Prolouge
Death. What a foul smell it has. It's been filling my nostrils like a poisonous gas since I got here; whenever that was…. Three days maybe? A week? I can't remember anymore. Why did I ever say those things, walk around like I owned the damn world? I knew they would find me and lock me up in this goddamn shit-hole.
I can't even bare to look at this fucking place. Iron fences imprison us within a train yard of hell. Children crying for the shrill of absent mothers. The sight of grown men falling to the feces and disease-ridden ground hoping for the sweet release of death. It's so bad, everyone wants on the "Party Line". That's the name given to the lucky bastards who get to walk into the injection room. The free ticket to anywhere but life…
I haven't made it there yet. I'm not that lucky. Call it Karma, call it "Pissing Whoever the Fuck Runs the Universe Off…" Whatever. I don't give a shit. I just want out of this life. I was one of the lucky few to be immune to the vaccines…if you want to call them that….the government made mandatory for all kinds of shit. H1N1, you name it. It's all the same; the plan was to get you worried about getting sick, manipulating the press and media. Telling you "Look at this! So many people are sick! It's an epidemic, hurry get a vaccine before you die!"
It was so easy making you want the vaccine. You take it like the sniveling coward you are, thinking you'll never be sick again. Think you're fucking Superman. Yeah, me too. But the trick was that the vaccine actually carried a new artificial plague. Then they tell you that you need cured again. So they send you to the "quarantine camp" telling you its a little retreat while they find your so called "cure". Then you end up here.
If you're like me, your immune to this disease and you know the plan now. So you try speaking out against it. You get all self-righteous and courageous….but all you've really become is a zit in the plans of the people running the world. You need to be exterminated just like those sick people.
So they track you through corporate branches like "Big Brother" and they stalk you, just waiting like a wild animal waiting to pounce on its prey. They wait until you're outside carrying in your groceries and medical treatments for your wife, who by the way, probably will get sick and die anyway; and they drag you here by force.
It's not like it matters anyway. I'm just like everyone else in here: named by the number and penned up as a fucking worthless animal. There's no one to save us. No hope. I even have trouble remembering my name anymore. I've been referred to by that number so much it's become who I am. 34115. I have it memorized in the back of my head. It's all I have anymore and that damn guard Jennings knows it. 34115. He makes me recite it like a poem.
To him I'm fucking worthless and unworthy to be on this Earth. He wants to torment me. 34115. It must be on the dot. Not too slow or I'm being a lazy dip shit. Not too fast or I'm a fucking smart-ass. I've said those digits so many times they're embedded in my jaw. My stomach is painted black and blue from the butt of his rifle.
I wish I could see his cold heartless face behind that gas-mask. I want to claw his eyes out with my fingers. I want him to look into my eyes the way I look into those black empty lenses. Ah, here he comes now.
"Alright you fucking worm. TELL ME WHAT YOUR GODDAMN NAME IS BECAUSE I JUST CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT YOUR WORTHLESS SACK OF SHIT IS CALLED!" he screamed through the muffled curtain of his mask.
"3…4…1…1…5," I recited like an uncaring robot as I have for so long. I spoke with a tone of hatred and sarcasm. I knew it would piss him off, but quite frankly I didn't give a shit.
"YOU FUCKING LITTLE SHIT DICK! How dare you get smart with me. Get ready for the Hole you Fuck-weed!" With that he looked down on me as he always did, and being the dog I am; I looked away as if he were my superior.
CRACK!
That sharp, reverberating pulse was lightning through my skull. I felt the abrasive, cold palm of the dirt against my face. My ears popped like a firecracker and the ringing soon drowned the rest out. That cold abyss of darkness soon took hold of my consciousness again. I was free to dream, free to rest my soul.