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Canada with no civil rights

Charleston_Car

Bluelighter
Joined
Feb 5, 2011
Messages
188
This is a story I got to write for my social studies class. The assignment was to write a journal entry for someone who lives in an alternate version of Canada with no civil rights. I might've pushed it a bit far, but it was fun to write nonetheless. I'm looking for some constructive criticism, be as harsh as you want.

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I awoke in a shed, I do not know how I got here but apparently, it kept me alive for the whole night. I want to be happy about that, but I have a nagging suspicion it won’t happen... My head is pounding and I can’t think straight. There’s a dusty old bottle of rum beside me and I can’t help but smell it on my breath. I’m laying on a crotchety old mattress and I can feel something crunch under me as I turn onto my side, I’m not going to look. It’s barely big enough to stand in here, not that I’d want to with all the spider webs. But I have to get out of here, the toasted mouse I ate last night won’t keep me going forever. As my senses clear I can hear some kind of commotion outside, it’s not authorities though, it sounds too calm for that. I could be situated at some rebel stronghold, judging by the tones of their voices. It’s time to go. I push myself up and fight the brain bubbling headrush. I have to steady myself against the slimy wall as I push the door open just enough to peek outside. My adrenaline pumps go haywire as surprised eyes meet mine the moment I look. “Shit, man, I thought you’d never wake up, how you feeling? Come out here, come sit with us now.” I apprehensively push the door open and see a tall man dressed in leather and blue jeans. His eyes are tired but lively. His scruff demeanor shows signs of hard times. I step outside onto the cold pavement and see I’m surrounded by an acre wide square of barbed wire fences with a small community of scavengers sitting on old, broken school chairs, huddled around a bonfire. I’m greeted with looks of recognition and acceptance and this befalls any suspicions I had of an aggressive introduction. “Where am I?” “You’re in Ted County, man,” the scruffy guy laughs as he says, “don’t you remember? You helped us fight off the pigs, they were trying to yank our liquor stash and take us down, were you really that fucked up last night?” “I guess I was, I helped you?” I groggily say. “Yep, you were a goddamn hero, man. You hit one of those freaky motherfuckers so hard he had to crawl away like some sissy girl.” “What, with my fist? They wear riot gear.” “Yeah, I guess the liquid courage got to you, look at your hands.” I lift my hands up in front of me to see that they’re covered in scabs and bruises, now that the pain sets in I wish I hadn’t. “Alright, man. Come over here and sit down, have some soup.” The word “soup” washes over me in a wave of transcendent relaxation. “Soup? That’d be awesome.” “Yeah, man, Campbell’s tomato, we raided one of those ration forts the pigs set up. That’s mostly why they were after us, the whole liquor thing was just kind of an insult to sweeten their revenge, I guess.” I sit down and nod to the people beside me as I’m handed a steaming bowl of delicious, mouth-watering tomato soup. I can’t remember the last time I held something so comforting in my hands. “You really don’t remember anything, eh?” “Nope.” “Alright, let me tell you the story, then. We had this whole plan to raid that storage thing I told you about, since we’ve been real low on food for the past, shit, I can’t even remember, feels like forever. The pigs keep it all for themselves, you know how it is. Anyways, it was all going to plan, we had weapons, impromptu, but they work in a pinch. Nails in planks, baseball bats, normal shit for us. We kept our own for a very long time, make no mistake. But we overlooked one thing, we didn’t anticipate just how many of those jack-offs there would be. To put it simply, man, we were overpowered. They had tasers and knives, and there were at least fifteen of ‘em, and only twelve of us. There’s a point where all hope is lost, and we were nearing that shit let me tell you. And then, out of fucking nowhere, here comes this drunk maniac swinging 26’s of… something apparently very powerful all over the place. You were fearless, though I don’t know if that’s really the correct term because I don’t think you were aware of anything in any way. Nevertheless, you dampened their morale enough to send them on their way. And we’re very thankful for that.” I sipped my soup and tried to comprehend the story, at least remember something, but nothing came. Finally, I blurted out “Uh, I guess I drank all of those…” I heard a couple stifled laughs and figured it was best to finish up and get on my way. “Well, thanks for the accommodation, glad I could help you guys, uh, keep strong.” “Wait, man, come on, we’re just getting to know each other, and we could always use a few more hands if you’re interested.” “No, thanks, I have to keep moving, I’m part of the Penticton colony and I have to get back.” “Ah man, alright, well, that’s a shame.” He held out a clammy hand and I shook it. “By the way,” I asked, “where exactly is ‘Ted County’? I, uh, or just tell me where south is.” “Ted County?” “Yeah, that’s what you called this place.” “Oh, no man, I was just kidding around. This place doesn’t have a name, we don’t stay in one location for long enough to name them, you know? You get attached, it’s harder to move on.” “Oh, okay, well, where is here? Like, on a map.” “Shit, man. I haven’t seen a map in 10 years. The pigs destroyed all the ones they could find.” “Really? Why?” “Well, for one, it makes it a hell of a lot harder to get organized. It’s not like you can just point someone in a direction to find a small place.” He broke eye contact for a minute and moved his jaw around thoughtfully. “But, unfortunately, that’s all we can really do for you.” “Alright, do your best.” He points over to the mountains and quietly says “Penticton has to be somewhere over there, we were actually fairly close to there about a month ago. Follow the roads, just don’t travel directly on them for too long.” “Yeah, I know, rangers, I hate those guys. Too fast to escape and too tough to fight.” “Exactly, horse-pigs.” “Horse-pigs?” “Yep.” “That’s… a pretty good name for those guys, actually.” “Yeah, I felt real clever.” He smiles and holds out his hand. “Once more, for luck” I reach out to grab it and he stops me, saying “No, no, like friends.” He slaps my hand and makes a fist, I do the same and we bump them together. I hate to leave. I murmur that “It’s a strange life, isn’t it?” “Yep.”
 
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