. I just can't come up with anything right now. I'm not a title man, I just open up and let the story flow. You want a title so bad, start with the suggestions, Uber.
So here I fuckin' go.
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It was a rather cold morning when this all began. Kind of nippy, odd in this normally hot and humid area. Pretty cold for an October morning in Florida. Things seemed pretty normal, except for my gut worry about what was to happen to me after the weekend. This government had me under their thumb for over a year now, and it's true. The system is designed to create criminals. I'd been hearing that my entire life, but somehow maintained faith in our system, our government.
It seems faith can only be held strong with a solid twist of ignorance.
Let's jump back a bit, back sixteen years. Fourth grade, my class's introduction to a new program to my school: DARE. Sherriff Kevin was our instructor. He'd come in twice a week to harp on at us about how cocaine may make you head explode, and marijuana will turn you into an axe murderer, the usual scare tactics used to de-educate us about the real uses of everything in society. First off, I was never one to just be spoon fed information. When I heard something, I wanted to know more. So of course, I looked up the histories of many of these substances. The only one that didn't have a heavily substantial medical use listed at the time was marijuana. As most people now know, cocaine was a viable anesthetic over the years. I had thought to myself "why would this be completely illegal if it can help so many people?"
Of course, now I know better. At least in the instance of cocaine. A week of use and I was doing lines off the ass of a sixteen year old hooker in my friend's basement. That's when I realized that though I don't agree with the government, there are still one or two things here and there that are as they should be. Which is why I was torn when my decision came up.
So let's make another jump here, to about five years ago. I was in my apartment with my roommates Millie and Libby. We were smoking a bowl when we looked at the window. Through the closed blinds, we could see flashing blue and red. We peeked through and saw Sam, another friend of ours, being pulled into a squad car. The thing about Sam is he was extremely straight edge when it came to drinking, smoking, all of that stuff. He was being pulled in for what they called terrorist activities. Apparently he had posted an essay about the faults of our government on several message boards. He was being silenced.
Jump once again to today. This cool, crisp morning. I hopped on my bicycle, an increasing trend these days, with President Murphy's stringent gas taxes. It was up to $4.90 a gallon for the second year running. Several roads had fallen under a severe lack of maintenance. Cities were beginning to look awful. Bike trails were being built at an alarming speed to make up for the lack of transportation. No one was coming up with anything new, no advanced public transportation, no safer burning fuels, just muscle power or increasingly dirty fuels.
I coughed heavily as a few trucks passed me, running now on crude oil. Black smoke poured from the two exhaust pipes on the back. The roof exhaust pumped steadily and the thick smoke settled toward the ground. The toxic mist, looking almost magical in its polluted evil, coated the ground at about a foot thick. I shook my head in disgust at what we had become.
I was glad in a way, though. I was going through all this nastiness, but heading somewhere better. At least for now. Home was in a better neighborhood, away from the roads. It was solely a cyclists community, no motor vehicles was the sign posted at every entrance. Once inside the walls of this community, you were free of a large amount of settling blackness. Smells of plant life and remnants of clean air moved slowly throughout the sidewalks here. The only motorized vehicles in here were the electric golf carts ridden by the maintenance crews. And even then, they preferred to tool around on their modified four wheeled man-powered conveyance, the fruity looking double bike with a canopy. I was just waiting, hard, for these to replace cars. Imagine, a world without mechanical status symbols, where people are respected and loved because they deserve to be respected and loved.
The nervousness wasn't settled in completely, I was out of food ration cards and for some reason, I was issued a few extra recreation credits.
For the past couple of years, money had begun to cycle out of the hands of all our citizens. It was that way since Mexico and Canada signed the Union of North America treaties, completely collapsing the dollar worldwide. The lazy bastards kept the dollar sign as the symbol for the Amero. I still haven't gotten used to it, though I've never had a truly firm grasp of our ridiculous economic system. We now ran solely on credits, and the Amero was delivered to the hands of officials only.
I envied the islanders of the Southern Pacific Union, no currency at all. They practiced a learned method. All who were integrated into the society were required to learn several methods of personal betterment. They still had freedoms to learn what they wanted, to be who and what they wanted to be. But they all simply wanted to work for the advancement of human society. Some claim it is because they had been contacted, tapped by an alien species they claim formed our species in the first place. They claimed not to serve the aliens, but to be linked willingly to them, as peaceful cohorts. No one in the UNA really knew how true this was, as any unidentified crafts were destroyed on sight. There hadn't been any in two years now.
It was a sad thing, really. Before the national merger in the East, things were kind of bad, but it seemed they were a bunch of learned folks, keeping up with practical morals. Not these religious angry morals, just the idea that violence begets violence, and the prevalence of kindhearted logic. Just good people all around. And then, in 2007, contact was made. They landed, nicknamed the Yith by the UNA, after some of Lovecraft's transdimensional horrors. True, they bore some slight resemblance to the Yith, but these travelers obviously meant no harm whatsoever. The contact video feeds that leaked through the internet showed a simple meeting and a teaching of peaceful governing among living beings. These videos were censored by the UNA very quickly. Trade ceased with the SPU about a week later. This embargo was followed with news reports claiming the SPU was taken over by aliens, all of the people either killed or turned into mind-slaves by the invaders.
Sitting in my apartment, I wondered how long it would be before our new government took over every aspect of our lives and we were forced to deal with corrupt privatized police forces. It was already being done in the bigger cities. New York City was now pretty much owned by Iron Grade Security Incorporated. Los Angeles was the domain of Vexx Group, and Chicago was an amalgam of crime from all facets. It was the biggest cesspool in the country, every bit of evil had a hand in that cookie jar.
A pounding on my door...
"Gregory Turcotte, open the door."
I looked through the peephole and saw what looked like some of the private police forces. The logo on the uniforms had been ripped off, as well as the name plates. Panicked, I ran to my room to set a message to be delivered to my family and friends in an hour. Before I could finish, my front door exploded inward, crashing against my closet door. Seconds later, I was being dragged into a hover transport.
Confusion sank in. This wasn't a normal hover transport. At least not a normal UNA hover transport. This one was quiet. And I tried to see the smoke pouring out as it burned its fuel, but realized without the usual dirty rumbling, there could be no filthy burning. This transport was electric. And looking at the eyes of one of the unit leaders, I realized I had not been picked up by the UNA. Fear and relief washed through me in tides.
A long and silent trip, I tried to elicit a response from the guards. They remained silent, their inhuman eyes peering out of their faceguards. Yith elites, kidnapping me. Likely for my own good. I had been picked up from my home to be taken somewhere I assumed would be wonderful. I'm still not sure how I feel about what happened since.
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