When Challenging Perceptions

Log #3

August 3, 2105, 10 AM

This is one of the rare times I actually wake up with assistance from the alarm system. "Good morning, Number Two-Two-Four-Five," greets AI. This is your reminder that today is His Day, and you must be ready at the entrance by 11 AM."

"Yes," I say with a yawn.

"Sir, are you feeling okay? My sensors indicate that you appear to be fatigued."

"I'm fine, AI. Thank you."

Truthfully, I didn't sleep very well. Last night, I dreamt that I had decided to journey out to the Colonies. If anything, it was out of sheer curiosity to see how things were going. The city looked just as decrepit and unsatisfying as it was in my youth. 

In the dream, I met a boy who looked exactly like me. He sat on the side of the road with a suitcase next to him. When I asked him why he had it, he looked up at me with those dark brown eyes and said, "I was kicked out." The boy had wanted to leave this desolate city in search of a better life and was cast out. 

Admittedly, it's here then I begin to think about how my family felt about me leaving. I had no choice, of course. Were I to stay, I would have been miserable, just like everyone else there. At the time, I thought I was justified, but now, I can't help but wonder.

After a quick shower, given that we are heading outside for His Day, I decide to eat as quickly as I can. A bunch of men are quickly eating bowls of cold cereal. Somehow, the scene reminds me of a child eating something before going to catch the school bus. Among them are Citizens #4503 and #5821. Now that I think about it, perhaps it would be easier to ascribe names to them. Let's call them Brian and Jason. Brian is #4503, and Jason is #5821.

When they see me, the men smile, looking up from their bowls. "Morning, Brother," Jason greets first, "Did you sleep well?"

"I wish I had."

"Anything you want to get off your chest?" Brian asks this time.

"No," I answer, "I'll be fine. I just need some fresh air. Perhaps a good outside workout will do the trick. With that, I sit at the table, where a bowl of cereal and milk rises through it. Beside the bowl is a small cup of fruit. I make quick work of the cereal and leave the fruit.

Ten minutes to 11, we line up at the front door. Most of us talk amongst ourselves about plans regarding the upcoming Selection. Once the clock strikes 11 AM, our instructor, #1000, opens the double doors. He stands, tall and imposing. His complexion is dark, and his countenance is hard. Perhaps the man worked as a drill sergeant or a truant officer. "Alright, Brothers," he calls, "We'll be heading outside today. We'll start with a brisk jog around the facility to wake you up."

Many of us don't raise a fuss. We walk in single file through the double doors. Before long, only about twenty of us stand in front of #1000. 

"First group," he orders, "Start running. You have a ten-second head-start. Next group, you'll be following their lead. Ready...  set..."

The whistle blows, and though it's only a jog, many of us sprint off as though we are doing 100m races. Only after the ten-second headstart, and everyone is running together, do we slow down. #1000 runs alongside us, rather than leading the pack. If any of us slows down, he eases back and encourages them to keep running.

Part of the way into the run, we pass the gate separating the Colonies and the facility. Today, the city seems to be quiet. Maybe it is because everyone is in school or at work right now. Unlike us, many of them have foregone things like government outreach and such. They prefer to handle things by themselves. In a sense, they are "Individuals" who like to be in control of their own lives. Still, I can't help but find the sight depressing.