The Living condition

13

The state of the world in the late 3040s was nothing short of a mess. Unemployment rates were at an all time high, the planet was practically dry up of oil, driving up the cost of synthetic oils, Inflation was at an all time high. Political groups and extremist groups, the line had blurred significantly between the two over the years. The death to birth rates in the world were largely imbalanced. Deaths in schools were a given. A likelihood. The very concept of right and wrong was largely lost on the world.

You were too young to know what to do about watching the television at home, watching marked atrocity after catastrophe reported on the news station your parents loved to watch when they had nothing else to do, which was often enough.

To see harrowing tale after devastating witness account of a disaster, the loss of life.

It was often that you dreamed of getting away. You were never quite sure if there was a specific thing you wanted to get away from, or if you just wanted away from it all. To float in the silence of space, the absence of sound filling you with peace. It was something you'd dreamed about once. Floating peacefully outside your own body, not carrying the worry of your world on your shoulders. Never wonder what was, what will be, or what will happen.

You'd dreamed of living for yourself, living for your peace and the peace of those around you.

It's a silly thought to have. That you'd someday reach a state of such peace, that there would never be something you have to worry about, that there would never again be something horrible you had to hear about second-hand. That you'd never see another person wail for the death of a loved one, you'd never hear about the death of someone younger and much frailer than yourself.

You'd never again see the picture of a miniature casket on the internet, and know exactly what it meant.

Some part of you wanted to get away. From all of it, you supposed. Every bad thing you'd ever seen, every bad thing you'd ever been told, every bad thing your family had ever done, every bad thing you'd seen long before you had the time to think for yourself.

Some part of you wanted to get away.

But there was nowhere for you to go.

—-

When you'd woken up, it was to bright fluorescent lights shining straight into your eyes,save for something you couldn't discern blocking a part of your vision. Surgical lighting directly over your head while you tried to get a sense of your surroundings. There was this heavy ache in the back of your head. Bruised, undoubtedly. You went to reach your hand behind your head. You were hit with something, it'd be best to make sure there was no blood. But as you reached, your arm held far too much resistance and snapped right back down to the medical gurney.

Maybe when you got home you'd start keeping a tally list of all the injuries you've sustained on Copper-9 in the past few weeks you've been conscious.

It's at least three now. Three too many in your opinion.

You were strapped down and unable to move without much effort and plenty of resistance from the straps that made your wrists sore with too much movement.

So you stopped moving, laid your head back and instead looked around with furrowed brows. The thing blocking your vision moves with the movement of skin when you furrow your brows, and whatever was around it crinkled like tape.

Uncomfortable, weird and a little concerning that you couldn't tell what was taped to the side of your head. The sound of a saw whirring away was also something to be concerned over.