Er... anyway... enjoy?
Title: Rebellion
Warnings: suicide/suicidal themes, bad language, homosexuality (mild and unrequited)
Summary: "Suicide is the most powerful form of protest, the ultimate act of rebellion."
Length: 2,400 words
Notes: Shifting point of view - first person for the present and third person for the flashbacks. Present tense. This can fit a lot of genres, so I'll just list them all here: angst, tragedy, sci-fi, drama. I'd say it's predominantly angst.
Rebellion
“It’s time to get up!” Trill the speakers from the corner of the room. “It’s a beautiful morning, and we want to see it! Time to get up! We are glad to be alive!”
I groan, barely resisting the urge to throw my pillow at the stupid speakers. Instead, I sit up, rub my eyes, and look out the window. We only have one window in the room where they keep us, and I don’t think it’s for us. I think it’s so they can make sure we’re not doing anything untoward, like writing with a sharp pencil or something.
Of course they have cameras watching us all the time, too, but as I’ve already shown, technology is not foolproof.
The window looks out onto the courtyard, where we play sports or draw happy things or other such nonsense. As I suspected, the morning looks to be anything but beautiful. The sky is a strange, overcast gray-white and the sun is nowhere in sight.
“It’s a beautiful morning!” the speakers insist shrilly.
“Mama?” asks the boy as his mother tucks his blankets around him.
“Yes?” the mom responds.
“Why is the Regime so against su’cide?”
The mother takes a moment to fluff the boy’s pillow before responding. “You know why. It’s unnatural, awful, and if you commit suicide you go straight to Hell.”
There is a pause as both feel the flames of Hell creeping up their arms. This is not good bedtime conversation for anyone. The mother searches for a change of topic.
“What story would you like me to read to you?” asks the mother.
“It’s just that Caleb said the Regime was lying about su’cide. He said that they don’t like it ‘cause of something that happened a long time ago.”
The mother sighs. She sits down on the edge of her son’s bed and takes his hand. “I wasn’t going to tell you this until you were older,” she begins. “But if you’re going to be hearing things, it’s best to tell you the truth right now. How about I tell you a bedtime story of… the creation of our nation?”
Breakfast consists of a soggy bowl of cereal and watery orange juice. I don’t understand why their meals always suck. You’d think that if they want to make us happy, they’d feed us better. But Camp is always a paradox. They can never decide if they want to make it wonderful so we’ll be happy, or horrible so we’ll be dying to get better and leave.
Heh. Dying to. That’s a good one.
I look up as someone sits down across from me. It’s Jake. He’s about seventeen, just a little older than me. His messy brown hair falls (artfully) into his brown eyes, which are currently sparkling wickedly. Pretty much everyone in here is depressed or righteous or angry. Jake may be all of those things – he’s in here for a reason, after all – but he doesn’t show it.
I met Jake a few days ago. He’s cool. He’s funny and (cute) and, like me, he doesn’t fall for the fake happiness of Camp. Also like me, he’s determined to get out of here. Which, of course, is easier said than done, especially if you don’t pander to the officials.
Despite everything, I still have my pride, as does Jake. And we’re not going to pretend to be cured just so we can have another go at things.
“Hey, Peter. Check out the Reason to be Happy today,” Jake says, motioning towards the far wall. Every day, the Authorities change this poster on the wall that proclaims various things that I guess are supposed to make people happy. Mostly they just make me annoyed, but if Jake thinks today’s is a good one, it’s worth a gander. He and I have pretty much the same sense of humor.
“The Regime’s sourdough bread proclaimed ‘to die for!’”
I snicker. “They really don’t understand irony, do they?”
Jake rolls his eyes. “We should start keeping track of how many idiot posters have some sort of oblivious reference to why no one here is happy. We’ve been here for, what – a week? – and already I can think of four times.”
“This whole place is a joke,” I say.
“A long time ago, the Regime didn’t exist,” the mother says. “There were different people in charge, ones who weren’t so – strict. But eventually the Authorities rose up and took over. But people didn’t like that.”
“Why not?” asks the boy, his eyes shining with youthful curiosity. The mother closes her eyes for a moment. She is putting him in danger by giving him this knowledge. But he has to know the truth, and from her, not Caleb.
“The Regime was too strict for them. The people really valued their freedom, and the Regime took it from them. In short, it really wasn’t nice.”
“But you’re talking about the Regime, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
The blasphemy hangs in the air for a second. After a moment the mother continues.
“This is where suicide comes in. The Regime was in control. It seemed like there was nothing the people could do. But these people were stubborn. They did not want to live the rest of their lives being controlled. So they rebelled. You’ve heard the story of the monk who set himself on fire in protest, right?”
The boy nods. The story is a well-known one, an example of what not to do and why not to do it. “He’s still burning now, they say.”
The mother shrugs. “I don’t know about that. But the thing is – that’s what the people did. They committed suicide in protest.”
“But it’s impossible to commit su’cide,” the boy says.
“It wasn’t back then. Even now, it’s possible, just very difficult. Back when the Regime was just getting started, suicide was very much possible. Many of the people killed themselves, freeing themselves from the Regime and making a statement against it at the same time. This angered them greatly.”
The boy tilts his head to the side. “But if they all killed themselves, was there anyone left?”
“Oh, sure,” says the mother with a humorless smile. “Not everyone was brave enough to protest, and not everyone disliked the Regime. And after the mass suicide, the Regime made sure it couldn’t happen again. Eventually they built up a society, one that we’re still living in today. But that’s why they’re so against suicide. Not because it’s evil or unnatural or sinful. They’re against it, afraid of it, because suicide is the most powerful form of protest, the ultimate act of rebellion.”
The boy lies under his covers. He is silent. His mother squeezes his hand once, and then leans over to kiss his forehead. “Sleep well, Peter,” she whispers.
Peter lies awake for a long time afterwards, thinking.
Suicide is the most powerful form of protest, the ultimate act of rebellion…
They have us running laps. Something about exercise releasing good endorphins that make us happier. Running is one of the things I mind the least out of everything we do here. It feels good to move around, to be out of the various rooms that they keep us cooped up in. At least the courtyard is in the fresh air, even if there is a forcefield around it. Forcefields can be tricked, I know that, but I think that they’ve already rectified that problem. One thing I’ll give to the Authorities – they’re quick.
Another reason why I like running is that I have Jake by my side. He makes the world just a tiny bit brighter, which I could really use until we figure a way out of this situation.
“Running isn’t so bad,” Jake says to me as we run alongside a wall, “but I could really do without the Happy Instructor.”
The Happy Instructor is Jake’s name for the Authority who attempts to give us pep talks as we run. The Instructor is tall and gangly, with skin that looks perpetually sunburned (unlike Jake’s skin, which looks like the sun is his lover and has been covering his skin with kisses until he’s tanner than Apollo). He wears old-fashioned glasses that are always nearly falling off his pointy face. I find the Instructor more amusing than annoying, but he really bugs Jake.
“Can you feel the muscles in your legs work?” the Happy Instructor says in his reedy voice. “Don’t they feel good? Aren’t you happy to be alive on this wonderful day, able to run around on this wonderful courtyard?”
The Instructor also happens to be one of those people who seems incapable of making statements. Everything’s a question with him, even if he’s just saying, “The square root of four is two?”
That’s probably why Jake doesn’t like him. He can’t stand indecisive people. He says that’s what screwed him over his first time – he couldn’t decide. But now he’s made up his mind, it’s good that I’m so determined to kill myself, and he is too.
Our first attempts might not have worked. But our second try will, and we’re so close to succeeding.
“Soon enough, we won’t have to deal with the Happy Instructor,” I mutter as Jake and I round a bend in the track. “Soon enough, we won’t have to deal with anything.”
Jake glances at me, his brown eyes aglow. They seem to light up the entire dreary sky.
It’s taken a long time to get everything together. They keep the tightest hold on potentially harmful materials. The time he requested a knife outright had been complete foolishness. They never give you a knife unless you have a one hundred percent solid reason, and “I can’t cut my steak” was clearly not good enough.
He found a way around that, though. And around the impossible-to-requisition ropes, guns, pills, and even vaguely sharp objects. Most importantly, Peter found a way around the forcefields that surrounded all of the bridges.
It is simple. Almost all household ingredients and just a few new materials that are part of the harmless household recipe. And it is harmless, if you are trying to commit suicide by drinking it.
Peter has something else in mind entirely. Once he finishes making the potion, he carefully stashes it in one of his coat pockets. It is best to use it as soon as possible or it will lose it potency. And he might lose his courage.
He is almost to the door when his dad stops him.
“Where are you going?”
Peter turns, barely restraining a grimace of annoyance. He keeps his face expressionless as he replies, “On a walk.”
His dad shifts his weight, which is saying something. His dad isn’t fat, exactly, but he is a big man – tall, like Peter, and muscular, unlike Peter. Supposedly, the muscles are part of his job as an executioner. And supposedly, Peter will gain those muscles when the Authorities force him to follow in his father’s footsteps.
What none of them understand is that Peter doesn’t want to execute anyone. Correction – the only person Peter wants to execute is himself.
“Be careful,” his dad cautions, and Peter immediately feels a bit bad. It’s not like his dad enjoys being an executioner. He’s just as trapped as the rest of them, just as trapped as his mom was when she died.
“I will be,” Peter says, and then makes it out the door before his dad can stop him again.
He has a forcefield to deactivate.
It’s dinnertime, and I can hardly focus. I can tell Jake is distracted, too. He keeps on turning the pale spaghetti on his fork over and over without actually eating any of it.
Tonight, we’re going to do it.
I glance at Jake. The silence between us is too telling, and I need something else to think about besides the riskiness of our plan. I see him looking at a girl at another table, and blurt out, “Do you like her?”
Jake blinks and looks over at me as if he just remembered that I’m here. “What?”
Why did I ask that? God, this is so embarrassing. “That girl. You were staring at her. Do you like her?”
Jake actually blushes a bit. (He’s so adorable.) “Am I really that obvious? Man.
Then she’s a fool, I almost say. Instead, I just watch him watch her. After a moment he turns to me and says cheekily, “You’re lucky you’re betrothed. You don’t have to worry about girls liking you; you know one’s going to marry you for sure.”
Too bad I don’t like girls, I almost say. Instead, I say, “I wouldn’t call me lucky. I’ve only met her once, but she was a total bitch. Good thing I’ll be offing myself before I have to marry her.”
My off-hand comment reminds us of what we were avoiding in the first place. Jake starts fiddling with his fork again. I watch his hands. He has nice hands.
He’s watching that girl again.
No one ever comes to this bridge. It’s up high and the river below it is deep and fast, but the bride is small and broken down, and the view, if one could call it that, is not exactly inspiring. But Peter isn’t looking for inspiration, not really. He already has all the inspiration he needs.
Suicide is the most powerful form of protest, the ultimate act of rebellion. His mom’s words from before she died echo in his mind.
He uncorks the potion.
I will not become an executioner.
He carefully pours it on the small metal ball that holds the energy powering the forcefield.
I will not marry that stupid girl.
Peter stands on the edge of the bridge and leans forward experimentally. He half-expects to encounter the standard resistance as he approaches the edge, but he there is none.
I will not marry any girl.
With a triumphant grin, Peter drops a coin off the bridge. It falls into the water with a small plop. The potion worked.
Suicide is the most powerful form of protest, the ultimate act of rebellion.
Peter tapes the sign to his chest. He made the sign only last night. It reads, in clear bold letters, “DOWN WITH THE REGIME, AND DOWN WITH LIFE!”
I will not live my life controlled by the Authorities.
Peter takes a deep breath and jumps off the bridge.
My first suicide attempt failed. My dad found me, bruised and bleeding by the side of the river. Somehow (miraculously, my dad calls it, but I say, some miracle) I survived the currents and the fall and all that and the river deposited me on its bank.
There was one miraculous thing, though – the water ruined the sign. It was impossible to read. Which would’ve made me feel downright silly if I actually had died and the Authorities didn’t get the message at all, but it was a good thing since I hadn’t died.
If the Authorities had seen the sign, they would’ve done much worse than just throwing me in a Happy Camp with all the other problem kids.
Of course, none of it would’ve been an issue if my dad hadn’t reported me to the Authorities. I don’t blame him, really. They would have found out anyway, eventually, and then we both would’ve been in trouble. This way, I conceivably still have a home to get back to after I’m cured.
Still, it kind of sucks knowing that your dad sold you out.
It’s time for bed now. I hate how they keep us on such a rigid schedule. It’s ridiculous. Even on weekends, our bedtime is the same. For once I’m happy with the early bedtime, though, because it means that Jake and I can put our plan into action sooner. Any longer, waiting and (watching him make many eyes at that girl) agonizing over what we’re going to do, and I’d go crazy.
We’re walking back to our dorm now, under the watchful eye of the Authorities. Just for fun, I try out the Instructor’s advice. I feel the muscles in my legs as I walk and try to find some joy in the motion.
All I can think about is my mom, my dad and his sometimes-bloody hands, that bitch of a fiancé, and beautiful Jake staring at that girl. I think about the Regime has screwed over every one of us.
Walking sucks.
Eventually we make it to our dorm. Blessed relief.
The Authorities dim the lights and leave. They never turn off the lights, because then their cameras won’t be able to see anything. Little do they know that their cameras will be useless with or without light tonight. Jake, technical genius that he is, disabled them.
The only thing that remains is waiting for the other boys to fall asleep and keeping out of view of the window. We can do that. We do do that.
I don’t know how long it takes for everyone to fall asleep, but it feels like both seconds and hours. Eventually, the soft sound of breathing fills the room, and Jake and I look at each other.
“It’s time,” Jake whispers.
I nod, and quietly lift up one of the stones that makes up the floor. Underneath it lay two guns. The moonlight glints off the silver barrels. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. (Besides Jake’s eyes.)
It was unbelievable difficult getting a hold of these guns. Jake has connections in the black market, but even there it’s so hard to find appropriate objects for suicide. And even these guns are programmed to send an alarm if anyone uses it on themselves.
What Jake and I figured out is that they won’t send an alarm if you use it on someone else. And as an added bonus, they’re completely silent.
I look up into Jake’s eyes to find him looking at me. In the darkness, I can only see his outline. His eyes reflect the moon. He looks cold, otherwordly, and untouchable.
Jake and I both pick up a gun. My mouth is dry. Jake’s hands are shaking just a bit.
“Suicide is the most powerful form of protest, the ultimate act of rebellion,” I say softly.
“What?” Jake breathes, eyes wide, slightly startled that I’ve broken the silence.
“Just something my mother said once,” I respond, carefully to keep my voice down.
Jake nods. He turns the gun around in his hands, and then looks up at me again. “You ready?” he asks.
I smile. “Should we leave suicide notes?” I think about my first suicide note, waterlogged and probably still lying on that muddy bank somewhere. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I know that managing to commit suicide in one of the Regime’s Happy Camps is enough rebellion by itself.
Jake scoffs. “What would we write? ‘Goodbye cruel world’? ‘Have a good life, you suckers’?”
“Probably something a bit stronger than suckers,” I say. Jake says nothing, and I realize I’ve been stalling. I turn my gun to face Jake. God, this is going to be hard.
I almost ask him if he’s sure he wants to do this, but I see the rock-solid determination in his reflective eyes, mirroring my own.
He lifts his gun and points it at my chest. “Ready?” he asks again. I nod.
“One…” Jake begins.
My palms are sweating.
“Two…”
My breathing is speeding up.
“Three…”
My heart is lifting.
I look at Jake. You’re beautiful, I think. If there’s been one good thing in my life, it’s been you. I don’t say anything.
“Now!”
Without hesitation, I fire three silent shots at Jake, just as he fires three silent shots at me.
Pain. Red hot pain. I slump to the floor, barely noticing Jake falling on top of me. The floor is getting sticky but whatever it is, it’s kind of warm.
There wasn’t any alarm…
“We did it,” Jake whispers. The edges of the world are getting kind of fuzzy.
Yes, we did, I want to say, but I can’t talk.
The floor is warm, and… warm, and…
Everything goes black.
The End
Your unique premise adds intrigue to a dark tale, leaving us torn between sad and glad. You create cross currents that add complexity and could make it harder to write cohesively. But, you are truly in command. Time for a regime change!
ReplyDelete@John wWow, you sound like such a literary critic!
ReplyDeleteWow.
ReplyDeleteThis is an incredible story! It is so inventive, so interesting, so thoughtful, so complex, and so well written, that I don't even know where to start
I love the idea, which is so weird and wild that it would seem ridiculous, but you manage to portray instead a very realistic and believable society that exercises total control over its citizens, depriving them of any escape, even death. You make a potentially morbid story very powerful and very thought-provoking. I love the flashbacks and the shift in narration so that we can suspect that Peter is the narrator, but we don't know until late. I also ink the way you portray your futuristic society is very well done. You give just enough bak story to make it come toy life, but leave enough unsaid to create a sense of mystery, and that the regime is not telling its citizens the whole story. In this case, leaving out any name for the regime makes it even more frightening and seems too big to destroy.
Superbly written! – one of the best, if not the best, so far!
random tidbitt:
About four years ago I had to do a project for Roman history class, and did a paper on Masada. Basically, the Romans were besieging the city, and after years they finally broke in. But the night before they broke in, the inhabitants of the city all committed mass suicide in protest, so that the Romans could not take them prisoner.
We are glad to be alive! - great beginning to really show the attitude of the regime's correction camp, in the way that the narrator sees it. part of what is so good (scary) about this story is how well you draw out the logic of the mc's thinking, and hoe convincing it can seem!
untoward, like writing with a sharp pencil or something - ominous, because we can immediately see that thats a little excessive!
but as I’ve already shown, technology is not foolproof - I like how this feels like it starts in the middle. It makes the flashbacks so much more interesting.
the morning looks to be anything but beautiful … “It’s a beautiful morning!” the speakers insist shrilly - again, good, it shows that the regime is trying to impose things that are not truth on them, just to get them to do its bidding.
“Mama?” asks the boy as his mother tucks his blankets around him.
“Yes?” the mom responds.
“Why is the Regime so against su’cide?”
The mother takes a moment to fluff the boy’s pillow before responding. “You know why. It’s unnatural, awful, and if you commit suicide you go straight to Hell.”
There is a pause as both feel the flames of Hell creeping up their arms. - love this line.
How about I tell you a bedtime story of… the creation of our nation? - intriguing, makes the reader really want to know more! But it does seem like he's pretty young to be talking about suicide. We never get an age, but maybe if we know he's 13 instead of 7 we'll feel better. Unless the mother is just very open.
Heh. Dying to. That’s a good one. - another great line. The narrator is very sick in a funny way. I suppose it's part of the regime that makes them that way. It is hard to portray an insane/imbalanced character well and make the reader like and sympathise with him but you manage - incredible
His messy brown … sparkling wickedly. - good concise built detailed description!
Pretty much everyone in here is depressed or righteous or angry. - also, a good description of the camp.
Hey, Peter - totally missed this the first tome! And maybe consider leaving it out. It's pretty clear that the boy in the 3rd-p parts is the same as the narrator of the 1st-p sections, but I kind of liked not knowing for sure.
He and I have pretty much the same sense of humor. - ominous but funnily.
“The Regime’s sourdough bread proclaimed ‘to die for!’” - great dark humour here.
We’ve been here for, what – a week? - sorry in advance for extreme pickinness. anyway, Peter seems to know a lot about the place (they always, each day, etc…) for only being there a week. Also, maybe I missed something, but didn't he get sent to the camp right after jumping off the bridge? The line "It’s taken a long time to get everything together" didn't mean five+ years to me, but maybe that's what you intended it to mean. otherwise, it seems there's a couple years missing between kid jumps off bridge and boy is in camp first week at almost 17 years old.
ReplyDelete“A long time ago, the Regime didn’t exist,” the mother says. “There were different people in charge, ones who weren’t so – strict. But eventually the Authorities rose up and took over. But people didn’t like that.”
“Why not?” asks the boy, his eyes shining with youthful curiosity. The mother closes her eyes for a moment.
She is putting him in danger by giving him this knowledge. - she is kind of a bad mom… also an interesting character. I wonder what she feels like when he jumped off the bridge. would the mom support his "rebellion"?
“But you’re talking about the Regime, aren’t you?” / “Yes.” The blasphemy hangs in the air for a second. - a really neat moment, where you portray so well just how brainwashed these kids are. incredible way of presenting such a loaded spell.
Even now, it’s possible, just very difficult. - it almost feels like she is trying to encourage him to try it. The psychology of being a mother of a brainwashed kid in the regime is really scary! she must really hate the regime to be able to watch her (only?) child die to oppose it. Or maybe she doesn't realise where her strong views will take him.
Not everyone was brave enough to protest, and not everyone disliked the Regime. - interesting that she basically puts herself in this group of people. It seems like she mat be trying to get her son to do the protest she is too cowardly to carry out. very sick, if so. and cowardly.
suicide is the most powerful form of protest, the ultimate act of rebellion - a great and terrifying proclamation. I can totally see this going on the back of the book (or the summary, where you put it). pretty much sums up the rebels' [twisted] attitude.
Sleep well, Peter - switch to this from the above line is so startling. I think the mother is very manipulative, almost as much as the regime. sorry I am so harsh against her but she is probably the most interesting character (though peter is also an extremely interesting character)
exercise releasing good endorphins … I mind the least - I found this really funny that it totally works on him even though he doesn't notice it, even though he knows what it is supposed to be doing. if that makes any sense.
One thing I’ll give to the Authorities – they’re quick. - i like the ironic tone.
Another reason why I like running is that I have Jake by my side. - I feel kind of like the whole gay romance is underdeveloped, but then, that's not really the main plot, either.
Happy Instructor - love the name and the description of this guy. He really makes us feel how terrible it would be to be in the camp.
incapable of making statements. Everything’s a question with him - also love this, especially as you show it so well? showing is better than telling? god character?
He says that’s what screwed him over his first time – he couldn’t decide. - weird psychology here, would be nice to know a little more about how jake got into camp. but of course you can't do everything and the story is already a pretty long short story. Ahem, novel, novel, novel, ahem. Or novella. NaNoWriMo is coming up in less than half a year.
Jake glances at me, his brown eyes aglow. They seem to light up the entire dreary sky. - another great and terrifying image. so cool how you show us how these boys see death.
They keep the tightest hold… I like how you describe the way everything is censored.
ReplyDeletehis dad stops him. - this makes the whole mom thing so much more interesting. obviously the dad is not in on it, and she must've made it clear he is not to tell him. because considering the mother told him how great suicide is, you would think that he would brag to his parents or something.
job as an executioner … to follow in his father’s footsteps. - this is another very strange aspect of your regime (good-strange). it somewhat justifies peter's suicide, as he know he will have to kill people if he doesn't kill himself. Also I thought it was very interesting they have executioners in a regime that is so against death. I guess it is fine if the regime kills you, as long as it wasn't what you wanted. (but then you'd think a lot of people would commit crimes and pretend they don't want to die, just to get killed. unless the suicide as protest thing only works if it's not the regime killing you.) sometimes it's hard to tell if they want to die because they don't want to live under the regime or because they think they will make it better for those who come later.
as his mom was when she died. - it would be nice to know more about this! how did she die? suicide? killed by regime? natural?
Do you like her? … blushes a bit. (He’s so adorable.) - sad in a gay kind of way. would be nice to know more about this one, too.
you know one’s going to marry you for sure. - the whole arranged marriage aspect of the regime is also not gone into at any depth. another reason he wants to die, maybe? broken heart?
what we were avoiding in the first place - interesting how they are actually afraid of death even if they act like they are not.
, and the view, if one could call it that, is not exactly inspiring. But Peter isn’t looking for inspiration, not really. He already has all the inspiration he needs.
Suicide is the most powerful form of protest, the ultimate act of rebellion. His mom’s words from before she died echo in his mind.
He uncorks the potion.
I will not become an executioner.
He carefully pours it on the small metal ball that holds the energy powering the forcefield.
I will not marry that stupid girl.
Peter stands on the edge of the bridge and leans forward experimentally. He half-expects to encounter the standard resistance as he approaches the edge, but he there is none.
I will not marry any girl.
With a triumphant grin, Peter drops a coin off the bridge. It falls into the water with a small plop. The potion worked.
Suicide is the most powerful form of protest, the ultimate act of rebellion.
Peter tapes the sign to his chest. He made the sign only last night. It reads, in clear bold letters, “DOWN WITH THE REGIME, AND DOWN WITH LIFE!”
I will not live my life controlled by the Authorities.
Peter takes a deep breath and jumps off the bridge.
My first suicide attempt failed - like how the flashbacks and the present sections come together here.
my dad hadn’t reported me to the Authorities. - he's also got a really weird psycho-thing going on. Being a parent in the regime seems so unethical!
(watching him make many eyes at that girl) - not going in the oppose section because it might not be one, but is it supposed to be "many"? Also, really thought this would develop into something. see end comments.
the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. (Besides Jake’s eyes.) - scary how they think of guns that way… also the jake's eyes thing, still waiting…
And even these guns are programmed to send an alarm if anyone uses it on themselves. - interesting, curious how exactly this works. I thought this would set up a problem - see end comments.
He looks cold, otherwordly, and untouchable. - interesting way he almost has to distance himself from Jake to be able to do it.
“Suicide is the most powerful form of protest, the ultimate act of rebellion,” I say softly. very interesting to see his reaction. he doesn't want to die for protest, it seems. i also question whether peter does, or whether he's just depressed because jake doesn't love him and is using protest as an excuse.
ReplyDeleteGod, this is going to be hard. - I guess I expected it to be a lot harder. you're probably sick of me referencing the end comments by now.
MYSTERIOUS END COMMENTS I KEEP MENTIONING:
Without hesitation, I fire three silent shots at Jake, - okay, here goes. first, going to say that it is an incredible story, and i do not dislike the ending, though it does seem very (erm) happy for a dystopian story. but it works, and turns into a dark story about triumph against a controlling government, and a win for free will in a kind of sick way. but considering that maybe it's not even really for protest that they are foxing this, i'm not sure I feel fulfilled by that ending. now, sad or depressing endings are fine, too, and that's not a bad thing, i just maybe wanted to see more of that complex psychology - why they are really doing this.
Anyway, I totally expected a different ending. I didn't think peter would be able to kill jake. I thought he went through with it (partly) because of unrequited love - as I'm sure he could've succeeded the first time if he REALLY wanted to die for protest. So I guess I expected jake to shoot peter, but peter not top shoot jake.
from there it can go anywhere. jake can be furious and shoot himself, alerting the authorities and getting them both rescued, and then they have to deal with the consequences. or peter could die, then jake has to think about why peter didn't shoot him. happy: he will realise that there is something worth living for (the girl) and get back into society, and realise that there are other forms of pretest to fight the regime if he cares. sad: he doesn't and keeps on trinng to kill himself.
I see this as the first chapter in a longer story. and a very good one, too! i'll wait for november!
oopsies:
okay, got a little excited and did some mean mockery. ignore it. everyone makes typos. i makes typos too. this is what happens when the stoory is so good that I need to be silly. if that make sense.
“It’s time to get up!” Trill the speakers from the corner of the room - think it should be a little T
but the bride is small and broken down - poor groom. I guess this is the effect of arranged marriages.
I think about the Regime has screwed over every one of us. - maybe words reorder little a just. (or there could just be a missing "how").
It was unbelievable difficult - I feel terrible back mocking these, but it's all in fun. You can certain mock my comments, there will be incredible many errors in them as well. Typos happen to everyone.
Excellent writing . . . I also found the premise interesting, not morbid. If a society takes away all choices and makes you do things you are morally opposed to (e.g. become an executioner or marry a different gender than what you would choose) than ending your life may be the only choice you are able to make. I did find the first person/third person switch a little confusing though. At first I thought Jake was talking when you would say "Peter ..." but then realized you used third person when in the present. I would just stick with first person (more powerful anyway) and trust that your excellent descriptive voice will let your readers know what time period you are in.
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