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#1  Working Class Hero
07-07-2007
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 Join Date: Dec 2009 Location: existence
Posts: 1,992
| Got a new story to go on. It may be a short story, depending on how far I decide to indulge. It's much darker than any previous work, and will have some very black humor. Lots of satire here, too. I'm playing with the title, but I've settled on "Working Class Hero" for now. Here's the introduction/chapter 1 (unfinished/unrefined) Quote: | Working Class Hero
A child is born, its name of no concern. The doctors thank the mother, the father of no concern. It’s their first child . they had to meet quota. The child was given a number . its identity, the only record of its existence.
The father, the one of no concern, holds his wife, once tear-filled, now a waterfall, in his arms. Collectively they sulk, horrified at themselves. They loved children, but never could bare the thought of raising a child . not in this world. It would be cruel, evil, to knowingly create a machine, to not have your own child, just its slowly self hollowing shell.
This child was especially unfortunate . or perhaps more fortunate than others. The child underwent tests and examination to document its biological make-up and determine its health. The infant on the table next to the child’s name of no concern was diagnosed with mild chemical imbalances that . scientists “proved” . cause mental illness. It was extinguished.
The Machine passed regulations on child development; if a newborn falls below set standards it is ruled unsuitable for life. These regulations stated that if the child has no documentation, no perceptions, and no personality or self-awareness, then it is no more human that it were as an egg-penetrating sperm.
Pre-birth abortions are illegal and severely punished. Procreation is law, post-birth abortion did not, as thought, rid disease; a medical researcher and doctor, whose name is of no concern, calculated and hypothesized an exponential population plummet. The doctor informed the receptionist at D.C.’s front desk, begging to warn a Component . one of the parts, like a bolt, to the Machine. The receptionist notified a superior, playing girlishly with her blonde curls. The doctor was directed to a room, its number of no concern. Inside waited two tools . the instruments that tighten up loose screws, the same instruments used for disassembly. The doctor was extinguished, the receptionist too. At the front desk sits a fair young lady, fiddling with blonde curls.
Since then, all marriages were connected with a quota equivalent to your class . the range your financial status suffices for. Regardless of status, one child must be bore. It’s never been determined when the Machine assimilated Hollywood; it was gradual and perpetually appealing. Perhaps it’s always been controlled. This integration allowed more influence on socially controlling the population’s ‘ideal life,’ one which requires true love, a house and family. What began as manipulation has become intimidation, selling the dream turned reality. There were no more dreams.
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Comments appreciated.
Last edited by NiceGuy; 09-26-2007 at 04:41 PM..
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