Death Row

The First Day

Waking up, I am deafened by an alarm from my right and blinded by the lights above me. Even attempting to look away from these lights is a vain effort that will still lead to the same blindness; the walls are completely white and appear just as bright as the light. Falling out of bed with my eyes half closed, I stare into the camera on my alarm clock as I tiredly turn it off. The mechanical voice asks for, or demands, a productive day from me. The screen of the alarm clock then changes from an image of a man going to work to displaying the time - it is 6:02 A.M. and I have an hour to get ready for work. 

My eyes have adjusted to the lights by now so I see no reason to turn them off; doing so would actually be an unneeded hassle as my eyes would once again have to readjust. It takes me 10 large steps to escape the needlessly large and empty bedroom that occupies the entire top floor of my 2 story house; I do so without getting dressed. I exit the room through the doorway and slowly descend down the stairs, one at a time, as the government requests of citizens. The camera in the upper corner of the stairway watches me closely, moving to follow me down every single step, making sure I spend an adequate amount of time to ensure proper care is taken when descending these deadly stairs. Reaching the bottom, I turn around and see the camera has stopped following me - I take this as an approval of my descent. I then enter the only room of my bottom floor, very similar in size to that of my top floor, and walk along the soft carpet to the single chair in the room. 

Sitting on this chair, I fixate my eyes on the television encased in thick glass - glass which has by now gotten very dirty - and wait for the regular showing at 6:05. The only sound entering my ears is the occasional, creaky movement of cameras plastered on the walls outside my house, likely following some leaf blowing in the wind, or perhaps a neighbor in an identical house through their window; a neighbor whose own cameras could be watching me. I'm snapped out of this train of thoughts when the television turns on with a click. The neighborhood newscaster then begins to speak; "Hello, neighbors! All is well in the neighborhood today!" He shouts this loudly, staring at me through the screen, speaking with no doubt. "Breakfast for today is 2 fried eggs and a piece of toast! How lucky we are today! This will surely fuel you up and prepare you for another tough day of work! I'm sure also that you'll find comfort in knowing that Saturday is just 2 days away! We can do it, together!" Every sentence is shouted with the same excitement, regardless of content, every day. The speaker then proceeds to go on about the weather in the area, stating all is good as usual. Then, as the clocks all around the world turn to 6:10, the broadcast abruptly cuts off, the speaker barely able to say his final goodbye for the day.

Then, as advised, I leave the house to sit on the chair on my front porch. All my neighbors do the same. All of us sit on our chairs in silence, staring at the flowers, completely ignoring each other; no one utters a word or glances at one another. The scientists say - well, the government says on behalf of the scientists - that taking in nature for half an hour in the morning is a good way to start off the day; thus we do it everyday. At 6:40, after a productive half an hour of taking in nature, myself and all my neighbors walk into our identical houses, climb up the stairs slowly, taking the utmost precaution, and all get dressed. 

Our clothes do not differ in any way other than in size; even then, they only differ slightly as all in the neighborhood are similar in height, width, weight, etc. We're all similar in every physical way, in fact. I could not tell myself and my neighbors apart if shown a picture, not that there are any pictures of me with my neighbors, or any neighbors with their neighbors. We each have identical black hair, cut in the same style by a machine at the end of each day, blue eyes, no facial hair, and are all equally pale. This neighborhood and the neighborhoods nearest are like this. The further you, the more different the people are from us, though we are all equally similar to our neighbors in each neighborhood. At some point quite far away from my own neighborhood the female neighborhoods begin to appear. I have never seen a woman, but assume they are much the same as us; they are neighbors too, after all. 

After putting on my uncomfortable suit and washing my face and hands and body, I leave the house at exactly 7:00, along with all my neighbors. We each carry identical brief cases containing a pen, 5 lined sheets of A4 paper and a 30cm ruler. We all walk at very similar paces, matching the pace of the only person we look at, the one directly in front of us, and all walk to the same destination; yet, we do not interact with each other in any other manner. 

Our workplace is without name just like our neighborhood, and is a single building spanning the entire neighborhood in width. Despite its immense width, it has the same depth and height as any other house. It has two stories as well, just like any other house. Due to this, it seems extremely narrow if you look left or right upon entering, and seems almost inhuman in design. In single file, we file into the door created for our street and walk left or right, depending on where our cubicle is. Mine is 2 cubicles left, leaving me a short walk to work. 

The cubicles themselves are fairly small, as there must be left enough space between cubicles to walk, otherwise no one could reach their cubicles. I have only glimpsed at other cubicles out of the corners of my eyes when walking past, but they all seem to be identical to each other. They consist of 2 grey, smooth walls, with the 3rd wall being provided by the building itself and one side being left open, and a small desk crammed into the corner of the cubicle. The desk is a small wooden square slightly too low to be comfortable for use when sitting. Awkwardly, once again seeming inhuman, we are mandated to sit facing the corner. Thus, leaning forward results in a small pain in the chest from the corner of the wooden square poking you. The chair itself cannot be moved or adjusted in any way. I vaguely remember reading that the point of this is to promote good posture.

As I sit down on the chair, almost contorting my body to avoid the painful corner, someone speaks behind me. I jump in tremendous shock and cut my stomach a bit on the corner; despite the pain, I rise from my chair quickly and turn around to see if someone really had spoken. It's been years since anyone has spoken near me other than the machines in my house and the newscaster. In fact, I don't remember the last time someone did. And indeed, someone was standing there. Someone remarkably different from myself. He was taller, much taller, thinner, had longer, unkempt hair, a sloppily put on white suit (that was still remarkably clean despite the lack of care seemingly shown towards it) and slightly more tan than myself. His long arms sway by his side, as if the man has no energy to keep them still. The man spoke again; "Matthew?" His voice was deep and lacking in excitement, especially compared to the newscaster. It seemed almost filled with frustration and tiredness; looking at his eyes, my suspicions are confirmed - they stare at me, looking down on me both physically and metaphorically, and are surrounded by dark shadows. He repeats himself once more, with further anger and frustration. 

Startled but beginning to process the situation, I attempt to respond. Instead of words, however, a quiet, raspy mumble followed by a cough exits my mouth. I do not remember the last time I spoke. It must have been very long ago. After about a minute of coughing and repeated attempts at speech, I eventually manage to nod my head and spit out the word, "y-yes." My own voice is higher than the man's and much quieter; it sounds almost pathetically weak and subservient in comparison. The man, whose eyes had wandered off and begun staring down the long corridor, looked back at me suddenly and sighed before saying, slightly mumbling; "I have received orders to take you to Death Row for failure to comply with the Worldwide Guidelines for Safe Living. Any questions you may have may be answered at a later date. Resistance will get you nowhere and the government advises you to comply immediately." His eyes wander off down the corridor once again after he finishes speaking, leaving me completely shocked, yet surprisingly ready to comply.