Censorship Short Story Essay
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Without Remorse
The pleading breaths and throbbing heart of the man echoed through the tangibly silent darkness of the crisp midnight air. A shot rang out as he collapsed and struggled to breathe through the warm liquids that filled his severed esophagus. Suffocation overcame him while two more equally fatal shots were delivered into his chest and spinal column. Three pale gray uniforms emerged from their assigned sentinels and, without any disgust or remorse, carried his limp murdered body down through a staircase and into Aemmix.
* * *
Seeming all too early, Dathan concluded he was dreaming, yet an electronic shriek followed by the groans of a multitude of men were proof this was no dream. Without thinking, he fought sleep and found his way to his feet and stared forward; the quadrant overseer passed without hesitation showing his approval. “Go ahead!” the overseer shouted. Simultaneously all the men turned and walked, single file, toward the cold, empty shower area. Without frivolous dialog, Dathan washed and returned to his cold steel bunk to dry off and dress himself.
Slowly making his way to the water purification plant, he strolled down the crowded dim hallways, making a casual turn here or there. Upon reaching the plant, he began his habitual task of draining the six main large vats, from there he continued to fill and drain the vats as necessary. His fairly easy job gave him ample opportunity to reflect upon his thoughts, ideas, and beliefs; this, he believed made him one of the more intelligent men of those among his daily company. Though there were a vast selection of aspects to philosophize about Dathan spent most of his time in contemplation of “the incident”. And, after eight years of analyzing and thinking about it, he still could not quite grasp the explanation they had all been given for their entrapment. “After all,” he justified, “who can understand a massive apocalypse that no one can even remember .”
For sixteen years this underground world has been all they knew, pulled over their eyes to mask them from their twisted reality. The world, as the government has told them, underwent an apocalyptic nuclear catastrophe which contaminated the world as they all once knew it. This explanation of their prison-like environment was satisfactory for most, but the condemning contradiction of this “story” was a lack of memory. Not one person was ever found that could recall any of these catastrophic events, so this contradiction was merely attributed to nuclear side affects; this too was easily accepted as fact by most, not Dathan. He never concluded against this explanation by the state, for that would have been treason to contradict truth given by him. And he never really did have any other proposed explanation for all of this, so he, being fairly easy going, didn’t risk his life by causing any sort of disturbance, until a would be fatal mistake was made by a man called Eapont.
Crossing the eager migration flow of men from their work to the serving counter, Eapont moved with a mysteriously hidden confidence in himself, his glance never shifting to avoid a possible confrontation. His confidence wasn’t one in personal strength, but more in his intellectual ability, in his integrity, and his accomplishments. Eapont took seat across from Dathan and began to eat while Dathan attempted to steal a glance at him but was detected and miserably embarrassed. “What’s with you?” Eapont contently prodded, “Got a problem?”
“No, no I am alright…I guess…” Dathan shivered as the knowledge of who this man really was hit him. A conversation held between him and several colleagues years ago rushed back into his mind, and he slowly recalled the election of 2032, and the upsetting outcome; President Lingman. “…Lingman…” he accidentally muttered aloud. As if the gates of hell had been opened into his eyes, Eapont’s face lifted and their pupils met. Fear struck Dathan, having never seen anything of this magnitude he was a virgin to this sort of loathing. In one swift motion Eapont gripped...
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