This is a short story inspired by a series of dystopian-esque photos I took throughout 2018.
Growing up in this small fishing town wasn’t easy. Life was hard here, but simple. Every month the steel behemoths arrived from somewhere else to take the efforts of our labor. Tons, and tons of preserved fish. When I was young, the cycle fascinated me. The efficiency, the process. It was always mysterious. Rows of guards stood around the train, silent sentinels. After every product was on, they steamed away. Where did they go? It didn’t matter to me, we farmed fish, and got to live. As time went on, I realized that the world is cruel, and this system didn’t benefit us. It was for whoever controlled the process, sitting in towers beyond our imaginations. We were slaves, with an illusion of freedom. This was no proper life, but we didn’t know better. Frequently I thought about going
Growing up in this small fishing town wasn’t easy. Life was hard here, but simple. Every month the steel behemoths arrived from somewhere else to take the efforts of our labor. Tons, and tons of preserved fish. When I was young, the cycle fascinated me. The efficiency, the process. It was always mysterious. Rows of guards stood around the train, silent sentinels. After every product was on, they steamed away. Where did they go? It didn’t matter to me, we farmed fish, and got to live. As time went on, I realized that the world is cruel, and this system didn’t benefit us. It was for whoever controlled the process, sitting in towers beyond our imaginations. We were slaves, with an illusion of freedom. This was no proper life, but we didn’t know better. Frequently I thought about going
The winter months were long. Our town was cold, both in personality and in temperature. Only those who were truly defeated arrived here by will. Those of us who were born here, well it was all we knew. Nobody wanted to be here. But something about the layers of ashy snow brought people closer. Small fires, warm stew, mundane small talk. I think we all knew that it was a struggle, and that brought us together. Louis, a frail old man, would occasionally share stories of his ‘prime’. Sailing out far into the Atlantic in the hopes to get a big catch. Their huge ships would dredge the sea, capturing thousands of small creatures. Ships the size of the dreadnought train, preposterous. His stories always had the same ending, one he recounted time and time again. One day they went out and caught nothing. The next day, again nothing. Failure after failure led to the collapse of their market, and the downfall of this once lively town. All the fish were just gone. Most of us didn’t believe Louis, he was probably insane, being almost 45 years old would do that to you. Something felt truthful about his high tales, but we ignored them. Fish have always been farmed, it’s just the way it is. The process makes sense; each individual had a small plot close to shore, and everyday we took our little boats out to gather the carefully grown salmon. Each plot was controlled by biological algorithms, developed before my time. All we knew is that every once and a while a new breed of fish would spawn, and we would farm it.
Occasionally one of the lab coats would come through town, and take a strange water speeder to various plots. We didn’t question it. As long as the fish survived, and were healthy, we weren’t in trouble. Visits from them became less and less frequent, and we didn’t know wether to be concerned or happy. It became apparent sometime late in the winter of ‘36 why they stopped coming. I did my fishing late at night, to avoid the normal commotion. Moonlight typically guided my way, and tonight was no exception. As I got farther from shore, a horrendous smell overcame me, increasing as I got closer to my plot. Then I saw it, a tragedy. Thousands of discolored, floating fish. In what seemed to be a prophecy, all the fish were dead. I started to believe Louis a little more in that moment, it was eerily familiar of his high tales.
It must have been some type of glitch, the way they were all strange colors, some error in the algorithm’s next sequence of fish eggs. I never did figure out the source of this extinction, but in that moment I knew that it was time. Time to finally leave this place for good, in search of true freedom. Hurriedly I threw my few scraps and belongings into a large rucksack. Tossing it all on the back of my worn out scooter. It was a restless night. I woke up to the sound of rolling thunder. It wasn’t the proper time of month, they must have known about the fish. Normally the armed train guards sit like stones, watching. Something was different this time around, they were hurried, rushed, maybe even scared. One by one they jumped off, before the train even came to a stop. They must have thought it was an attempt at rebellion, killing all the fish, their scientists couldn’t possibly have made a mistake. There was no patience, no hesitation, as they started firing into houses. Without fish to farm, we were recycled. Effortless efficiency, it had always seemed to be their style. If I hadn’t packed the night before, I would have been dead. Instead, I made it out in the chaos. I’d never left that town before, and I haven’t been back since. If anyone else made it out, who knows where they could be now.
I travelled for what I believed to be miles, until darkness shrouded the gravel road. There was nothing along the way but the waves crashing against the side of the cliff. My town, former town, had a small gas pump. It only allowed for refills to a certain amount, perhaps in some attempt to prevent escape. I was close to empty, on gas and on hope. Until I came across a derelict gas station. It looked like one I’d seen from my history books, I never realized what was in them could be accurate. Somehow the lights were still on. For once in my life, I was lucky.
Inside I met Gerald. He came from a nearby town, similar to mine as he described it. Instead of fish, they harvested metals, mining, he called it. A gargantuan hole in the ground, a thousand times more massive than the train. He said it took days to get to the bottom, and they would stay there for weeks. His tales were as wild as those told by Louis, but I could tell he wasn’t lying. He shared the pain, and hatred towards those who kept our lives meaningless. Gerald told me that there was a group, of hopefuls, people in my shoes. They wanted a new beginning. If I could get to Shauna, back in his mining town, I might have a hope for a change. For months they had been planning to overtake the mines, a crucial source of supplies for whoever might be in charge. After hearing the story about my home, Gerald knew it was time. Perhaps he saw something in me, and he supplied me with the fuel I needed. Liquid gold he called it. Didn’t look like what I thought gold was.
It took me seven hours, driving through the shadows, to get to the factory town. Gerald was not a lying man. Steel towers shot into the sky, divided into quadrants by rows and rows of wires. The morning sun seemingly drove the town to frenzy, machines whirring all over. This place was different, advanced, chaotic. I roamed around all day, just getting in the way. Everything was beyond belief. I was hoping things might settle down at night, but I was wrong. I was back to where I had been before. Alone, scared, and wondering what was next. I knew I wouldn’t find Shauna tonight. I climbed up onto the roof of a small refinery room. I pulled out my small white notebook, and a dull pencil. If I didn’t make it, someone had to know my story. The steam kept me somewhat warm, so did sheer exhaustion.
Smoke woke me up. It was already close to evening. How long had I slept for? As I stood up, there was fire everywhere. Something happened, they must have started early. I saw fighting across the street, a group of haggard miners struggling to overcome a single guard. He fired a shotgun shell, right through a large man ready to swing a hammer. The thick body armor the guard wore was no match for a swinging pickaxe. Cheers rang as he fell to the ground.
I’m watching a small flag rise in the distance, above what looks like an armory. A black background, with a sparkling blue diamond in the middle. Surrounded by a large splotch, blood red. A fitting flag. Before I go to join them, I find myself looking at the sky. Fires reflect the deep orange clouds. There’s a single hawk up there, circling overhead. I wish I could fly, away from here, away from all of this. This is my chance to be free, like that gorgeous bird. A sharp alarm breaks my thought. The roar of a metal beast, a large plume of smoke coming from the woods. Time to go, a revolution is calling.
Epilogue
I was once a fisherman, and now I am a miner. It takes three days to reach the bottom of the mine. Just like Gerald said. I wonder where he is now, probably laying in one of the mass graves established shortly after our failure.
Four years have passed since our attempt at revolution. I was so hopeful, a start of a new life, maybe even better living conditions. How foolish we were, to think that we stood any chance. The behemoth train rolled ominously into the town, we had set up some of the mining explosives at key track locations. But they were too smart for us. As the train came to a stop, nothing happened. No troops exited, no sirens blared, no guns rang out. It was a classic standoff. Days passed, our control of the town remained, but the scenario was growing more dire as each hour ticked on. We must have underestimated their resources, and soon we grew hungry. In a moment of fury, we detonated all 25 tons of explosives. The rail did not survive. The train did. Then the soldiers came. Different than ones I had seen before. Instead of dirty suits and old machine guns, they were clad in stark white uniforms. Each trooper had a pair of red goggles that pierced through the settling dust. Our hidden soldiers stood no chance against whatever advanced detection software they had. They picked us off one by one, and executed Shauna in the center of town, in front of whoever they graciously spared. What did we expect?
There is nothing left but rocks, and the chance to survive another day. I will never fly like that hawk, there is no freedom for cogs in the machine.