The Greater Good

By Seth Daniel Parker

What happens when the United States collapses, and two new countries emerge, each embracing opposing and dangerous collectivist ideologies?

Enter a bleak future stemming from total economic collapse, where America has been ripped in two by ideological warfare and the erosion of traditional values. Despite a pea

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seth Daniel Parker
• Release date: Mar 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988091318

Book preview

THE GREATER GOOD

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THE BOOK OF UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES.

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SETH DANIEL PARKER

Copyright

Copyright © 2023 by Seth Daniel Parker

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contact the author:

[e-mail]

www.sethdanielparker.com

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 979-8-9880913-1-8

PART ONE

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WELCOME TO ENLIGHTENMENT

CHAPTER 1

What’s there to say? America’s gone to Hell and taken the whole damned world with it. Well, in that regard, I suppose there’s much to say to one who wasn’t there to experience the events unfold for themselves. But how can I, one who is neither a prolific writer nor a masterful teller of stories, be expected to tell a tale that all who lived it wish to forget?

Nevertheless, recounting the history of America’s downfall as told by those who lived through it is a daunting and somber duty that rests squarely upon my shoulders, and where better to start our history than at the beginning? Surely, no better place exists, but as I have a reputation for being quite unreasonable, I shall continue my life of obstinance and begin our story where it nearly ends . . .

It was a Friday in the dead of summer, though I’m unsure of the precise month. Without going into too much detail now, let’s just say that things have been hectic since 33 men in beige jumpsuits stepped from a windowless black bus and into the designated area of a windowless garage.

The men lined up as directed inside the red lines, silently awaiting further orders. A door in front of them swung open loudly to reveal a tall, rugged man in his fifties with deep-set, fiery brown eyes ablaze. He was slender but not too thin, and he had short but thick red hair that showed signs of graying. He donned a standard-issue Blue uniform—gray with silver buttons and blue accents—while his three-star shoulder boards signified that he was a figure of great importance, the likes of which most commoners never had the opportunity to meet in person. He had a commanding presence that screamed former military; he carried himself with a sort of hard-hearted arrogance and growled with an educated but slow and deliberate Southern drawl.

Surveying the 33 men with the intensity of someone gauging their very souls, he clasped his hands behind his back and barked, Well, hellfire, shit, piss, and damn, boys! This is it! Welcome to the Center for Freedom and Enlightenment. Everyone calls me the Warden, but don’t be alarmed—it’s merely an earned title that reflects my unwavering commitment to duty and zero tolerance for bullshit.

The Warden began to pace, his heavy boots resonating throughout the garage as he scrutinized the men. He then launched into a speech that had clearly been delivered countless times before. "You’ve all made a mistake of some sort, and the first step to correcting that mistake is to accept responsibility for it, which you’ve all done. Congratulations—truly. The next step is to atone for those sins by walking the path to enlightenment and renewing your commitment to yourself, your community, the State, and the Great Mother. That’s what you’ll do here.

"Now, I know that some of you may have questions or feel overwhelmed and uncertain of the future, but there’s no cause for concern. You’re about to enter what we call Progressive Transformation. Think of it like a temporary home that will help you adjust to your new surroundings. Despite what you may have heard, within these walls, there are no locked doors, cells, guns, guards, or anything of the sort. You’ll be provided with a fantastic buffet of food and drink, and you’ll have perfect freedom to move about and use your time as you see fit.

"You’ll notice we have not taken away your phones. Those of you who aren’t too ashamed of your failure to society are welcome to call anyone you like. There is only one rule in Progressive Transformation: obey. Do that, and we’ll get along just fine.

Gentlemen, I am but a humble servant of the USA, one who has dedicated his life to the Great Mother, and I pray to Her every night that She may continue to bless us all with unending strength and courage in our noble pursuit of the greater good. As such, it’s my job and personal mission to help each and every one of you serve the State in the manner that best suits your abilities and ensure that your time with me ultimately ends in absolute enlightenment. Follow me.

The Warden opened the door and ushered the 33 men into Progressive Transformation. The luxurious atmosphere was far from anything they had ever experienced back home. The interior was spacious and dark, yet soothing, and complemented by warm wooden accents that instantly put the men at ease.

The interior was laid out in the shape of a T. A long hallway with rooms on both sides offered each man his own small but comfortable quarters, complete with a closet and private bathroom. Queen-sized beds with plush mattresses, bedding, and pillows added to the luxurious ambiance.

The Warden encouraged the men to take a few minutes to inspect their new sleeping quarters before leading them to the cross of the T, which he called the Observatory. This expansive room with soaring 15-foot ceilings was open from end to end and filled with various entertainment options—pool tables, televisions, and video games. To the left, a dining table fit for the grandest of kings overflowed with enough food to feed 150 people.

The centerpiece, however, the focal point that captivated everyone, was what the Warden referred to as the mural. This enormous glass window stretched the entire length of the long wall, from floor to ceiling. Beyond the mural lay a breathtaking landscape featuring rolling hills in the foreground, a forest in the distance, and majestic mountains reaching for the sky. The scene was so enchanting that even the most talented painters would have struggled to envision it.

Gathering the men’s attention, the Warden approached the mural and said,Gentlemen, all of this is yours. Eat until you’re content, play until you’re tired, and sleep until you’re rested. Enjoy the weekend! If you need anything, there’ll be a couple of custodians roaming the halls for your protection, but otherwise, I’ll see you again on Sunday, when, together, we’ll walk the path to enlightenment.

CHAPTER 2

As a reader with limited knowledge of the events I’ve described thus far, you may have questions like, What’s a Blue? or Who’s the Great Mother? As you continue reading, you might encounter situations that leave you questioning the plausibility or truth of my words. Rest assured, everything will be revealed in due time, and many questions will answer themselves. However, before we delve into those answers, it’s crucial that we not bury the events of the first fateful Sunday any deeper in these pages than necessary, as they set the stage for the events that changed the world.

For now, it’s essential to understand that the people of Thomas’ time were quite different from the generations before and after them. The traditional nuclear family had nearly vanished, succumbing to relentless attacks on the archaic institution in favor of a more modern and empowered lifestyle marked by promiscuous solitude. On the rare occasion that people did marry and were approved or required to have children, the family represented little more than a loveless, temporary living arrangement.

In essence, the people were disinterested, detached, and apathetic beings who cared little for the individual but felt a profound sense of duty to society and the greater good. It might sound extreme, but a man could come home and ask his child to help fix a broken taillight, and rather than helping, the child would report the father for driving with a busted taillight. While other generations might find such behavior appalling, the father would likely not be upset. Instead, he would thank the child for their commitment to the greater good.

Enlightenment centers, created as alternatives to prisons, emerged from this deep-rooted sense of duty. Their purpose was to rehabilitate those who had committed crimes against society and find ways to reintegrate them positively in the future. Yet, their inner workings remained shrouded in mystery. The public held a faint conception that the centers were beneficial, but few commoners concerned themselves with the criminals’ fates, as long as they believed the centers had a net positive impact on society—a notion reinforced by countless studies.

For the 33 men, theory had just become a reality. They, who’d been filled with quiet anxiety before, now exuded nervous excitement regarding their new home. They were noticeably more talkative and curious, and they quickly lined up to fill their plates with food from the rare feast—all except for Thomas, that is.

A lean and athletic 24-year-old, Thomas was an impeccably groomed young man fresh out of college and ready to begin his assigned career. His dark hair was long and combed back on top but trimmed closely on the sides, and he had a masterfully manicured beard. His eyes were a handsome shade of blue that seemed to glimmer with excitement and curiosity, and his large, dark-framed eyeglasses accentuated them perfectly. His charming smile and infectious energy matched his confident demeanor and made him a favorite among his classmates.

Thomas did have faults, though. He was mightily stubborn, had a quick temper, and always considered himself the most intelligent person in the room. Because of that, he tended to be impatient and condescending. According to his classmates, his short fuse often clouded his judgment. One such classmate said, His emotional compass doesn’t always point North.

He was involved in many extracurricular activities; spoke often about society, public affairs, and politics; and had a reputation as a quick-witted and fierce debater. To his delight, that body of work garnered the attention of all the right people, putting him in line for higher-tier jobs and, most importantly, putting him on an accelerated path toward becoming the one thing he always wanted to be: a Blue.

The moment Thomas was convicted—wrongfully, mistakenly, and unfairly, he would add—all of that went away. The Thomas of today, the day I’ve chosen to begin our history, bitterly resented his new circumstances. His appearance was disheveled, walking with his head down and shoulders drooped. His glasses were broken at the nose and hastily repaired with white tape, dulling the glimmer in his eyes, and his once-signature smile had faded in favor of a permanent scowl.

There was no greater cause of shame than being convicted of a crime against society, and facts be damned, conviction alone was enough to completely disgust the offender’s entire social circle, leaving him ostracized from everyone he’d ever known.

Thomas’ circle was no different. His parents and classmates refused to speak with him, his coworkers sent him awful messages—none of which need to be repeated—and he’d lost all hope in pursuing a meaningful life of service to society.

Never expecting to find himself inside one, Thomas had always believed that commoners who were sent to enlightenment centers may as well have been dead. They were forgotten about as fast as they were sentenced. They were like an old classmate who moved away, never to cross one’s mind again until, 10 or 20 years later, some random thought stirred a memory. Then, and only for the briefest of moments, one would think, Oh, yes! I wonder what happened to so-and-so? I should send him a message or give him a call and see what he’s up to these days. But they never would make that call or send that message. The phone would ring, or their favorite TV show would come on, or some other distraction would do as it was meant to do, and all good intentions would follow the old memory into the depths of their consciousness.

Such was Thomas’ fate in an enlightenment center: forgotten. Wouldn’t death be preferable to insignificance? he began wondering. Thomas would never become a Blue, and he most certainly would never be remembered by history as someone who changed the world. Considering his short but exemplary record of service, he felt as if society, the society he’d devoted his life to serving, cruelly turned its back on him when he needed it most, and his once-promising future had been stolen from him. That’s what ate at his conscience, and that theft fueled the bitter resentment that oozed from every pore as he sat silently and alone in an armchair by the mural.

The Warden observed the men for some time before turning to leave but stopped when he noticed Thomas. The Warden approached him, startling Thomas as he emerged from the deep thoughts that held his senses hostage, then asked, What’s your name, son?

Thomas, sir, he replied, feigning confidence.

Thomas, I’ve met more people than you can imagine, and I’ve become one hell of a judge of character. I study each face that steps off of that bus, and I know, without exception, who’ll be valuable additions to this facility and our future plans, just as I know who’ll never be anything but drains upon society. But you, young man, you’re unlike anyone who’s ever walked these halls. I noticed it when you got off that bus, and I can see it now, just underneath that broken shell you’re wearing. I’m perfectly confident that I can mold you into a great man, and if you play your cards right, we just might see you in a Blue uniform one day. Would you like that, Thomas?

Thomas sat up straight and, with a touch of real confidence this time, said, Yes, sir. More than you can imagine.

Good. Enjoy the weekend. Sunday, you’ll walk the path to enlightenment with the others, but your path is filled with potential, where theirs . . . well, theirs isn’t. I’ll see you soon.

Yes, sir. Thank you for your service, sir.

Thomas was taken aback by the Warden’s tone and phrasing, but the burgeoning thought that his life might somehow have meaning once more quickly overcame his concern. With a friend like the Warden, becoming a Blue was not only a possibility but was also within reach. For the first time in weeks, Thomas smiled, and for the first time since his arrest, Thomas had hope.

He turned back to the mural and gazed into the scene, losing himself in thought once more as he remembered the Warden’s encouraging words. Although a normal man may have been little affected by the exchange, a man like Thomas, a man whose emotional compass didn’t always point North, was so profoundly affected that he immediately developed an unnatural sense of paternalistic affection toward the Warden. Following his arrest, he had felt isolated and abandoned by society, shunned by his parents, and forgotten by the State, so the drowning Thomas violently clung to the first hand offered to him.

When Thomas was convicted, he simply hoped to bide his time until the State realized its mistake and freed him, but now, he saw every move as an opportunity to further his dreams of becoming a Blue—for society’s benefit, of course. The problem, though, was that Thomas had never before been taught by the teacher named failure. As the broken Thomas spent hours by the mural and hours more lying in bed that night trying to fuse his shattered psyche with misguided hope and dubious possibility, he had no understanding of how to do so. In other words, he had all the raw materials but lacked the proper tools. As is often the case in such situations, his new identity was chaotic and distorted, a little more Picasso than da Vinci, or some may argue, his transformation left him a little more Mr. Hyde than Dr. Jekyll.

Saturday morning, Thomas emerged from his room poorly rested, agitated, and hungry. He’d spent all night wrapped up in his own head, conjuring up hundreds of different scenarios that might play out over the weekend and making a plan for each one until, ultimately, he had no doubt that he’d accounted for every possibility, all of which ended with him wearing a Blue uniform.

Pleased with his efforts, Thomas went to the dining table, filled a plate, took some water, and returned to his familiar seat by the mural, but he barely touched any of it, instead choosing to lose himself in thought again. Thomas considered himself a great judge of character, just like the Warden, and throughout the day on Saturday, his only objective was to watch the other men. They stuffed their faces with food, they were loud, they drank too much alcohol, and they acted like uncivilized animals. The more he observed them, the more he understood they were nothing but hindrances to his renewed goal of becoming a Blue. And that was simply unacceptable.

He impatiently watched as they talked over each other and insulted one another like children. In time, he noted how they divided into cliques and how the stronger bullied the weaker as boredom overtook those who grew restless at the thought of being trapped indoors indefinitely.

What base and primitive creatures they become! he thought.

The more closely he examined the men, the more he began to see them for what they were: beneath him. He listened as they told fabricated stories, lied about their innocence, and ignorantly voiced their incorrect opinions on society and the world around them. Yes, the more Thomas studied the men, one thing became overwhelmingly clear: he hated them. Each and every one.

The Warden was right, he admitted to himself. They’re all fucking morons.

Satisfied with his conclusion, he took a sip of water and noticed a slight change in the atmosphere.

Is that . . . Beethoven? he wondered, hearing soft music playing in the background for the first time since he’d arrived. Oh, yes, I remember this. Sonata quasi una fantasia. I’ll bet these simpletons wouldn’t know Beethoven if he hit them in the head with a piano. I’ll bet they’re the type that think Handel is a bottle of whiskey and Chopin is something you do while cooking. Hm.

Thomas shook his head in resigned disapproval while Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata enveloped him in its melody. Closing his eyes, he sank into his embrace of his armchair and fell into the clutches of sleep.

Thomas was in the midst of a blissful nap that had lasted nearly 2 hours when his peaceful slumber was rudely interrupted. A loud crash and a roar of cheers jolted him awake, and he sprang to his feet, bewildered and disoriented. As his vision cleared, he saw a man lying on top of a broken chair, triumphantly clutching a loaf of bread between his forearm and bicep.

Thomas watched in silent disgust as the man jumped up and excitedly questioned the others around him. Did I get two feet in? he asked. Did I? That’s a touchdown! That’s game! The balding 40-something-year-old man spoke with a Southern accent that was becoming all too familiar to Thomas. The man was fairly fat and of average height, and he wore a big, goofy smile that Thomas instantly despised. The man threw his hands in the air and bounced a few times, moving surprisingly well for his size, when someone in the crowd finally said, Yeah, you got it, Joe Bob.

Hell, yeah! he exclaimed as he spiked the loaf onto the ground, then pointed toward the man who had passed it to him. I’ll tell you what, I coulda sworn you was the GOAT out there. Hell, Tom Brady himself couldn’t have put a tighter spiral on that thing!

Joe Bob tossed the loaf back to the crowd, watching them fight over it, then saw Thomas out of the corner of his eye and added, Hey, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. Are we bothering you?

Thomas clenched his jaw, holding back the scathing words that threatened to spill out of his mouth. There was little point in confrontation with less than 24 hours until the path to enlightenment. With a deep breath, he turned away and started towards his room, craving the solace of silence and contemplation.

As he walked by, Joe Bob raised his eyebrows and sarcastically quipped, Okay, then. Good talk, buddy. Thomas ignored him, too consumed by his own thoughts to dignify the comment with a response.

Thomas spent the evening and night in his room, pacing back and forth with restless excitement. It felt like he had already won the lottery and was just mere hours away from collecting his prize. Every passing minute only added to his anticipation, fueling his desire to walk the path to enlightenment with the Warden.

CHAPTER 3

The savory aroma of sausage, eggs, and biscuits wafted through the hallways like a familiar friend, beckoning guests to start their day. Although no alarms had sounded, the guests were already awake and buzzing with excitement for what lay ahead. As they filed into the Observatory and filled their plates, a sense of gravity hung in the air, grounding their emotions and clearing their thoughts.

Something was different this morning. The stunning hillside view commanded their attention, drawing all eyes to its breathtaking beauty. Typically, guests would sit wherever they pleased, but today, the view compelled them to gather together and take it all in.

The weather was nothing short of magnificent. The morning fog lifted to reveal brilliant blue skies and fluffy white clouds hovering above distant mountaintops. Warm sunlight kissed the nearby field of wheatgrass, casting a golden glow that seemed almost otherworldly. The mural earned its name that morning.

As the 33 guests settled in to enjoy their breakfast, they did so with a sense of quiet reverence. An unspoken understanding passed between them—this moment was important, and they enjoyed it in silence.

For 15 minutes, there was peaceful serenity, a beautiful silence that no one wanted to be the first to break. That is, until Joe Bob stood up and said, Well, that’s about enough of that shit! Will somebody talk, dammit? Y’all are driving me nuts! It ain’t a damn funeral for cryin’ out loud. Laughter filled the room, and the mood returned to normal.

Still finishing his meal in the armchair by the mural, Thomas noticed another change in the music to go along with the change in mood. He knew it was Strauss but couldn’t recollect the title immediately. He thought and thought . . . it was on the tip of his tongue as it played for 4 or 5 minutes. And then, he remembered.

Ah! Tod und Verklärung! That’s it! Such a beautiful piece. I wonder if the Warden selects the music here . . . Whoever it is has excellent taste.

Some of the other 32 guests split into groups to talk about the path to enlightenment, while others, including Thomas, went back for a second or third plate. The near side of the buffet had been picked over, so Thomas wandered to the far end, scanning for untapped dishes. That’s when he noticed it—a sight so rare and precious that it almost seemed like a mirage: steak. It was authentic steak, too, not some mass-produced imitation that commoners were stuck with back home.

Steak and eggs! This place is sensational. It’s no wonder so much of society’s scum choose enlightenment over Serenity by Cessation, Thomas thought as he reached down for the perfectly cooked and seasoned slices of steak but stopped just short of stabbing them with his steely fork.

There was just one problem. Years before, commoners had been permanently prohibited from buying steak, ground beef, milk, leather, and any other product derived from cows. Only Blues were allowed to indulge in such luxuries. But no Blue had explicitly given him permission to partake in the succulent steak below his fork. Even though he desired to be a Blue more than anything else, he wasn’t one yet. So, he stood above the steak, crippled by indecision.

Is it supposed to be here? Thomas wondered. It’s such a small portion. Surely it wasn’t meant for everyone. Why did no one else eat it? Did they not see it? Or . . . is this a test? That’s it. That’s more likely. This is the first test of enlightenment! It is Sunday, after all. The Warden wants to see if I have what it takes to be a Blue.

The longer Thomas stood there, the more confident he became that he should resist the temptation of the steak. He reasoned that it had to be a test, and there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. He reminded himself that today was about enlightenment, not a selfish desire and that he could wait until the day he became a Blue to indulge in such luxuries.

However, Thomas was never one to leave questions unanswered and wondered what might happen if someone ate the forbidden steak. Curiosity got the better of him, but he didn’t want to put himself at risk. Instead, he decided to manufacture a test subject and observe the consequences of their actions.

I’m no idiot, but of the other 32, you can surely guess who is: Joe Bob. King of the blind and devil of the divine! If there’s anyone here that would eat the steak that’s mine, it’ll surely be that witless swine! Wait, did I just make all that rhyme?

Thomas chuckled, pleased with his own wit. He walked up to Joe Bob in a very friendly manner but got right to the point.

Joe Bob, did you see that steak over there? Thomas asked as he pointed toward the end of the table.

Steak? As in, real steak? From a cow? Are you sure? I ain’t had no steak in years. Man, back before Demarcation, we used to grill out all the time. I made the best damned marinade you’ve ever had. I’d put these huge sirloins that we got from the local ranch in a bag and let ’em soak for about 24 hours. God, I loved the smell of charcoal firing up on a hot summer afternoon with a cold-ass beer in my hand. That meant suppertime was gonna be great.

For the first time since Thomas had met him on the bus, Joe Bob had lost that goofy, unwavering smile that Thomas had learned to hate so much over the last 24 hours and continued soberly, But that was a long time ago. I sure do miss those days. I don’t even think I can recall what a steak tastes like anymore.

Thomas, taken aback by this sentimental side of Joe Bob, replied, It’s real steak, I’m certain of it. It looks and smells delicious. I’d eat some myself, of course, but it doesn’t agree with my stomach, so I thought I’d make sure someone else knew about it and could enjoy it instead.

For a brief moment, Thomas reconsidered his plan until, Oh, there it is, you big lug. That stupid smile is back. The thought of eating my steak is too much for you, isn’t it? I almost felt bad. Almost. Full speed ahead.

Man, Joe Bob said. That sucks for you. It don’t do nothing to my belly but fill it up. I suppose I wouldn’t mind partaking in a little bit. How much is left?

I don’t think it’s been touched. There’s enough to feed two or three men.

Are we allowed to eat it?

I don’t see why not. It’s on the table with the rest of the food, and no one told us that we couldn’t, did they?

That’s a damn fine point, sir, and I don’t intend to argue with it. If it ain’t supposed to be there, I don’t guess they’ll make that mistake again, now, will they?

Thomas smiled and said, I guess not. If you decide to get any, let me know how it is, would you?

Joe Bob answered, 10-4. I’ll be honest with you, man, I didn’t think you liked nobody. You’ve sat over there in that armchair all weekend and I haven’t seen you talk. Me and the boys was beginning to think you was . . . you know . . . a little . . . slow or something. He walked off to join two of his friends.

Slow?! Thomas exclaimed to himself. No, Joe Bob, appearances can be deceiving. I’m like an airplane crossing the sky, moving near the speed of sound, but you trot along the ground ignorantly commenting about how slowly I cross the evening sky!

Thomas let out an exasperated snort through his nose, visibly disgusted. After a minute or so, the three men approached the table. They divided the steak among themselves, piling the rest of their plates with eggs and potatoes before settling at a spacious dining table near the buffet.

Come sit with us, buddy! Joe Bob urged.

Sure, Thomas replied. But it wasn’t out of kindness that he joined them. Rather, he wanted a front-row seat to witness the spectacle. He sat across from the men, soaking in every moment as if it were a movie with a spectacular, though unknown, twist ahead. They sat in ignorant bliss, surrounded by mountains of food and rivers of drink, laughing and joking to the point of obnoxiousness. However, the longer they ate without consequence, the more Thomas grew angry, realizing that punishment may not be on the breakfast menu.

Soon, Thomas’ attitude toward his little test changed dramatically. Once he learned there were no consequences to eating the steak, and seeing that it was gone, his initial curiosity quickly turned to malignant indignation. He felt as though he’d been robbed.

Look at these Neanderthals! They don’t even have the decency to chew with their mouths closed! They smack loudly when they’re silent and spit bits of food everywhere when they’re talking! Did they not learn proper manners as children? You don’t have to eat the table clean! There’s always more food tomorrow, you fools.

Each bite the men took only infuriated Thomas more. One of them—Thomas didn’t recall his name but remembered that he was a Russian emigrant—downed four consecutive shots of vodka and quickly became a blubbering drunk, covering his bushy beard in bits of food with every mouthful.

Enough for a snack tonight! Thomas thought.

The drunkard’s face flushed, his eyes glassed over, and he sang old Russian folk songs to himself in a deep voice, even while the other two were talking. Then, he sang something different—something unfamiliar to Thomas.

"A nightingale without a song

Befriends the man without a home;

War is war and violence too;

Freedom comes, so fuck the Blues!"

Thomas was stunned. He scanned the room for custodians, then tried to see if anyone else was as appalled as he, but there were no custodians, and no one seemed to notice the drunkard’s ramblings.

Thomas thought, Surely somebody heard that! He . . . he can’t say that! Blasphemer! That’s a crime! Another one! I’m in danger just for being near him! No wonder he’s in here! Back home, they’d have dragged him out of here, tried and convicted him and his friends on Blue Square, then shot them all in front of everyone. And the commoners would have rightly applauded! There’s no need for that type of hate in our society! Can he not see all the good that the Blues have done for us? He willingly chews his food, yet ignorantly bites the hand that feeds him.

Then, as if the scene couldn’t get any worse for Thomas, the drunkard smiled and waved to him. Nothing malicious, mind you, just a courteous, Thank you sent in the direction of his benefactor. But that wave incensed him.

How DARE he! Thomas fumed. Wave at me? These idiots, this trio . . . this trio of twits sits across from me and eats the steak that I should have had! They rub my nose in their good fortune and offer nothing in return! I could have been selfish like them and kept it quiet. I could have sat over there and ate every last bit of it, and no one would have been the wiser, but no, they deprived me of what should have been mine, and that’s unforgivable. Let’s not muddy the waters, though. None of it matters! We’re commoners and THEY BROKE OUR LAW. The Russian broke it twice! THEY’RE ALL CRIMINALS! Where is the justice in this place?

Despite feeling repulsed, Thomas forced a smile, raised his glass, and nodded in response to the drunkard’s appreciation. Seething, he jumped up from the table, but Joe Bob called out to him before he could retreat to his armchair. Thomas, he said warmly, We’d really like to thank you for letting us know about that steak. It was delicious. I think it could have been the best steak I ever had and we have you to thank for it. So, thank you. Guys like us need to stick together. We’re all gonna need friends in this place.

Thomas didn’t think he could contain his outrage any longer and was about to voice his displeasure but was interrupted by the reappearance of the Warden.

Gentlemen, gather around, he commanded.

Everyone rose to their feet and moved in close.

You all look like you had a great time this weekend. If I did a good job for you men, let’s hear a loud salute!

The 33 threw a closed right fist into the air, and emphatically voiced their approval in the standard way, United! Together, we thrive!

The Warden smiled approvingly and continued, Good! Good! I’m happy that you all approve. At 11 a.m. sharp, you will walk the path to enlightenment and receive your new assignment. In the meantime, gather your things, eat or drink anything you like from your last breakfast at PT, and be sure to leave your phones in your room. Enlightenment cannot occur with such distractions. I’ll be back at 11 o’clock. Don’t be late.

The 33 stood and saluted him one more time, to his obvious delight. Then, the Warden waved to the crowd like a victorious general after a great battle, walked around the dining table, and stopped near the corner where that steak had hidden from all but four of the men. He looked down, smiled mischievously, then left the room without saying another word.

Everyone said their goodbyes and went on to take care of their personal business, but not Thomas. He didn’t move. Five minutes passed, then ten, then thirty, but his anger never subsided. It stuck with him like nothing he had ever experienced, forcing all rationality from his mind—except for the tiny bit that reminded him to get moving or he’d be late to meet the Warden at 11:00, so he hurriedly got up and went to gather the things from his room.

Thomas sat in his bed for a few minutes and tried to calm himself.

Just relax. Everyone pays for evil eventually. They’ll get what they deserve. They’ll screw up again, and next time, the Warden or a custodian will be around. It’s just a matter of time. Forget it and move on.

He moved to the closet and grabbed his bag of State-issue items: a pillow, a blanket, personal care products, and various other small necessities. He took one last look at the room, then turned to leave but found the Warden blocking his way.

Thomas, he said, I’d like to talk to you for a minute, if you don’t mind.

Of course, sir. Anything.

Thomas, do you trust me?

Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Always trust a Blue. If you can’t trust a Blue, who can you trust?

Good man! Good answer! Just as you should! the Warden said as he playfully slapped Thomas on the shoulder. I looked in on the Observatory a little while ago and noticed that you were the last to leave. Near the corner of the main dining table, there was some steak. Did you notice it over there?

Thomas, pleased that the Warden noticed, spoke confidently, Yes, sir, I did.

Thomas, the truth is the most beautiful thing we have, and it always comes out eventually. It just needs men like you and I to help it along sometimes. You won’t get in trouble, but I just want to know: were you the one that took it?

Oh, no. No, sir, I did not. I wouldn’t dare eat it.

Interesting. May I ask why you chose not to eat it? Do you not like steak?

Sir, I love steak and would have loved nothing more than to eat every last bit of it, but I’m a commoner and eating steak is a crime unless explicitly allowed by a Blue. You didn’t give me permission, so I didn’t touch it.

Good, Thomas. Good. Smart man. That’s the type of attitude that we need more of. Only a great man can resist that type of temptation, and I assure you, we’re going to make you a great man. I saw that you graduated from Harvard. Don’t let this Southern drawl fool you. I’m a Harvard Man myself, though I attended back before Demarcation when it was a different type of school. I had the world at my fingertips, and Capitalists were beating down my door to make other people rich, but I knew I had a higher purpose than wasting my life chasing dollars. I wanted to help others. I knew that my destiny was to serve the greater good, and here I am, helping a fellow Harvard graduate get on the path to enlightenment. Who needs money when your life can be fulfilled in that manner? Let me ask you another question. Did you happen to see who did eat the steak?

Thomas felt vindicated in an instant.

The Warden wants more than the truth. He wants justice. A half-hour ago, I could hardly contain my rage, and now, it’s all melted away like the butter on that fucking steak. The trio of twits are about to get what’s coming to them, and I can’t wait. Maybe they’ll be deprived of food for a day, and every time their bellies growl in disgust, they’ll think about what they did. Even better, maybe they’ll be stuffed into solitary confinement for a bit, unable to be distracted from their crimes. They should be more considerate and understand how their actions affect others.

Thomas couldn’t wait to see the trio brought to justice, but he didn’t want to appear too eager to turn on them. He collected himself and said, Yes, sir. I did see who ate the steak. It was Joe Bob, the Russian, and one of their friends.

Thomas, if every commoner was just like you, if they had your honor and integrity, your eagerness to help the State, the USA would transform into the greatest power that the world has ever seen. Not even the Capitalists could stand in our way. You did good today, and your service will be rewarded. I look forward to accompanying you on the path to enlightenment.

Thomas was absolutely beaming. He nodded his head and added, Thank you, sir. You can always count on me. Thank you for your service. The Warden gave Thomas that same mischievous smile from earlier, then left.

CHAPTER 4

At precisely 11:00 a.m., the Warden and a custodian appeared.

Count? The Warden demanded.

Thirty-one, sir, said the custodian.

Make note of the two and let’s get moving, the Warden replied impatiently.

Addressing the guests, the Warden continued, Gentlemen, line up!

Leading them single-file through a door into a smaller area, the Warden engaged the custodian in a private conversation. The space was called the Observation Deck, measuring approximately 8 feet in depth and 50 or 60 feet in length. At the end of the room stood another door that would lead the men to the next step of enlightenment.

The long wall to their right was a recently painted, jagged concrete wall. The one on their left rose waist-heigh before giving way to the hillside view, allowing fresh air to find its way to the 33 for the first time since their arrival.

It was hot outside—and humid too, but the wind helped ease the heat. Some of the 33 closed their eyes and could pick up the various scents of nature swept from the hillside. They had been locked in Progressive Transformation for 48 hours, and being so well occupied inside, the thought never occurred to them that they were missing the outside air, and for a brief moment, the wind felt like freedom.

It’s different, isn’t it? asked one of the stragglers behind Thomas.

We should be quiet, Thomas replied quickly without turning around.

What is it about a sheet of glass that makes everything on the other side of it seem so fake and harmless?

Oh, boy. Here we go, Thomas muttered with an eye-roll. I can’t wait to hear where this is going, he added sarcastically.

Take the stars, for example. You look at them through a telescope and they don’t seem real, but you sit out on the lawn or somewhere out West, where there’s not much light pollution, and the universe kind of makes sense in a weird way. You feel like you’re a part of it. I don’t know, maybe we’re just too accustomed to having glass separate us from danger. Glass windows and doors separate us from the elements, glass globes wrap lamps and lights and bulbs, airplane windows do their thing, and glass windshields protect us from rocks and birds and other road debris. Do you remember zoos and aquariums? There was lots of glass in those places. It’s funny, if you think about it. We want to see danger and be as close to it as possible. We are visual creatures, after all, but few of us are brave enough to remove the glass. It reminds me of an old Frederick Douglass quote that my father made me memorize when I was a kid: ‘Those who profess to favor freedom and yet depreciate agitation, are people who want crops without plowing the ground; they want rain without thunder and lightning; they want the ocean without the roar of its many waters.’ I suppose if anyone would know about freedom, he would, but I think you can shorten his sentiment. People want to live life from behind the glass.

Thomas rolled his eyes again and kept silent, grateful that the Warden had just finished his conversation so that the straggler’s inane drivel would end.

The wind had died down, and sweat beaded on the men’s faces, dripping from their smiling faces and pooling onto the hot concrete floor, making it somewhat slippery. Without the breeze to cool them off, the sweat became like an eyelash stuck in one’s eye—a failure at its most basic job.

Ready to begin, the Warden called for attention and asked the men to face the hillside. Gentlemen, at this moment, you stand on the path to enlightenment, and today, you’ll receive your first lesson. Pay attention closely. Custodians, come meet this week’s class!

Ten custodians appeared and lined up next to the Warden, dressed like the others. However, there was one striking and intimidating difference—these custodians carried rifles.

The Warden spoke calmly. Don’t be alarmed, he reassured them. I know most of you haven’t seen a rifle in years, but rest easy. They’re here for your protection. It’s better that I introduce you to them privately here, rather than in there.

He gestured toward the ten custodians lined up next to him. These are my tower custodians, the Warden explained. "It’s their job to keep watch over the yard and ensure that no one becomes violent. That’s all.

There’s one rule, one that I’ve already spoken of, and it’s a very simple one: obey. Do that, and once you walk inside those gates, you’ll never meet the wrong end of a tower custodian’s bullet. So, gentlemen, before we continue inside, I have a question. Who’d like to volunteer for a State-sanctioned mission that comes with the benefit of early parole for services rendered? The Warden then pointed toward a camera above the 33 and added, Who wishes to please the Great Mother as She looks down upon us from above? Each man raised his hand enthusiastically.

The Warden grinned and said, Good. Good! That’s the spirit. I have no doubt that the Great Mother is pleased with your enthusiasm! Unfortunately, all of you can’t be selected, so I’ll have to narrow it down. If your name is called, step forward. If not, stand silently and absolutely still where you are.

The Warden swiftly rattled off nine names before turning to the nearest custodian with a rifle. Let’s do something a little different today. You pick one of them, he said, gesturing to the remaining men.

The nine chosen men stepped forward, grinning from ear to ear, basking in delight, and perfectly pleased with their selection. But Thomas was lost in thought, praying to the Great Mother with his head bowed and eyes closed, paying little attention to the called names. He only knew his own had not been among them.

As the custodian examined the remaining men, he pointed at Thomas. How about him? Thomas opened his eyes, overjoyed at the thought of being chosen. Thank you, Great Mother, thank you! he whispered, taking a step forward, but the Warden interrupted him.

Thomas, I’m sorry, but you’re needed elsewhere for the time being. You’ll have to stay put, he explained, choosing a replacement from the remaining men.

Thomas felt a wave of displeasure that swiftly transformed into hatred and nausea. His emotions were nearly uncontrollable, causing his fists to clench and tears to well up in his eyes.

Will the torture ever stop? he wondered. Did the Warden not just praise my service to the State? How could he betray me? How could he pick the trio of twits or the delinquent duo over me? How could he select Joe Bob over me? Of all people! What do they have that I don’t? I have a degree from Harvard! These other men couldn’t find their own ass with a map. This . . . this isn’t fair!

Thomas closed his eyes again and began to pray, Great Mother, I know that you can hear me. I beg of you, correct this mistake!

While Thomas prayed, the Warden announced, You ten men have been chosen to perform a mighty task, one that will set the stage for the rest of your lives and the lives of those behind you. Custodians, show these men to enlightenment!

Thomas intensified his prayers, mouthing the words faster and more fervently. He whispered a little louder, hoping that the Great Mother would hear him more clearly. With a final plea, he prayed, Great Mother, please! Is there not still time? Do I not deserve this? Do I...?

Deafening noise engulfed Thomas, echoing all around him. Panic seized his body, rendering him frozen and immobile. He was too terrified to move or even open his eyes. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to comprehend what was happening.

As his senses gradually returned, Thomas’ ears were ringing painfully, and a sharp metallic taste invaded his mouth. He slowly took a deep breath, then exhaled. His lungs seemed fine, but his mind was reeling from the shock.

Summoning all his courage, Thomas slowly opened his eyes, only to be confronted by a scene of utter terror. Ten men lay motionless on the ground, their bodies drenched in blood. Three more had fainted in shock while three others knelt to help them. With trembling hands, Thomas wiped the blood from his mouth, realizing with disgusted relief that it belonged to his fallen neighbor.

A few moments passed, and the living had returned to their feet, leaving their confidence and excitement below with the rest of the dead. It was surreal. Dazed and disoriented, they shook in horror in search of answers.

With the eyes of a man who had seen it all before, the Warden broke the silence, his voice as calm as if he were ordering breakfast. Gentlemen, were my orders not clear? I’d have thought you would have known better. Guards, show them what happens to those who cannot obey simple commands. The guards, who had never lowered their rifles, mowed down the three fainters and the three kneelers, their bodies falling to the ground in a grotesque heap. The remaining men stood frozen.

The Warden looked at his guards with a hint of amusement. Not bad, he remarked. Right at half. Better than most. The guards lowered their rifles, exchanged a quick glance, and nodded in approval.

The Warden turned back to the remaining 17 men and said, Look upon your fallen comrades with dignity and honor. They died with nature’s beauty in their eyes, service to the State on their minds, and the Great Mother in their hearts. What commoner could ask for a better death than that? Most will never be so fortunate. They served the State well and contributed more in that one moment than they could have in a lifetime. His tone growing colder and sharper, he added, Hell, they just saved Her a ton of money, which is more than any of you other sacks of shit will ever do as long as you breathe my air!

Since stepping outside, and though he tried to hide it, the Warden had been positively giddy, as if the fresh air had somehow intoxicated him and left him with no choice but to revel in every moment of the gruesome spectacle. In truth, this was the moment he had been waiting for all weekend, the ultimate payoff for all his planning and scheming. It was as if he had won some grande game or pulled off the greatest trick in history, and now he strutted before the men, basking in his own glory and gloating over their defeat.

The Warden’s voice grew darker as he continued his speech, his words dripping with venom. "The time for pretense is over. Let me be perfectly clear in case those bullets weren’t: you mean nothing to me. Your life means nothing to me. You’re a criminal. There were 33 men among you, and 16 of those just atoned for their sins. All that remains are 17 insignificant ants, tiny specks of nothing standing before me. I couldn’t care less whether you live to see tomorrow or not. You’re leeches who’ve transgressed equally against the State. You’re little better than a conniving Capitalist, looking down upon his kingdom from an Atlanta high-rise and sleeping comfortably upon the backs of his slaves.

"How could you betray the Great Mother like that? How could you betray the State like that? Did they not love you and treat you like their firstborn? Did they not feed you when you were hungry? Did they not educate you when you were ignorant? Did they not give you work when you were destitute? Did they not send you to the doctor and take care of you when you were sick? And this is how you repay their kindness? With selfishness? Yes, it’s this selfishness that’s led you to where you stand. Not the State. Not the Great Mother. Not me. You.

You see, in order to be completely rehabilitated, you have to return to nothingness so that we can rebuild you into a productive member of our future Great Society. As such, I’m happy to inform you that your Progressive Transformation is complete, but the path to enlightenment doesn’t end here. This is only the first lesson. Inmates! Follow me to the holding area! Guards, keep them in line!

The last two nights were a distant fantasy. But now, they wondered just how much of their lives were lies. How many people had died in these facilities, never to be heard from again, while commoners lived in ignorant bliss back home? This was their first glimpse behind the iron curtain that separated them from the State. Like most men, they never desired to see how the great machine worked, but once they did, they were petrified. Things change when one finds himself in front of a rifle that’s hell-bent on saving State resources.

Thomas had always believed that dying in service of the State was the ultimate honor, a sacrifice for the greater good that would make him a hero for generations to come. He imagined his family being remembered as a great family and himself as an immortalized warrior of the past, perhaps even receiving a posthumous Blue Star. But now, that illusion withered away when the truth flew in on 16 bullets.

Not like this, he thought, not like this. There must be thousands of dead littering these grounds, and no one knows of their sacrifice! Will anyone ever know? Is this really the cost of the greater good? Or is the greater good simply a term we use when future society must be built upon the bones of slaughtered men? What good is in a man’s sacrifice for the State if it’s the State itself that takes his life? There’s no honor in that. There’s no good in that. That isn’t sacrifice. It’s barbarity. No, no, no, it’s not a man’s sacrifice that the State needs and admires, it’s his willful ignorance.

CHAPTER 5

The men were ushered into a dimly lit room, their minds and hearts still racing from the first lesson of enlightenment. They lined up behind a towering metal door, each man struggling to maintain composure in his own way. Some gasped for breath, trying to hide their panic, while others fought back the tears that dripped from their grief-stricken faces. Terrified of becoming the next target, they fought back their instinct to wipe the tears.

The memory of the fallen men tore its claws into Thomas’ consciousness. He felt a wave of nausea rising in his stomach, and he clenched his jaw, forcing the breakfast back down. Breakfast. It was only then that Thomas realized he had yet to think about breakfast amidst the chaos of the past hour.

What have I done? He thought. I couldn’t have known that was going to happen, could I? How could I have known? I would never have done what I did if I’d known that was even a possibility. I’m not a monster.

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and turbulent emotions as he relived the events that had transpired at breakfast. He tried to make sense of everything but only succeeded in shifting the blame away from himself.

Did I have to tell the Warden who ate the steak? No, but I’m sure he already knew. He was testing me, and if I hadn’t told him the truth when I did, they’d be burying my lifeless body out there too, and what good would that have done? I would have only deprived society of a future Blue. The trio made their own choices, didn’t they? I didn’t pull the trigger. I didn’t force them to eat the steak. It was already on the table, and if I hadn’t shown it to Joe Bob when I did, he could have easily found it by himself and ate it anyway. Not to mention that someone else, perhaps less deserving of the trio’s final fate, could have found and eaten it too. Or more people could have eaten it. In a sense, if you think about it, the others should thank me for not approaching them about the steak. In the end, did I not save their lives?

As for the trio, they would have ended up dead soon enough, would they not have? Within 48 hours, they were already disobeying laws and being very disrespectful. Did I want them punished? Of course. They deserved punishment, but not like that, did they? Or was that an appropriate response for where we are? Had the Warden heard what the Russian said about Blues, he probably would have shot him on the spot, and no one would have given it a second thought. In truth, he probably lived longer than he should have. If he was willing to speak that blasphemy out loud, then he’s definitely done it before. Now that I think about it clearly . . . they were twits, weren’t they? The Warden saw it just like I did. He knew they were never going to do anything for our Great Society. Otherwise, they’d still be alive, right? Is that not the reason I still live? Because the Warden sees my potential? He told me to step back when I was called. I was needed. He knew I couldn’t serve society as a dead man. In ignorance, I prayed to the Great Mother to be chosen by the custodian, and because She knew