February 4th, A-220
Or as I learned today, 800 years after George Washington was first elected President of the United States of America, or the Republic of the People, as it's called today. Honestly I'm surprised that we've lasted this long. There was always talk about the world ending, there are hundreds of instances that they've taught us in the Learning Institute. I'm not only surprised that the world hasn't ended, but I'm especially surprised that humanity hasn't wiped itself out. The leaders that people have elected in the past were so wrong. Adolf Hitler, Donald Trump, Hope Wilson, Marin Wonders, X-228467, you name it. So many leaders who did so many painful things. That's why we changed our election system. People's brains are scanned and the lead computer picks who leads. No campaigns, no election, the computer just chooses. And she's never let us down. She chooses the right person every time, although usually they're accidentally assassinated by some Gunarm at a rally. Most facilities have learned to sit the GA's in the pod, but some are just so against discrimination. Those damn GA lovers always say "it's the blacks all over again, it's wrong," but black people never harmed anyone. GA's are all so malicious and how the hell could they be no harm to us when they have weapons for arms? Whatever. They're a danger. That'll never change.
Signing off,
Bradley 407 Simpson
"Honey?" My mom had silently pushed my door open and was leaning her slim form against the white wooden door frame.
I looked up from my holo-screen. "Yeah, mum?"
"The rations are here."
"Thanks mum, I'll be right down. Just finishing my mandatory journal entry for today."
She nodded her head at me and I heard her high-heels clicking down the stairs.
I minimized my holo-screen, pushed the chair back under the desk, and went downstairs, locking my door in the process.
I walked in to my father, sister, and mother already half-done with their rations. With my head down, I walked over to the tray, picked up my ration, and walked over to my spot at the table. When I set my plate down, it moved the white tablecloth so that there was an airspace between the cloth and the table. I picked up my plate, straightened out the cloth, and set my plate back onto the deep blue cloth placemat.
The ration looked like some kind of meat, yet it was almost standing in a heap that was about the height and width of my fist. A minimal serving of some kind of leafy green sat beside it. I picked up my fork and took a bite of the tasteless, meaty substance. The room was silent other than the clinking of forks against plates and the occasional cough from my father.
Through the painful silence, I finished my rations and put down my fork. I walked over to the metal coat hanger by the front door and put my brown coat over my black t-shirt. The fur on its hood tickled my neck. "I'm gonna go out and see Connor at the rec center."
My dad looked up at me quizzically, his eyebrow arched. "Which one is that?"
I sighed. "Sorry, I'm going to go and see 405 at the rec center." I forgot that my dad had never met Connor and therefore didn't know his nickname.
His eyebrows went back to a neutral position as he nodded at me and picked up my dish and his, making his way towards the dish cleaner. "Alright, you have fun."
I nodded, and putting my right hand in my pocket, walked out and shut the door with my left. I immediately saw a GA sitting, leaning on the baby blue wooden wall of a house across the street. She had a wool, flannel-patterned blanket around her legs and an army jacket wrapped around her one good shoulder. Her other shoulder was so bruised that you'd think that she had a black and blue cloth over it. GA's shoulders are dislocated every time they shoot, and they have to put their shoulder back in place themselves. I could not see her gun arm, but it was evident that she had taken it off and put it under her blanket. Her right arm had a screw coming out of her shoulder, where the gun arm would be if she had it on. The only way to identify a GA who is walking with their gun arm on would be to check for gloves. GAs were not allowed to show the end of the barrel that slightly protruded from their palm in public places. It was not a safety precaution, only a precaution for modesty. The only other way to identify a GA was to look and see if one of their arms looks painfully straight and their shoulder is bruised and/or swollen. It was pretty obvious who was a GA and who wasn't, as they all had the most pitiful faces. I looked at the GA across the street a second time, avoided eye contact, and walked down the street towards the rec center.
The rec center was a one-story building with grey, faux rock-wall paneling about 4 feet up the wall, and then oak-colored planks the rest of the way up the outside wall. On the inside, the walls were a clean white color and the lobby furniture was a forest green. I turned left into a white-tiled hallway and looked in the game rooms until I saw Connor playing hover-pool with a computer. I smiled at the sight of him. "Hey lonely, need someone to actually give you a challenge?"
He smiled and hit the ball. It hit two others, causing them both to go into seperate nets, causing him to win the game. "Well hello to you, too."
I walked over to him, laughing. I hugged his shoulder and kissed the top of his head. "Hey, babe."
