The Art of Expression

Chapter Three

Here's chapter three I hope you like it. I'm working on making chapters longer and I'm also writing this to improve my writing skills and grammar.

. . . . . NOT EDITED . . . . .

Carol worked at the Rations Service. I wanted to talk to her more about her life in our society and her views on our government, so I headed with her to her shift. I have never been to the Ration Station before, my parents are the ones who get our material for the week. I never get to ask my parents about rations, or anything really. They have to work exactly twenty hours each day for their assigned office jobs. That's how it is for everyone over nineteen in our country. That will be me next year and I'm scared out of my mind. I don't want to be stuck in a paper-shuffling, boxed in office job.

We headed down Street Eight towards the innermost point of the city. The Rations Service was attached to the capital, probably so they could monitor every action. The external view of the building looked identical to the rest around it, but the inside was remarkably different. The floors were covered in white tiles and white shelves lined clean walls. There were plastic bins occupying each shelf. In the middle of the room were multiple rows of moving contraptions ending at a worker holding a small box.

"I work over here," she directed me to the others holding boxes. We walked over to an empty machine.

"So what exactly happens here? Besides giving people their weekly necessities,"

"Well, the workers load up those plastic bins on the shelves. They have a list of things to put in them, it's the same stuff every time. Someone from each family grabs a bin and takes it up here," Carol points to where she works with the machines. "We check the boxes to make sure they didn't talk any extra goods. After we have to scan their Ration Card so we will know when they get there weekly bins. We mostly have the cards so no one can take extra bins."

"Oh, that makes sense. What happens to all the bins when a family finishes?"

"Right, the bins. Well everyone is supposed to put it out by their house number sometime during the week."

"What happens to the bins?"

"They are brought back here, power washed, and then put with the rest of the plastic bins. It's just a long, simple cycle really."

As Carol continued to talk about her work here, bodies started filing through the doors. They all stayed in a neat line and grabbed one bin after another. They kept walking across the room until they came to the workers. One by one they placed their rations on the machines and swiped their cards. After everyone had left workers came out of another set of doors and placed new bins on the shelves. Undoing what the consumers had done seconds before. That was the creepiest thing I have ever seen. If I thought everyone looked like clones outside, this was worse, way worse. Nothing like setting a foot in here to snap myself back to reality.

I turned to Carol, "Is that how it is everyday?"

"Yes, dear. They walk through that way every time and the same people come on each specific day of the week. The same group comes through each Monday, the same goes for Tuesday and everyday after that."

"I thought everything outside was bad, look at this!"

Carol stared passed me, looking towards the door, "It's still bad out there, just bigger. Less noticeable, to say the least."

I wanted to talk to someone about this, but Dakota would probably say something about how great our leaders are to do this for us. She would tell me that I am so under appreciative of our government. I would roll my eyes and she would storm away from me. Brandon would sulk in the corner because it would remind him of Brianna. He would still probably defend Dakota, he likes her better anyway. Dakota, Brandon, and Brianna were always a close group throughout our childhood and I was just the girl who hung around them. That's why Dakota thinks she can bring up Brianna and I can't. At least I want to do something about what happened to my closest friend, but Dakota is still head over heels, in love with the way our government runs this society.

I can't talk to my parents about it they would tell me to shove it. Their best advice would be to keep my head down and follow orders from those above us. I know they're my parents, but they are weak. They have no opinions and can't think for themselves. If I ever got into any kind of trouble they would say they don't know me or worse, that I am a disappointment and they want nothing to do with me. I could deal with them saying they don't know me, I understand. Who wants to be executed because a family member did something the government doesn't agree with?

I've been talking to Carol for over an hour and have learned quite a bit about her. She has a daughter named Emilia who works in a government position, unlike Carol who worked in an office her entire adult life. Her husband had left her to go to the capital. He left because he thought she was planning something against our government. He is now in jail because you are not allowed to leave, ever. He also attacked a city guard trying to leave, so that contributed to his jail sentence. Carol told me that he has probably been put to death by now because so many people get arrested, the public just never finds out. There are so many things the officers will take you away for, not wearing the full or correct uniform or adding accessories not part of the daily uniform. You can also be arrested if you refuse to work, take extra rations, or even if you look at the officers in a "disrespectful" manor, as they would put it.

I wonder what I could get away with in my lifetime, probably nothing. Everything and everyone are being watched, but our leaders wouldn't tell us that. Would they?

I HOPE YOU LIKED IT! I'm going to try to add a new chapter AT LEAST once a week.

PLEASSEEEE comment. I want feedback, no one is reading this but.............

LIKE COMMENT FOLLOW