S.S. #1

[Mira]

This story was written for my Senior English Class. The assignment was to write a short story in the mood of Orwells classic 1984. For those of you who don't know what 1984 is about you could go Here for a brief overview.

 

Time seemed to slow down as Brian ran down the filthy alley. They were right behind him, they were always behind him. Watching his every move, closely monitoring his every step. The worst part was that it seemed like he was the only person aware of the peering eyes and secret recorders that infested nearly every nook of the city. Even here in this nearly insignificant side alley, a place where only vagabonds and stray cats dwelt, they had ways of seeing what passed. That’s what made his flight so ridiculous. He couldn’t run forever, and when he finally stopped they would know where to find him. It was a hopeless cause, but he ran just the same.

 

Time caught back up with Brian as he exited the alley and found himself on a crowded sidewalk. For a second he thought that he might be able to blend in with the thousands of people that constantly populate the cities sidewalks. No, it was no good; they would have agents scattered in with the pedestrians, silently sifting through them for their targets. He would have to find someplace to hide. Besides it was getting near dark, and the streets were less than safe after dark. He walked almost without purpose for a time, following the ebbs and flows of the masses, until he found the place he had been looking for. An abandoned tenement in a less then reputable section of the city, he had found the spot some months ago and it had proved to be a safe from their surveillance. There were few places like this left, but Brian was pretty sure he had been able to locate almost all of them. He entered the hollow husk of a building just as the sodium bulbs on the street lights outside flicked on. Once inside he quickly searched, room by room, floor by floor, for any newly placed bugs or cameras. Finding none he huddled in a corner of room on the third floor, wrapped himself in his coat, and slowly drifted into a restless sleep.

 

Time passed undisturbed for a while, as Brian slept. His sleep seemed peaceful enough, if not for the occasional whimpers and murmurings betrayed it for the nightmare it really was. In his nightmare they had finally caught him and were subjecting him to endless weeks of brutal torture. Under their constant questioning he cracked like a twig under the strain of a bolder. He told them everything he knew. The location of every hiding spot, the names of anyone who had helped him or that he had ever known. The horror of the nightmare went on, but Brian did not wake, he needed the sleep. The crash of glass in a nearby room, however, had him awake and alert, ready to run at a moments notice. Brian held perfectly still and strained his ears to hear for any other sign of intruders. Distant sirens, the blood pounding in his ears, and the constant din of the city made it difficult to hear anything, but it was better to be safe then to be dead. Hearing no other noises, he quietly rose from his corner, and like a shadow, set off in the direction of the sound. It didn’t take long for him to find the source of the noise. The remains of a broken beer bottle lay scattered on the floor of the room two doors down from where he had been sleeping. Probably knocked over by a rat or cat, Brian thought, as he headed back out of the room. He made to enter the room he had been sleeping in, when a sudden chill came over him and he had the intense feeling of danger. This feeling, this extra sense had saved Brian from certain capture dozens of times, and he had quickly learned to trust it. They were coming, he knew it, and he had to get out of there quick. Dashing down three flights of stairs he rushed towards the front door. He exploded out of the pair of massive reinforced steel doors and almost fell into the street, but was able to catch himself just in time. Glancing left and right he looked for the safest rout of escape. It was too late. In either direction a pair of massive men in sterile white uniforms where heading towards him, he turned to run back inside the tenement, but as he reached the doors another pair of men sprung out of them and grabbed him. They dragged him kicking and screaming to the floor. One of the men held him down trying vainly to avoid his thrashings, as the other removed the cap from a syringe of clear liquid. The needle entered Brian’s neck and within instants the world went black, as if God had suddenly turned the lights off.

 

In no time a group of people, despite the time of night, stood outside the dilapidated building watching what was transpiring. A ragged man was being carried into the back of a white van by a pair of large men. The man looked as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks, maybe months, and his cloths seemed to be rotting on his body. When a bystander asked one of the official looking men what was going on he mumbled something about “escaped” and “lunatic”. After they had loaded the unkempt man into the back of the van the men closed the doors and lowered a large bar across them. The driver started the engine and the crowed made way as the van, which read “State Mental Health Department” on the side, drove off into the night.