Mike Sutton's Blog: For prose apply within. - Posts Tagged "slavery"

“Day and time!” Angela declared as she kicked off the covers. She was already regretting the previous evening.

“Sunday. 8:40 AM.” Angela sat up and got out of bed. She made her way through the clutter and pulled aside the blackout curtain that covered her tiny window. The warm, diffused glow of full day was upon the city as the skyscape warmed up. She could already see the clouds collecting on the horizon as the light began to dim.

Right on time.

In twenty minutes the downpour would begin. Right now she needed to break her fast with some protein and carbs. Angela's stomach growled to urge her on in making her decision. Her cupboards were empty as usual.

Angela jumped into the shower and sluiced herself off and made herself more presentable to the outside world. By 8:50 AM and she was on the street and walking briskly towards her favorite slop shack just off of SSW and Ring Seven. Level Sixteen, Unit B Prime. One level up from her own apartment and only a kilometer off.

Minutes ticked by and the sky grew darker and swirled overhead. It was how Angela imagined a storm at the far distant sea to look. How the stories had described them. Angela checked her time piece. Angela stepped inside and walked over to the counter. The cook nodded to her. She nodded back and held up her hand. She'd have her usual.

There was a new reader on the Network. She was prettier than the last, her voice more pleasing. She was relating a story about a team of Soldiers who had valiantly sussed out a nest of outcast vermin in a basement in the third ring. The outcasts were to be humanely relocated and introduced into various wholesome vocations across the city's several farm complexes, where they would be a boon.

The outcasts' handlers were to be recycled once they were judged to be guilty.

The clock turned over to 9 AM and the gates opened.

She watched the cleansing as she waited for her meal. A river of water was pouring off of the walkway. In moments the streets below would be a raging torrent half a meter deep. The water would scour away any filth that had accumulated in the last week. The cook set a bowl down in front of her with a final nod. Angela picked up her spoon and saluted before tucking in.

Breakfast Mixture Four. The specialty of the house, and the one thing that kept Angela coming back to the little corner shop. It filled her nutritional needs perfectly, providing the sensation of satiation as well as an abundance of energy. Didn't taste too bad either.

She was about a quarter the way through the bowl when the television flickered and went black. And instant later it lit back up and a nose appeared. The camera panned out, revealing a face and then a figure robed in red silk robes. Pontiff was on for his weekly meeting. The lights went out as the patrons and staff stood up and turned towards the nearest screen.

Angela stood up with alacrity, rising before nearly the rest of the room and nearly knocking over the seat of her stool. She locked her eyes on the screen and smiled broadly. But not too broadly.

“My children.” The Supreme Vicar said, holding out his arms for an embrace. All around her, people returned the gesture. Angela was among the first to rise. It was part of the ritual. Pontiff continued. “How I love you all, and as your beloved and humble leader I wish on every one of your heads happiness and the eternal smile of our Heavenly Father. May he always look on us with Grace and divine Favor!” Amen, the flock responded in near unison, bowing to their leader. “Please stand and we shall begin.”

He spoke on the Prophet's Parable of the Empty Vessel. A favorite subject of the Pontiff lately.

“And the Prophet climbed upon the stone and faced his cohorts. And loudly he spoke, instructing them as the crowds began to gather! A wise man had seven pots in his kitchen which were full of pure nutritious oil. And seven pots in his kitchen that were full of tainted, rancid filth. Seeing this, he commanded his servant to carry forth the unclean pots and pile them in the midden heap away from the house! But the servant was greedy, and instead he took the tainted pots to the market and sold them, casting them out into the world to wreck havoc on the unwary. When the Wise man discovered the betrayal of his despicable servant and declared his life forfeit for all time for his crimes against his master and his fell men.”

Pontiff took a deep breath as he chanted the last words of the parable. He stared into the camera for a moment, his eyes boring into the minds and souls of the viewers on the far end. Burning away their will with the intensity of his gaze. “We should always follow the laws of our society, as they are wise and well thought out and meant to protect us from the harrows of the chaotic world outside out fine barrier. Remember, that only those who were full of the Prophet's teachings were to be accepted into the flock and be allowed to live amongst us. Anything else is to invite disaster.”

They took a break to sing the hymn Abide With Us. There were some mellifluous voices in the cafe. Angela spoke along to keep her lips moving, barely above a whisper. She knew the words as well as any, but her vocal talents did not live up to her name.

Finally Pontiff began his closing remarks.

“Remember the teachings of our esteemed Prophet. If they are not saved by my grace, then they are nothing in the eyes of the Lord, and should be nothing in your eyes either. Though our bodies shall be returned to whence they came, our immortal souls will join Him in paradise. I expect to see you all at Service, with your tithes in hand, when your schedule permits.” He bowed his head slightly and the screen went black. The cafe bowed back and stopped for a moment of silent prayer.

Somewhere during the Service, the rain had stopped.

Angela tasted her first spoonful of the gruel. The unexpected extra It was cold. It tasted good. The mixture satisfied her hunger. Angela waved her right hand over the scanner and paid for her meal , plus a small gratuity. She stepped into the growing foot traffic, intent to take a walk for her morning exercise.

“Someone stop him! He destroyed my image of the Pontiff!” A woman screamed from somewhere up ahead on the path. The crowd was parting like a river around a boulder. Someone was pushing through, and they were moving fast. The progress halted and the boulder fell into place as the opening grew larger. The runner had been caught. Angela was almost close enough to see the commotion, and she could hear yelling. She watched the ruckus out of the corner of her eye as she passed. The Mercenary was careful to appear focused on where she was putting her feet as she followed the flow of traffic.

The man was screaming as he fought to free himself from the strong grasp of the Rangers. The soldiers were silent as they worked, a marked contrast from their quarry. “Pontiff's a tyrant! A tyrant! We will not bow to such a power mad monster! Fight against him! Do not listen to his lies! They have corrupted the words of the Prophet to feed their own profit!” A powerfully built man held the Heretic by the arms while another took a handful of hair and pulled his head back. The man screamed and then began his chant again, until the officer finally managed to slip the gag into his mouth.

The man thrashed and fought as he was dragged away. Traffic opened up around him. Eyes staring forward as the people enjoyed their Sunday recreation.

Angela kept walking until she reached the relative safety of her apartment.