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Grit: A sample of first person narrative.

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posted on Nov, 4 2014 @ 09:59 AM
The sunlight pours in through the window, pounding upon my face as I sit up to shake the dreariness out of my head. This is the world of Pandora's charms, the third moon of a gas giant orbiting a dying star. Our ancestors came here long ago before the great gates collapsed, stranding us here to fend for ourselves on this alien rock. The corporations took control centuries ago, after the great collapse, when they realized that this planet and its moons had become a closed system. No relief supplies would be delivered. No extraction teams would come to save us from our fate.

I am a child born outside of contract, an exile within my own society unprotected by the terms of this cooperative civilization. Population control has been an issue since day one. Our people simply have never known when to stop and we bred ourselves into a state where we had no choice but to engage in transdimensional colonization and now that we've been stranded at the end of the line, we have no choice but to limit the number of offspring any single individual could produce so that our time on this planet could be optimized until such a time as a technology might be born that will liberate us from our unfortunate prison.

Those born out of contract have no rights in this society. They cannot expect a job, nor a place to live, food to eat, or services to be provided. Everything we acquire must be earned prior to consumption and when it is time to lay workers off, we are the first to go. I have earned my living through many avenues in my thirty-one years on this lunar surface, and while some of the work I've performed has been unpleasant, at the end of the day I can always enjoy the room I rent, the food I eat and the women I pay to warm my bed beside me, because I've earned it honestly. Unlike legitimates, nothing in this life has been handed to me and I have no guarantees. Everyday is drenched in uncertainty.

I go out onto the porch overlooking Cardinal City and I take a drag off of my oil burner, blowing pure white smoke from the depths of me out into the morning air. The smell of last night's company still lingers about me and I smile with the memories of her sweet intoxication as I prepare myself for the day ahead. Today's job is a courier mission, nothing too big, pick up a package from Mining Outpost 412 and take it five hours by speeder bike out to the badlands for delivery.

I never know what's in these packages. I never ask, but whatever it is, it is worth my fee and the customers always seem extraordinarily happy to receive them when I finally arrive.

I stand up, stretch and return back into my tenth level studio apartment located within one of the slummiest towers that C-town has to offer. Well, I suppose it's time to get dressed for the day. This package isn't going to deliver itself.

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