Exiled
I am banished from the safety of the
village on the wail of a funeral dirge. A song for the walking dead, to cast
their way across the scorched earth and endless night outside our walls. I hear
the last notes muffled by the clang of the gates as they close behind me.
I am now outcast. A wanderer in the shadow
of death.
I resist the urge to turn and beg for my
life. They will not listen. So I walk across the eternal desert into the
perpetual black night.
Only to find...
A door. And another world beyond.
~*~
Automation
Dim artificial light and a faint electronic
hum filled empty metal corridors. Quiet, still, the space station functioned
with precision and efficiency. Its only life on the upper ring, the ever
present sentience of its AI. On the lower rings however...
Movement
on corridor D, Block A. Another detainee ready for release.
The disembodied voice triggered an automated
program and a door slid open. A human figure hesitantly stepped on to the
station from a virtual simulation cell.
Hello,
prisoner 4589. Your sentence aboard internment station Delta 9 has been served.
You will now be reprocessed back into Earth society.
~*~
Home
I still remember that day in my dreams. The
steel walls, a sickly sweet smell, harsh lights, walking up on the table after
they restored my memories.
My release day. Before they sent me home.
Back to Earth.
I am still an exile. I miss the lie of
their prison.
They said I served my sentence.
They were wrong.
Earth is the true prison. With its grey
conformity, it’s lack of independent thought.
They think simulated hardship will cure our
radical beliefs. It only makes them stronger.
I join another protest group tonight. I
will reoffend.
I will go home.
© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved
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