Apologies for my fairly long absence from this website - I am participating in NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. This is the first chapter of my nano entry, and the rest will be up soon. Warnings for story: some violence, mild sexual scenes. Flones. This is kind of based off of A Series Of Unfortunate Events in the way it is written, but it is all original content. The story does have quite a lot of plot twists, I can promise you that!
Dear Publisher,
As one of the few survivors of the Leadership, you have requested that I write down the story of what eventually lead to the total demise of this country. As you know, many people deny that the Leadership ever happened, while a few members of the Leadership still remain and try to hunt me down. As such, the document itself cannot be sent through the post. It isn't safe. Next time you need to go shopping, go to the Rations Distribution Station on Manning Street. Go to the distributor with dyed purple hair and a lip ring, who may have a badge reading either 'Dougie' or 'Captain Dougwash'. There will be an old bass guitar with 'Tom Fletcher' written on the side of it resting at his feet.
Once you have reached the purple haired distributor, hand him three cabbages and a fake moustache, along with a newspaper or magazine that you feel he would enjoy (the job of a rations distributor is rather dull, and he would appreciate it). Hand them to him from your left hand. He will nod twice before packaging your cabbages. Wait until you are in a safe place to unpack the vegetables. Within them will be the pure, hard facts of what happened, along with an image of Tom Fletcher and Danny Jones to assist the illustrator, a button from Danny Jones' coat during his time in the Leadership and a Leadership training manual from Tom Fletcher and James Bourne's first room in the work complex.
You are my last hope of sharing my knowledge of the Leadership.
Regards,
Rickard Bouillon
Often, when enjoying time with loved ones, or friends, time can seem to stop. Clocks may tick, the world may orbit, the lights may change, but time has stopped. In that moment, all that matters, has ever mattered and will ever matter is the pleasure of that moment.
Of course, the polar opposite can be said. In a moment of unadulterated misery, time can flinch and falter. Snow can patter, words can be muttered, stars can die, but time has once more stopped and the entire world of the sufferer orbits around their own personal pain.
Tom Fletcher hadn't done badly at school, nor had he been inspirationally intelligent. He was passed off as another high achiever, just a kid who could write an essay when necessary and do a few sums. His first exams went extremely well, and he seemed all set for University after a gap year of work. That was, of course, before the Leadership.
It had been almost a year since the Leadership was instated. Power hungry and willing to do anything to get ahead, the Leadership had scraped a majority in the elections and were in charge. Twenty two minutes afterwards, it was announced that the country would no longer be split into regions, but sectors. Sector One, Sector Two, Sector Three. Sector Three contained Scotland and a small wedge of northern England, including some of old Bolton. Sector Two was the rest of England, and Sector One was Wales and Northern Ireland.
"We will regain the power and the glory that the United Kingdom once had. We will become the greatest force on earth once more!" the voice proclaimed, from every radio and television. The voice belonged to one man, the face of the Leadership and the person behind all of the events that would eventually result in...I have said too much already. I have sworn to record the events leading up to the final demise, and that is what I must do. The man's name? Danny Jones.
"Have you heard about the 'compulsory jobs'?" Tom's mother asked him one morning, as he ate his breakfast. His sister, a girl seven years his junior, was already on her way to school.
"No, what's happening?" Tom asked, before shovelling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
"People from England...Sector Two, rather, are being forced to move to Sector Three and work for the government there. It could be anyone – they just pick randomly."
Glancing up at his mother, Tom couldn't mask his surprise. "What are they doing there?"
"I'm not sure: I only know this because of your friend James' mother – James has received a notice requesting his presence at a selection meeting."
Tom's mouth fell open – James? James might be leaving? James Bourne was a couple of years older than Tom, and was his best friend. They had met through music lessons at school and had bonded.
"B-but, they can't take James!"
Tom's mother, who was called Debbie and was particularly proficient at hard work, sighed. "It's happening all over the country, my love. They might- oh god!"
"What" Tom asked, panicked.
"Me, you and your dad...any of us may be picked."
"What about our jobs here? What about our friends, and the rest of our family?" Tom almost demanded, now completely ignoring the soggy cereal in front of him.
"We'd all have to move, I suppose. We couldn't part each other." Debbie pinched the bridge of her nose as a million thoughts collided in her mind. While she had been aware of the process for almost a full day, she hadn't allowed herself to think too closely about it before she had had chance to consult either Tom or Tom's father, as both had fairly level heads and would be able to give a second side to any argument about it that she could come up with.
"I've got to go to work, mum. Don't worry about it – I'm sure none of us will be selected." Tom gave his mum a quick hug, before leaving the cosy, warm little kitchen. However, he stopped just moments later to pick the post up from the door mat. A letter for his father, two for his mother...and one very official looking one for him, with the logo of the Leadership printed on the front.
The phrase 'blood ran cold' is often misused in literature as simply an exclamation of fear. However, in some cases (such as when one receives a scary looking government letter, or when you discover that your hide out has been compromised and you have mere seconds to escape before a hoard of angry Peruvians bearing pitchforks and your latest novel arrive) the blood feels as if it has run cold. Your extremities, such as your fingers and toes, begin to feel cold and numb. This can quickly spread to your hands and feet, before invading the entire body and turning even the very tip of your nose icy cold. I myself have great experience of the blood running cold – I was being chased by a Leadership member several years ago when I turned a corner to hit a dead end. That, of course, is another story.
In that moment, Tom's blood ran cold.
Mr Thomas Michael Fletcher,
You have been selected to take part in an educative work experience in Sector Three, along with nineteen other youths from your area. You may not bring family or friends as you will be staying in government run quarters. You may bring one small suitcase. You will be working for six to twelve months. On the departure date listed below please go to the front of your house at eight o' clock in the morning to be collected.
-The Leadership
Tom's voice cracked as he read aloud the letter; Debbie began to cry. Uncomfortably, Tom placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't worry, mum. It'll be okay – I'm only going to be gone for six months, a year maximum."
Debbie looked up, her usually warm eyes full of tears. "Tom...have you looked at the departure date on the letter?"
Tom shook his head, confused, before glancing down again at the short letter. Right at the bottom of the creamy paper, a date was stamped. The next day.
"Is that...?" Tom began, before trailing off. Debbie nodded, completely wordless.
"Don't go to work today, please, Tom." Debbie's voice was almost begging, laced with the pure, unadulterated misery that she felt.
Time seemed to stop in that moment as the two horror stuck Fletcher's stood together and tried not to fall apart in front of each other.
"Hi mum! I'm home!"
The chirpy voice of Carrie, Tom's sister, seemed alien in the misery filled house. Tom and Debbie had spent the day packing Tom's bag and letting people know that Tom was going to be part of the compulsory work initiative. Most people had no idea what it was, but a few seemed to sombrely accept it: they too had received notices either requesting that their young male relative (whether it be son, cousin or other) had to leave and work for the Leadership.
Carrie entered the room, a smile splitting her face. When she saw the dull expressions on her mother and brother's faces, she stepped back, confused. "What's wrong?" she immediately asked.
"Sit down, love." Debbie instructed. "We've had some bad news."
Carrie looked frightened, there was no other way of putting it. Tom was just eighteen, making Carrie eleven. Eleven year old children frequently jump to the conclusion of fear and strike long before necessary. However, in this case, Carrie jumped to that conclusion just at the right moment. It wasn't a particularly difficult conclusion to come to, really: the fear in the room was almost palpable.
"I've had a letter from the new government-"
"The Leadership?" Carrie immediately asked. Tom nodded.
"Yeah, the Leadership. I have to move away for a few months to do work for them, and you and mum and dad aren't allowed to come with me."
Carrie looked a little confused. "Can't you just come and visit?"
Tom winced. "I don't think I'll be allowed to."
Carrie's face crumpled and a tear spilt from one of her eyes. The sight of a child crying is often enough to set anyone off, let alone two stressed, upset people, and within seconds Tom and Debbie were also crying.
Bob, Tom's father, had worked hard for all of his life. For a long time he had worked with Kodak, in the business of silver recovery. In each film coil, there were small amounts of silver, and it was his job to extract them. It was difficult, sweaty manual labour, the kind of labour that most people detest, Bob being no exception. However, the job was necessary to keep the Fletcher family afloat.
"Tom's going where?"
It was Bob's reaction that really made Tom realise the enormity of the situation. Tom's small wage helped the family rather a lot, as he donated the vast majority of it to the family funds. With Tom gone, that chunk of money would be gone. Of course, they wouldn't have to feed Tom any more, but due to Debbie and Bob's thrifty shopping, they didn't actually spend that much on food. The money that Tom brought in exceeded the money spent on him.
"What are we going to do?"
Tears shone in Bob's bloodshot eyes, but he roughly wiped them away with the palm of one grubby, work-roughened hand. People with work-roughened hands are often very trustworthy, I have found. For example, when writing this manuscript for the first time, I was being hunted by a group of Leadership fanatics who insisted that I stop writing. A very kind young gentleman by the name of Harry Judd, who's palms were as roughened by work as any builder, or miner, took me into his home until the crowd passed. They found me eventually, of course, and burned my manuscript, which is why I can tell you this story now.
"It'll be okay, dad. I'll get paid, and I can send the money home."
"I don't mean the money, son. I mean without you. How will we get on without you here? The Leadership is full of bas-"
"Bob!" Debbie suddenly cut Bob off, glancing around as if she was expecting a large pair of ears to grow out of the walls. Glancing up at her, he very quickly shut up.
"What's wrong?" Tom asked, confused. Carrie was in her room, simultaneously crying and doing her homework.
"The Leadership...there are microphones everywhere." Debbie very quietly murmured, gesturing to the wall. Rage bubbled up in Tom.
"They're watching us?!" Tom exclaimed loudly, glaring at the wall.
"Shh!" Debbie and Bob both hushed their son, anxiety filling both of their faces. However, as nothing happened after a few seconds Debbie gave a slightly nod.
"Danny Jones is a powerful man. Very powerful indeed."