The Hush - Serene Subordination

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Welcome to The Hush

Second Decade

Utopia was always a pipe dream many felt we would never see in our day. Countless generations hoped for but came to the same sad conclusion. Never in our day.

"Never in our day will we see a time

When the deserving are rich in dime

Never in our day will we see the day

When the wars of the past are far away

That is what we used to say

That is the lie we believed

Before the great silencing

Before the peaceful reckoning

When The Hush sang its song

The Great and the Good stood

When The Hush righted the wrong

The Praepositi Ordinis stood

Tall and mighty—our rulers

Gentle subtlety—our reformers

All sing praise to our masters

All sing praise to our masters"

As the song of old sang.

Of course, nothing ever changes unless someone leads the charge towards the needed change. Before the new era—before The Hush—our world, our Earth, was one of beauty blighted by buggery and butchery. Our land was loathsome, and the blood spilled in countless, unnecessary wars cried out. The Praepositi Ordinis were the ones who answered those calls. They brought forward a quiet change, a silent restructuring of our society that we benefited from immediately. Abuse of the planet and planet dwellers was outlawed. Man and beast could live in peace. War was calmly outlawed. Over the course of a decade, the old ways were forgotten and old systems dismantled.

We live in peace and harmony. A silent solution to a noisy problem saved us, so it seems on the surface, and that is okay. Most people are happy to go to bed at night without worrying or stressing, to wake up to a world without violence, destruction, or corruption. Every day is bliss, for everyone, it seems.

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The Interview

Early Days of First Decade

If you were to ask the average citizen—say, that fellow over there with his child and wife (assigned, of course, but beloved nonetheless), if things were better now? You'd imagine he'd say, yes. Wouldn't you?

Let’s ask him—I’ve always found this sort of citizen most... instructive.

As we approach him, he's smiling at the camera. "Good day, good sir, another fine day in The Hush, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, my good man. I was just telling Tarquin Jr. here, how lucky he is to have been born after The Hush."

"Indeed. Your wife likely benefits too. Does she not?"

"I do not. One step away from slavery."

"Okay... are you sure you want that on record. We know it's been hot the last few days. Perhaps your wife would like another chance to speak?"

"No. I am quite sure, despite its imperfections, wars, and disasters, the freedom afforded us before The Hush and its quiet subjugation would have been better than this sombre and serene, sterile and sanctified system of subordination. This is one step away from slavery—you understand that, right?"

"Keep the cameras running. The guards are coming. I am sorry, my good man. I hope you make the right choice and disown the dissenter."

"Her name is Tina. She was once an upstanding member of our new society. But, dreams of dissension and the falsehood that things were better in the wilds of before, drew her away from me."

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The Condemnation Cube

End of First Decade

There was silence—a deafening silence that spread and assimilated itself into every inch of the room.

The silence grew louder, drowning out all thought and consideration for anything other than their collective sin.

The two captives, one female and one male, stood in the silence. Were they afraid to speak? To a casual observer, a spectator, it might be argued there was a heaviness in the room's air. It was as intangible to the eye as the air itself, but was there.

It could be seen on the round, drooped shoulders of the female captive; there was tension. Standing as she did in one corner of the room, dressed in only a small white vest that barely covered her navel and a pair of shorts, her spray-tanned skin twitched a little around the dip between her shoulders and her neck. Barely visible it may be, but barely visible was enough for someone focused on the captives.

The male captive, on the other hand, was one step away from delirium.

I could tell you that the female captive was a pretty slim twentysomething with blonde hair that brushed against her shoulders and that the male captive was African-American with piercing but friendly eyes, but really, it doesn't matter.

Both their faces were covered with mink fur. Layers wrapped around them, allowing just two gaps for their mouths and noses, depriving them of awareness. The face reveals a lot about personality and what we decipher about people.

Standing voiceless and faceless in their cell, it didn't matter who they were. Only what they had done.

Sure, in the right light, the male captive had an appealing body. There was noticeable abs and some definition around his pecs.

As for the female captive, well, she had a pleasant body too. Very appealing.

In another life, perhaps. They would be seen as sex symbols. Lakshmi herself would have been proud to call them her own.

But that doesn't matter.

The only thing that matters is what they did.

They were rule-breakers. Dissenters.

Upon closer inspection, a casual observer, a spectator if you will, would note their necks had the same markings, stitches, and signs of surgery.

Some have whispered(ironically) of voice box removal.

Perhaps a casual observer or spectator who was drawn into the who, what and why of the captives would understand and appreciate exactly what the surgical marks meant.

Even if they wanted to. They couldn't impact the silence.

Dissension is the greatest crime a citizen can commit.

From the screen in the square, the dissenters are visible.

Their lives are spent as monuments of ridicule. Serene in their captivity.

Icons of vanity.

"Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,/Consuming means, soon preys upon itself"

They wanted to be seen as more than mere pawns. Wanted to stand up and be counted.

The male, of African descent, was rumoured to have said, "I am not a slave."

The irony is not lost.

Now, for all of society. That is what they became—the deities of their own destruction.

Figureheads of their own Futile Infractions.

Our great utopian society was built on unflinching devotion and loyalty.

They served as reminders. Remainders. Remnants. Reproved, repressed and raped of individuality.

The cost.

It would be wrong to suggest we enjoyed the experience. That is too strong a word. Enjoyed? No. Appreciated? Yes. The P.O. was being fully transparent. Even with the darkest hues of their important work. Though a solitary child's voice defamed the P.O., in jest, their silence was felt throughout the square. As I gaze one last time at Tina, the betrayer, captive, I smile.

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Damnation and Dehumanisation - The Doctrine

Damnation and dehumanisation.

Only the Praepositi Ordinis had the right to independent thought. That was their cross to bear.

As all citizens know.

Not so long ago, my people had to struggle—struggle against the warring factions of the so-called good and pure and the so-deemed bad, evil, and depraved. This was the lie we all bought into.

Countless wars and disruptions to everyday life in a world designed to be a beautiful haven for all derailed humanity.

Many argued for millennia about freedom and saw it as a right—they were wrong.

Many argued for millennia about who was right and who was wrong—they were wrong.

Just as freedom needs boundaries, they need to be enforced without exception. Some in society are better than others.

Once this was understood and it was fully implemented, without exception, there was peace.

Calamity was usurped by a calmness.

It was never for society to decide. Only those who ascend to Praepositi Ordinis status, it was decreed, should have the right, that poisoned chalice of stature and honour, to make decisions to the betterment of all.

There was no horrific final battle, no cataclysmic event that led to a meltdown and rebirth into humanity's Golden Era. The Hush. It was rather anti-climactic.

My brothers and I reminisce about the chaos and how all wars proved to be in vain and futile. Even those so-called "just and righteous wars." The new chapter unfolded quietly, behind closed doors, where power and wealth were gained, not through electioneering, lobbying, or appeals to the public.

We saw the errors in history.

Force was involved. Some people need to be reminded of their fallibility.

People need reasons to relinquish resistance.

While the dirty tricks of the past have long been outlawed by my brothers. A gun to the head of a loved one, of even the most righteous and fervent anarchist or most arrogant and selfish conformist, was all that was often needed.

Did we ever pull the trigger?

I have blood on my hands.

But that blood has been washed in the cleansing that followed our quiet reordering.

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Tarquin Sr, The Spectator's Square

Second Decade

For way too long than I feel comfortable admitting, the world had become a sterile paradise. A sterile paradise of serene subordination and clinical calm. The air was breathable, worldwide, for the first time in who even knows how long, we were entering the second decade of The Hush. A new era for humanity. A decade free from war. It was hard to argue with the Praepositi Ordinis because of these facts. These cold, hard facts were a recorded Gospel for the Grand Unification—Humanity's greatest achievement. Only the chosen few were responsible, but when the facts are as pristine and pure as they were in the Gospel, there was no place for complaint.

I was never so fortunate to be named an originator. Though I was in a privileged position compared to others in similar standing, my good standing among the P.O. had helped; I was still on the fringe—the forgotten fringe.

They didn't see me as a threat because I was not a threat. For as much as this new sanitised semblance of society sickened me, I benefited from it.

Standing in the square, watching Tina—gorgeous as ever—I could not think of a single day over the past 10 years that wasn't filled with anything I could pinpoint as a reason to take a stand for. Tina had been assigned to me. Again, my good name helped with that. Subservient subordinate is what many saw her as—as they should. To me, she was my little goddess—my treasure. I would have done anything, as was my duty of care to her.

But now, as I gaze at her, faceless, voiceless, and devoid of the demure desire she once wore, I only feel disgust. The finest mink furs and that fine body. All I can see is the woman who brought me into disrepute. That is why I did not make a fuss when they took her away or try to defend her. There is no defence for her dissidence.

So, as I stand in the square looking up at the screen, as I have done for 90 days since she was incarcerated and made an example, I feel revulsion. No remorse. Just repulsion.

I don't know the black fellow—I don't care. That's someone else's problem. Mine is Tina, but eventually I will be clean of her stain on my name.

After 90 days, you'd think people would be bored watching voiceless, silent icons of vanity, like Tina and the unnamed fellow. However, there were still ardent followers who had been there since day one. Some children with their parents, but they were busy looking at P.O.-approved literature.

Despite the metropolitan feel to the city square, since The Hush, there is a greater percentage of greenery even within the more built-up areas. It's truly beautiful and something I know the founders are especially proud of—they should be.

My city is just one of several thousand. All follow the same design ethos.

I do not know what will become of Tina once her time as an icon of vanity has been served. The information about the wretched is the stuff of myth and legend.

In the earlier days of the former era, Tina's act would have been considered a simple misdemeanour. That is where rulers of old went wrong. She spoke against the P.O., spoke against me, her superior, not superior just by gender, but because the P.O. Gospels stipulated she was a lesser.

She dared to make noise. A lot of inane gibberish against the sense of order and calm that had been established.

The black man—her fellow icon of vanity—likely did the same. Racism is not a concept we recognise in this new age. So, it was not because of his skin colour. It was likely his status, his pre-ordained placement in society.

The mere fact he was in the chamber with a white woman who was once married to a man of my ranking shows impartiality in our modern society. His black skin is no more important than his green eyes (not that eye colour matters, though).

One rumoured reason for his incarceration was that he dared speak out against a high-ranking P.O. member. He had suggested the man was using his power to domineer his family. The word "slaves" was used. Which irks me.

Callous fellow, if the rumours are true. He has every right to be on display for the whole world to see. Just as Tina does. It's not a perfect system by any means, it beats the way things were before.

Tina knew that and abused that. I'm absolved of any blame.

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Tarquin Sr. Witnesses The Rebirth of The Icons

Second Decade

I watched intently as Tina was led into a special room away from prying eyes, other than my own. Thanks to my connections, I was given access to the Confinement Centre, where former Icons of Vanity were taken to be reindoctrinated into society. As a silent spectator, it was a calming crescendo of all my hopes and dreams for the Hush coming to fruition. I watched as the once deplorable dissenter I had married was reborn as a fervent fundamentalist for the P.O. She would be assigned her own Founder to serve. I had no more use for her.

As she was led away, her minks uncovered, she looked blankly at me, as I smiled internally. Our Utopia, again, was safe from harm. The screams of agony and ecstasy from the room the black fellow had been taken to only served to punctuate my pride in what we had achieved.

I would rest easy tonight in bed, knowing The Hush was a success.

As it is stated in the Gospel According to the P.O.

"With silence comes salvation, for all."

"With silence comes salvation, for all."