| Author: | Cameron Gallant | ISBN: | 9781370350414 |
| Publisher: | Cameron Gallant | Publication: | November 25, 2016 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Cameron Gallant |
| ISBN: | 9781370350414 |
| Publisher: | Cameron Gallant |
| Publication: | November 25, 2016 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
Saul is the leader of a peaceful organization fighting for freedom in a uni-partisan United States, where freedoms have been phased out and exchanged for 'love and equality'. Unfortunately, freedom is not always fighting for him.
Time: Future
Word Count: 2772
SAMPLE: (568 words out of 2772 words)
To everyone but me, the world is a broken and lonely place. To me in my solitude, it sometimes feels even more so. To everyone but me—to the soldiers, to the persecutors and the persecuted, to the children and the elders—the world is a haunted and evil place. Nobody is trustworthy in the dark masses of people that crowd the cities, forlorn and homeless. To me, honest, good people are out there, they’re simply hiding their lights so the harsh wind doesn’t find them and blow them out—seek them and stamp the embers trying to relight the fire of freedom.
This is the United States, all united under one single entity. If you’re new here, welcome, they’ll only ask for your rights, freedom, and money, and in exchange you’ll get high quality services such as terror, unrest, and a compensatory guide on how to live your life. If you don’t want that package deal, you’d better think twice before visiting because once you come, you’ll never leave. You’ll leave the Earth before you’ll ever be able to go back to where you came from.
My name is Saul. I have another name, one I was given when I was very young by my very own mother, but she’s gone now and so is my name. They’re both buried deep in my heart, protected from the evils that hate them both. I could tell you my real name, but I don’t think you’ll ever read this anyway. I don’t even know who I’m writing to. If someone does happen to read this, that’ll mean I’ll have been killed and I dearly hope that you, whoever you are, are smart enough to realize our government isn’t working for us. They’re only working for themselves.
So why am I writing this if no one will ever see the words I write? You could say it’s because I have nothing but a half-burned candle and some dusty cans of food for company. All technology is traceable, so I’m here without a phone, a tablet, or even an electric light. There’s no electricity down here. I see nothing but a dull, orange flickering on the chalky concrete walls, and hear only the hum of the ventilation fan from far above. There is electricity up there, but I prefer to keep my life than to go up there and be executed by the administration. I’m twenty feet underground in a bunker and, according to the United States, I’m a terrorist.
Am I? Only if getting the establishment to bite their nails counts.
Signing off,
Saul
Saul’s pen stopped trailing across the old and wrinkled paper. He had been writing in the margins of an old newspaper clip he had kept to remind him of the evil he was fighting. The paper had been printed directly after Amendment 65, which illegalized the free press, was passed. Now, Saul studied the headline as the candle flame beside him, the only thing in the room that felt as if it could be alive, danced feebly up and down. The mass of candle wax beside him slowly burned and melted, reminding Saul of the limited time he could have left, the loss he had experienced, and his limited blessings that still remained. The newspaper headline read, “Woman Killed in Tragic Accident”. The woman had been Saul’s mom and she had not been killed by accident.
Saul is the leader of a peaceful organization fighting for freedom in a uni-partisan United States, where freedoms have been phased out and exchanged for 'love and equality'. Unfortunately, freedom is not always fighting for him.
Time: Future
Word Count: 2772
SAMPLE: (568 words out of 2772 words)
To everyone but me, the world is a broken and lonely place. To me in my solitude, it sometimes feels even more so. To everyone but me—to the soldiers, to the persecutors and the persecuted, to the children and the elders—the world is a haunted and evil place. Nobody is trustworthy in the dark masses of people that crowd the cities, forlorn and homeless. To me, honest, good people are out there, they’re simply hiding their lights so the harsh wind doesn’t find them and blow them out—seek them and stamp the embers trying to relight the fire of freedom.
This is the United States, all united under one single entity. If you’re new here, welcome, they’ll only ask for your rights, freedom, and money, and in exchange you’ll get high quality services such as terror, unrest, and a compensatory guide on how to live your life. If you don’t want that package deal, you’d better think twice before visiting because once you come, you’ll never leave. You’ll leave the Earth before you’ll ever be able to go back to where you came from.
My name is Saul. I have another name, one I was given when I was very young by my very own mother, but she’s gone now and so is my name. They’re both buried deep in my heart, protected from the evils that hate them both. I could tell you my real name, but I don’t think you’ll ever read this anyway. I don’t even know who I’m writing to. If someone does happen to read this, that’ll mean I’ll have been killed and I dearly hope that you, whoever you are, are smart enough to realize our government isn’t working for us. They’re only working for themselves.
So why am I writing this if no one will ever see the words I write? You could say it’s because I have nothing but a half-burned candle and some dusty cans of food for company. All technology is traceable, so I’m here without a phone, a tablet, or even an electric light. There’s no electricity down here. I see nothing but a dull, orange flickering on the chalky concrete walls, and hear only the hum of the ventilation fan from far above. There is electricity up there, but I prefer to keep my life than to go up there and be executed by the administration. I’m twenty feet underground in a bunker and, according to the United States, I’m a terrorist.
Am I? Only if getting the establishment to bite their nails counts.
Signing off,
Saul
Saul’s pen stopped trailing across the old and wrinkled paper. He had been writing in the margins of an old newspaper clip he had kept to remind him of the evil he was fighting. The paper had been printed directly after Amendment 65, which illegalized the free press, was passed. Now, Saul studied the headline as the candle flame beside him, the only thing in the room that felt as if it could be alive, danced feebly up and down. The mass of candle wax beside him slowly burned and melted, reminding Saul of the limited time he could have left, the loss he had experienced, and his limited blessings that still remained. The newspaper headline read, “Woman Killed in Tragic Accident”. The woman had been Saul’s mom and she had not been killed by accident.
