Today is my 18th birthday, but there will be no celebration. As a slave, the best gift I could hope for on this day is not to be beat excessively, or
maybe to make it into the food lines before the food runs out. All in all, it's only another day in the Slave Labor Work Force of America. Birthdays
and holidays no longer exist in our world, unless you are one of the elite.
Things weren't always like this, but memories of that world fade with every passing day. The wars, the floods, the droughts, the solar flares, and
the economic collapse of late 2012 and early 2013 pushed the world to the brink of ruin, and what remained of it isn't a very nice place to live. As
the world stands today, unless you were one of the extremely wealthy when the SHTF, you are a slave, forced to work for only enough food to barely
make it though another day.
There are no survivors outside of the system. The world has been swept clean of anyone that showed a mind of their own and refused to be a part of
this new world. We are housed in large industrial complexes with no concern for comfort. We are allowed no bed, no personal possessions, not even as
much as clothes on our backs. This world resembles a nudist colony for skinny people with no other purpose than to work.
I live in Housing Complex D just outside what was once Atlanta, Georgia. How many of us are among the work force here, I cannot fathom. As I sit on
the concrete floor at the end of the work day, I see an ocean of naked bodies huddled together for warmth. It gets so cold in here during the winter,
and without so much as a blanket, all we have is each other to warm us through the nights. You might think that with all the naked bodies massed
together, it would become a giant orgy, but since reproduction is strongly monitored, anyone caught committing any sexual act is immediately shot on
sight. Sex is only a pleasure for the elite.
Each of us is given a assigned task to follow each day. We are not allowed any variance from what we are told to do. If we are caught doing the work
of another slave, we are shot. We aren't allowed so much as to pick up a piece of trash off of the ground unless our job assignment is to do so. My
best friend was murdered last week because she tried to help someone who had fallen. She was instantly shot because she wasn't assigned as part of
the medical unit. Watching people die is part of everyday life here.
I have often thought about escaping, but it's really impossible. Even if I made it away from the complex, the thousands of armed guards, and the
automated security system, there's nowhere to go. Most of the world is a desolate void. The only remaining places that are inhabitable are run by
the elites and more heavily guarded than the Housing Complexes are. There's no hope for any other life than to be a slave, naked and starving, living
only to work another day.
I had such great expectations for life when I was a small child, but it doesn't appear that any of my dreams will come true. The best I can hope for
is that I will live long enough to see another birthday, and that's even wishful thinking. If I don't starve before then, I'll most likely be shot
for some violation of the rules. Some days I feel like intentionally doing something wrong so they'll just shoot me. At least my death would be
quicker than the alternative of suffering starvation.
There are rumors of "ghost" in the Housing Complex. They are people that just disappear. Even the guards and administrators don't seem to know what
happens to them. They just don't exist anymore. Some of the other slaves believe that there is a secret chamber or tunnels hidden somewhere within
the complex that people find, or are taken to, but there's really no evidence to support this. I believe it's only wishful thinking again. I think
that with as many people that live within these walls, it's just hard to keep track of everyone, and some of the dead slip through the cracks. When
bodies are stacked from floor to ceiling, it's difficult to identify them all. I'm thankful that removing the dead is not my assigned task. I would
have had myself shot long before now if it was.
Even if I was so lucky as to reach my 19th birthday, there little to look forward to in life. My life is a series of beatings and acts of humiliation
that are designed to break the spirit. My one thing to look forward to is my release. My death. The day that I'm no longer one of the slaves. The
day that the count of the dead is raised by one more, and that is the only number that matters to me. In reality, we are all already dead. We're
only waiting to quit moving.
edit on 8-9-2012 by isyeye because: (no reason given)