Lines

It's always one line or another. Each of those hours long. Ones for food. Ones for water. Lines for clothes: jackets and sweaters and such. Others for pants, socks and shoes- boots were outlawed a decade ago except for The Guard members.

Lines were created to keep the masses in a very manageable position. Keep them poor. Keep them weak. Keep them in line.

The men of The Guard have everything they need to be comfortable so they can perform their jobs better- which they do excel at. Women are not allowed to be in The Guard.

Prior to the New World Empire, NWE, the Guardsmen were all life sentence prisoners. Well, at least for the first 20 plus years. It's a career job. New recruits are raised from a very early age.

Bearing these children is an occupation for healthy women.

When it all started, words and threats failed so the threats were carried out. Nuclear plant meltdowns and nuclear subs sinking and irradiating massive third world cities and the far west Pacific Ocean, which then set off reactive actions that left about three quarters of east Asia desolate and void of any life. The fallout affected the rest of the globe but on a much lesser scale.

Within all this chaos, the architects of the  NWE, all in the one percent of the wealthy and powerful, crushed the economy of the western world and assumed control.  Nations of Armies bought and paid for to bind the masses and restore an infrastructure to include, one of a multitude of new laws, population control.

Managing the fresh water and fertile soils for the survival of the NWE first. Then the soldiers, guardsmen and the other essential personnel. The leftovers and scrapings, well, they were what the masses, or The Herd, stood in line for. A derogatory term to those in the lines but a complaint about it would not end well for the complainee.

The military runs the logistics now and The Guard run the lines. Curfews are for those not standing in a line. If you're heading to a line you get an escort. Once in a line, you must stay to acquire the lines' offering. Break a law! You get bumped to the front of the population control line. That line. That one is the fastest line there is.

Today I am in line for bread. Standing in the middle of a muddy road amidst a throng of hunger and losing will by the step and as i set my well worn-out  shoe down for my next shuffle I wince in pain. Thinking that it was a sharp stone, I swept away the mud to the side. It was the slight glint of something shiny that stopped me cold. Every muscle in my body stopped except for my heart, which hit Mach two I'm sure. After managing to blink a couple of times I noticed that the line wasn't shuffling forward yet. I scanned left then right without turning my head and then  bent over to adjust my shoe and grabbed a handful of mud and put it in my pocket as I stood up.

  I shuffled forward with the cue.

  As I moved toward the booth I manipulated the mud in my pocket to squeeze out the object. By touch alone I knew it was a necklace chain. A small, smooth-shaped object was attached.     

My heart pounded. It was contraband. It was a source of black market currency. Any money the NWE doesn't make is frowned upon, fiercely.

After getting my two loaves of partially mouldy bread I pulled out my Home Pass, put it around my neck, draped it on my chest for clear viewing, then headed toward my hovel, about an hour's walk. All the while the paranoia was overwhelming. Comfort waited for me at my hovel. After all, one's home was his kingdom. At least in spirit.

Water boiled for tea and a simple, tasteless meal prepared. I set the cleaned up necklace on the table in front of me and stared at it while I ate.

  It's a heart shaped locket. About the size of the tip of my pinky finger. It took a bit more cleaning to get it open but just to find it empty. My brain races through various scenarios about its history. The  chain was of a simple design, probably done that way to enhance the look of the locket.  I'm unsure what type of metal it is though but I am sure the chain is pure silver. Who do I dare ask?

Hide it!

I tear out one of my pant pockets and place the necklace inside. I roll back a corner of the throw rug and dig out a hole and bury it.

Who does it belong to? How'd it get there in the mud? It's against the law to have it in your possession. Whoever lost it might be looking for it.

Should I take it to the Captain of The Guard? Would he be grateful  and a reward given? Or do I get pummelled and allowed to live for my effort?

All night long I come up with more questions than answers. Losing a night of sleep is not a choice I'd make but this had my adrenaline up and running too much to get to the dreams that made it worth suffering the lines all day. Every day. Dreams were the only reprieve from the monotony of just existing. Treasure for peace of mind.

Daylight rising, lightening the ever constant low lying grey clouds. The sun doesn't breach the cloud cover here. Just enough light throughout the day to know it was in fact day. Light that seems to give most things a black and white hue. Colour is only on the signs and flags and uniforms of the NWE. Which are everywhere.

Yellow perimeter on a blood red field with a green right hand- held horizontal and slightly cupped. A hand clasped over a mouth.

Busy day today. Three lines I have to get into.

  On my way to the potato line I turn a corner and stumble into one of The Guard. Immediately I'm shoved to the ground. I see at least another half dozen Guardsmen standing or walking in and out of an alley.

Waiting for permission to go about my way, I hear two of the men saying that it was a gruesome death for those two and that the Captain was summoned.

I was told to piss off so I got up, grabbed my pack and hurried away. As I passed the alley entrance I quickly glanced in and saw more colour in there than I have at one time. Both building walls were coated in the red of blood. Almost two stories up and twenty feet deep into the alley. The garbage on the ground was covered as well. Written in blood on the wall to the left was:

  "Hope lies in our dreams. May your hopes bring colour to our dreams."

A dozen or more Guards at the far end walking about. I grasped for a breath, found it and continued on.

Crime now was almost extinct. Petty things like theft happened now and then but murder? It was the first few years that the military cracked down hard on crimes. Was easier because of the population control laws. Crimes against the NWE and against civilians all went to that line. No appeal. So needless to say, thinking of doing a crime meant thinking of that line. The Guard keep a very heavy boot on the Herd. The Herd stayed in line.

Someone made a very big statement decorating that alley.

After three lines and seven hours, I'm heading back to my place. All the way back I kept thinking of the events of the day. The bloody alley. The talk in the lines about the alley. Nothing said to confirm what happened but the imaginative theories were plentiful.

The Guard were out in full force. Knocking on doors and pulling people from the lines. Questioning in the usual fashion, hit first then inquire. My heart was pounding. Was this about the locket? Couldn't be...could it? I never heard any of the questions being asked but it was obvious that no one answered correctly.

I reached my hovel as the days' light disappeared. I went in, quickly made my supper and sat and pondered the day. Today was a day like none I have seen since my arrival here eight years ago.

I fell asleep in the chair. My dreams were new too.

Grey clouds parting and beams of bright sunlight bursting through and the blue sky was endless. The warmth on my face and the smell of fresh air being blown around on a cool breeze felt foreign but yet familiar. Walking on green grass with bare feet and wading through a small creek. Things I have never done in my nineteen years. I was born into this world of black and white and the violence of bright colours.

Still in my dream, the air tightens around me. Enveloping me. Constricting me. My breath is abandoning ship. Fleeing from my lungs in gasps. I instinctively reach for my throat and I freeze as I see my right hand. It's green. I can't stop it as it approaches my face. I fight but it slaps across my mouth.

I wake up in a cold sweat. I'm shivering and am aware that I'm afraid to look at my right hand and unaware my left was balled in a fist. I throw a quilt up over my shoulders, eyes clenched shut.

I don't hear a sound and I'm not sure of the time of night. No noise outside on the street. Not that odd but never noiseless.

Aware that it was a dream my breathing goes back to its normal rhythm and I open my eyes. The lamp was still on in the other room making this a room of shadows. When my eyes adjust I notice that the throw rug is folded back over itself, exposing the dirt floor. A small pile of dirt beside a hole. An empty hole.

I'm just about to jump up and search around when I notice that I am holding something in my left hand. Unclenching a finger at a time I see the shiny silver chain with the strange metal heart-shaped locket. How?

An unnatural chill went through me and the hair on my skin all stood up.

What is all this? An overactive imagination. A reason to have an imagination activated? If this is the reason for the alley incident and the people being questioned, what makes this locket the reason?

I'm trapped in my own unreasonable reasoning.

I need to find a better place to hide this. Anywhere but in my hovel. My street for that matter.

  In time I might find more about it. Or not.

I see those words again in my mind.

  Hope lies in our dreams. May your hopes bring colour to our dreams.

  Now there's  a line worth standing in.