The smell of poop was slowly being eliminated over the poopless years.
Nuclear acid rain thrashed onto the wide and natural Wuthering Heights moors. I was a native of a special snowflake district, who had lax poop laws and swallowed laxatives, where farmland and poopable areas stretched far into the green meadows, and we could breathe gratefully the organic stalky brush and manure. People of all stripes would march through the wilderness to grab fistfuls of hopefully unpoisoned berries, and possibly die otherwise.
In the morning, my grandpa, after running a wide toothed comb through his endless beard, floated gracefully and with wisdom to a rich tourist's veggie buffet, wrapped in an organic potato sac. Henceforth many tourists threw bananas at him. With agriculturism, many anti corporates strolled through the waist high grass to breathe in the wastelands. Never could they truly commit.
The neighbouring districts would run up to the border and snigger together where we dug holes in the grass, and we would find crude names and large poop emojis marking the walls. They did not understand that we embraced the spirit of Nature. Most were too up their frickin' ass too realise that we were the Chosen Ones in this dystopia.
My starving family and I did a lot of starvey stuff, learning unusual and intricate nano particle sci fi machinery to get basic farming ingredients, because of the upheaval of all normal forms of agriculture. My golden skinned beau Nathaniel huddled into our little cove, that midday, clutching a handful of fruit, and dragging along a deer. They were mostly poisoned. He inexplicably picked some mutant octopus berries, oozing with some purple clot, and it was time to tell him off. He was generally stupid.
I sat with him silently on a tree that was melded into a giraffe in the nuclear wars, and admired his miraculous muscly body as he starved away. Sun light caught the little ab plates, and shone into my eyes. We were both hot as hell. We chatted about being attractive, the deer, and of course, the Coong, a test to determine who had the most resistance to poop. We shivered, as it was soon time for us to go. Often our district was one of the biggest draws, because we defied this the most.
The President was nice and cushy running up 10 stories of his beautiful gold glinty house, where he would freely sit on a golden throne, with a beautful glossy walls, and pictures of hot women, and maybe even an escort following him around to THAT place, gross. But here we are in a shitty field.
The Capitol had never liked FoxPoop. Others looked up to the Capitol.
My mother showed me the poop war landmarks, now rubble and being chewed by doggos. We could tell when evil people were coming by pointing at footprints in the nature's poop.
The kids visited our district, but we couldn't visit theirs. They would say, "HEY FOX POOP." They were so dumb, they literally called all of us Foxpoop, because of where we live. What a lack of imagination. One day, I didn't let that shit slide. I stood up, chest puffed out, looked intensely into their eyes. "YOU BITCH." I said. The other guy was taken aback because a little girl like me had called him something not even his deepest enemies could call him. He was such a pussy, anything to do with female, and he goes beet red. Everyone remembers that day, and are awed, and pat me on the back whenever they remember me calling them a botcch. in fact people have my pretty face as their wallpaper depending on the creepiness quotient of the classmate. I was 5 years younger than my comrades, about 12, so basically raced up the classes because I was too smart for them, because I was le speshul.
Now he public broadcast comes. It's Coong time. Hordes of depressed people are beginning to make their way to the Center, and we follow suit. Up on the podium a smug Gates descendant strokes his dark hair down, and does a toad face, and gets his microphone. Like a lottery draw, a huge bowl of little papers comes swilling up to the stand. A long pause. Someone clearly needs to poop, because I hear a rumble. We don't really care anymore. A 10 minute pause, and finally the man does the Elite signal for poop, and says, "wait a second." He bows, and leaves. Guy clearly is going to poop.
Bill Snake's other offspring nervously swills through the papers, and plucks a little strip out between polished fingers. There is a very tense thing going on. Someone falls to the ground squealing. The entire crowd are waiting. And then, anticlimactic, but irritatingly, the guy farts. We all protest loudly, as the upper class rich business man can fart all they want, wherever they want, even in hot people's faces.
And then comes the name "Agoo Matthias". Everyone gasps, weird name as usual. And there he goes, looking like a dork.
We hear the first guy bumble back to the center, wiping his mouth, clearly had another mayo sandwich. He pauses, and then gunshot toots, farts rapid-fire, and the anguished cries come from the foxpoopman. "Auna...Pondicherry."
I gasp. THE WHOLE WORLD SWIMS, although I was expecting that. Nathaniel plonks onto the floor. I too, am now sitting on the fox shit. Gradually I get to my feet, and Nathaniel courteously helps me up to the stand. Now I stand with two dorks.
Although many of the morons were unenlightened, my family were enlightened. Most did not know the direct link between the President and our current state. It was just said there was an uprising, but I was in one of the few snowflake groups to figure this genius level stuff out. In our house, you could poop freely, however talking about it was becoming a shit-hard task more and more. And I asked my mom, these anti poop drugs made you poop big in the long term? Survival of the fittest, right. My mother told me to shut up right now, in a dramatic voice. IT WAS TOO DANGEROUS. They gave me a small piece of paper, before leaving, and it said, "The Poop Must Not Be Known". It rang in my ears, like dejavu. I look at the scrawl and take a deep breath.
I'm (figuratively) shitting my pants with nerves, but we all gather into the Tuff Train, and a girl called Cait sits next to me and starts boring me to death with talk about her happy go lucky family and how she was from an 'interesting' district and some crap. Gosh, I don't want to talk to you now. You're going to die first. And we trundle on, with Cait the First Death babbling on about how she got her first dog.
We all line up, legs shaking and pile out of the door, and we see the sleek buildings hidden behind the jungles, and make our way through nettles and all kinds of mutated crap. Nathaniel the absolute idiot is super heroic and joined to do the Poop Test, bashing through the doors. He kept reminding me how loyal he is, and I don't respect him bragging. We all follow a couple of poop-hating men, probably with everything a little clogged up, to start the walk-through.
