Tag: dystopia

Throw Them Overboard

This wonderful Abney Park song shall be the theme song for this post. 

I particularly like this song. In case you didn’t listen, it’s all about getting rid of modern technology and ideas. Which is obviously a good thing to sing about. There is a certain lie modern people are fed from birth that is very insidious, and the lie is that all progress is both inevitable, and a supreme good. I suppose this lie has been around for quite awhile, but people didn’t used to buy into it so much as they have in the last couple of hundred years. The desire for progress is natural. Everyone wants to progress in something, be it deeper into a relationship, further along the path to a black belt, closer to a goal of becoming a physician. On a collective level, those desires might be to progress toward peaceful relations with another country, toward winning a war, toward curing a disease. Don’t misunderstand me: progress is often good. But not all progress. Not all advancements in technology. Not all new ideas. And of course, progress itself is not inevitable, and it seems to me that often a progression in one area results in regression in another.

 

Humans have reached a point in their society where, now more than ever, they must begin making choices about which paths of progression to follow. Do they continue marching forward and developing new technologies? Or do they take a step back and evaluate which technologies are needed, which are not, which can be gotten rid of? It seems fairly obvious that the more technology humans develop, the more technology they “need”–the more they rely on it. It’s a self-perpetuating cycle, and the only way out is to have the willpower to defy conventional ideas of progress and realize that a progression of wisdom is more important than a progression of technology. True progress is in having the maturity to make a wise choice, not in blindly accepting everything as it comes.

 

For example, one thing I find frustrating is the Singularity. This is the idea of a greater-than-human superintelligence arising from technology, i.e., artificial intelligence. It’s a big deal because it’s seen as a point beyond which events cannot be predicted, since this hypothetical intelligence would be greater than a human’s and therefor impossible for them to fully comprehend or predict. The Singularity is considered inevitable. They say it’s only a matter of time, and “they” don’t know whether the human race will be safe from this superintelligent machine. It seems pretty obvious to me that this is an occasion to step back and ask why. Why are we doing this? What will we gain from creating such a thing? Why would we want to? Why continue advancing technology to that point? But no, progress is inevitable and good and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. But humans are built to make choices. There is always a choice. One can choose to throw overboard destructive modern ideals and unnecessary modern technology, or one can decide to keep it and the consequences that come with it.

 

Now let’s all go be Luddites and destroy ALL the computers! 8D

 

~ Jared

Them Doctors–Part V

Here we go, another installment of Them Doctors. I know in my last post I said I’d try to write a longer section and get the plot moving more, but I’ve decided instead to leave off here for now. It could be awhile before I post another section of this story… I don’t think I should write anymore until I’ve actually come up with a plot for it. I don’t want to just keep stalling, don’t wanna ruin the story, you know. Anyway, for this section, I must thank my best friend, who advised me on the herbal stuff. Thanks, best friend! :D

 

Sec.5.

 

It burns. My stomach’s on fire, like someone took a red-hot brand and jammed it down my throat. My throat’s raw, too, from the screaming. It’s hard to remember a time before the pain. That woman–I think her name was Birch–brought us to a room. We spent most of the next day in there, resting up, and in the evening Mama went out to talk to people and learn things. I think by then I’d already started feeling weak. I held my little brother in my arms and curled up on the bed, little drops of sweat beading on my forehead. That was the beginning.

It ain’t possible for me to say how long it’s been since then. Days and nights of fire, that’s all I’ve seen, pain and screaming and sweat. People sometimes come shuffling around the bed, old women who chant and mutter and burn things to make smoke. Sometimes I think they’re burning me. I tell them to stop but they never listen. Sometimes they force liquid down my throat that makes me feel funny, and other times they put cool pastes on my skin. The coolness almost seems to burn. I hate the old women. They won’t leave me alone! But I ain’t strong enough to struggle and fight them off. I hope Mama’ll come along and rescue me, but she don’t.

Sometime, I start dreaming. I see colors mostly, but that ain’t all; I also see Pa, but with horns coming out of his head. Mama’s there too, and my little brother, but they don’t look like themselves. They look like monsters and they want to eat me. I scream and try to fight them off, then the pain comes back in and wakes me up. I’m staring up at the dirty ceiling, panting, soaked in sweat. One of the old women comes over then and spoons something into my mouth. It tastes awful, but I barely have time to notice the flavor, because I’m asleep a moment later. Next time I wake up my belly don’t hurt as much. My throat’s dry, though, parched, and feels cracked. I croak for water. This time a different person comes. It’s a young man, and his brow wrinkles in worry as he tips a cup of water down my throat. Too late, I taste the bitter taste in the water and go back to sleep. I dream again, but this time it ain’t the same. I see a little boy. He must be younger than my brother. He takes my hand and leads me off into a field of flowers, and I feel like there’s gotta be something special on the other side, but we don’t get to it before I wake up again.

Fever’s gone away, I find myself thinking as I wake up. The sweat’s stopped pouring down my face, my stomach ain’t burning. It’s rumbling something fierce, though. I sit up, my head spinning. My arm almost gives way, but I ain’t a weak little kid, and I stay upright.

“Good morning,” someone says.

I turn and see him there, that young man who gave me water. He’s sitting in a chair next to the bed and he’s got a book in his hands. It says “The Lord of the Rings” on the cover. Pa’s told me that story. The book ain’t allowed to be read anymore, but he told me the story. It’s one of my favorites.

“You seem to be feeling much better,” the young man says, sliding a ribbon between his book’s pages and setting it aside.

“I’m starving,” I said.

He laughed. “I’m sure you are. I’ll bring you some food, stay there.” He gets up and strides out the door, his long white coat trailing behind him. It’s the same kind of coat doctors wear. They got a doctor in here? That don’t seem right, somehow, but I’m too tired to worry about it.

I lay back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. There’s little white roots poking through it, like so many tiny hairs. I imagine what it’d be like if they got big and grew down into me and my body, and shudder. That ain’t gonna happen. They’re just tree roots, nothing evil or dangerous. I look away from them. The room’s tiny, and I realize it’s different from the one Birch first brought us to. Mama and my little brother ain’t there, for one, and it’s much smaller. A dresser sits in the corner with a lamp on it, and the chair the young man was in is snuggled into the alcove between my bed and that dresser. Ain’t much else in the room. Seems homey. Anyway, there ain’t an Eye in the corner, and that makes me feel safer. I always hated the Eyes they have in houses back home. You could never get away from the feeling of being watched.

The young man comes back then, with a tray in his hand. Steam’s rising from the tray and it smells so good I want to faint. My stomach rumbles so loud the young man laughs again.

“Here,” he says. “Sit up.”

I do and he puts the tray on my lap.

“Enjoy.” He sits down and crosses one leg over the other. “That’s garlic bread and stew enriched with herbs. Goldenseal, elderberry, ginseng to strengthen your immune system, a bit of cayenne for your heart, some ginkgo and dandelion… sounds weird, but it’ll make you stronger.”

I don’t even say thank you, I’m so hungry. I just tear into that stew and bread, slurping and chomping like there ain’t no tomorrow. And in this world, who can say that there will be? I’ve almost finished the food before I even notice what it tastes like. The bread’s good. Very strong, but good. I’ve never tasted food so flavorful. The garlic tingles my tongue and almost makes my stomach churn because it’s so strong, but it smells so good. The stew is the same way. Full of vegetables and little chunks of meat, with all sorts of strange flavors swirling about it, it feels like an explosion of color and life in my mouth. It’s so good I have to close my eyes to taste it better.

When I finish, I hand the tray back to the young man. “That was amazing,” I say.

He grins. “You like it? Magdalene’s a great cook. I was surprised by how good the food is here. They don’t eat proper food back in… well, back home. We’ve got our own farms here, hidden in the forest, and our food’s got real flavor. Not that we never have to steal from the outsiders, mind you.”

I nod and smile, not sure what to say.

“I used to be a doctor,” the young man continues. “Well, I was about to graduate from medical school, not quite a doctor yet. Then I did some digging, found out what they really put in all those drugs they tell us to give people. You know they’re designed to weaken you? To addict you? To make you easier to control? It’s despicable. It’s–well, that’s why these last days have been the way they were for you. The withdrawals, you know.”

I blink. “Withdrawals?”

“Yes–of course–I forgot they don’t teach you about those anymore. Your body had come to rely on those drugs. I used to think people needed so many because of all the diseases, but… you know the drugs and pills and such cause more diseases than they prevent? I had to leave when I found that out. They tried to kill me, of course, but I escaped and found my way here. All those poor people.” He sighed and stared at his hands.

I feel sick to my stomach, and all that stew I ate churns around. I’ve been poisoning myself all my life? My whole family has been. Everyone I knew has been. And them doctors, they’ve been the ones telling us to do it, telling us it would be all right. My fingers curl into a fist.

“They lied to us,” I say.

“Yes.” The former doctor sighs again. “They lie. The longer I spend with the Underground, the more I realize how much they’ve lied.”

“I hate them.”

He looks at me then, raising an eyebrow. “Hate? I don’t know. Most of them are just doing what they’ve been told. Following tradition. I used to hate them, too, but now….”

“Well, I hate them anyway.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, but fall backwards a moment later, the room doing circles around me.

“Be careful!” the young man says. “You’re still weak. The drugs have left you a shadow of yourself. Your immune system is almost nonexistent. Your muscles are atrophied. You need rest, and you need to heal.”

“I… I don’t want… what about my Mama and little brother? Is the same thing happening to them?” Little dancing lights fill my vision. Somehow, I can’t make out the room.

“Yes,” the former doctor says. “But your mother is stronger than you. She’s recovering faster.”

“And… and my little brother?” I swallow.

“He… we aren’t sure. The witches are with him night and day, but….”

My vision starts to clear. “W–witches?” I ask. Could they be anything like the old woman in the woods? My old friend I don’t know anymore.

“Yes,” the young man says, a hint of distaste in his voice. “I don’t believe in their ‘magic’ powers, mind you, but their skill with herbal healing… it is unsurpassed. They won’t teach it to me.”

“Why not?” But I only half care. My brother’s the one I’m really worried about. Is he all right? He’s always been sickly. But he’s got to be all right. We came all this way.

“They say they won’t share their secrets if I don’t become a warlock,” the young man muttered. “Birch has taught me a little, but she doesn’t know as much as they do, and… well… I can’t become a warlock. I can’t forsake my beliefs. Not when I know them to be true. Sometimes I ask Jesus–”

A shiver runs down my spine. “Do you worship the Old God?” I ask, sitting up again.

The young man blinks at me. “Why, yes… my family always has. We weren’t about to give up our faith, not even when it became illegal. I’d hoped I could use my position as a doctor to… well… but that didn’t work out.”

I lay back again. “The Old God,” I whisper. Then I frown. “Do you think my little brother will be all right?” A moment passes, and I yawn. Seems like the ceiling is getting blurry. My eyes don’t want to stay open.

The young man takes a deep breath. “I… I can’t… yes. I think he will.”

“Good.” I almost smile, but sleep takes me before I can.

Them Doctors–Part IV

Sec.4.

 

“Come on,” the voice says. “Come with me.”

But there’s no face to go with the voice. I think it’s a tree speaking to us for a moment, before I realize a tree would have a much deeper and slower voice. Like the Ents in that one story, which is almost as illegal as the Bible. Pa told me it anyway.

Mama gets up to her hands and knees and picks a branch off the ground, holding it out in front of her in trembling hands.

“Who’s there?” she says, and she sounds more scared than I’ve ever heard her.

I sit up and wrap my arms around my little brother. He coughs. I hold him tight.

“You’re safe,” the voice says. “Do not be afraid.” Then its source comes out into our grove. It ain’t a tree, that’s sure, but it seems like it might live in one. It’s a woman, who’s wearing all green clothes and has a hat with a feather in it on her head. She’s got a holstered pistol on her thigh, and a bow and arrows slung across her back. Her hair’s brown, her eyes bright, and for some reason she reminds me of the old woman I used to know, the herbalist.

Well, she don’t look like one of the Police, that’s sure.

Mama steps in front of me and my little brother, clutching her branch. “Who are you?” she demands. I’m proud of her for making her voice so strong.

“My name is Birch,” she says. “You’re running from the police, right? We can help you.”

Mama’s arms sink down a little, and I think she might drop the branch. “We?” she asks.

Birch nods. “The resistance. You didn’t think your husband took you this direction for no reason, did you?”

Now the branch does drop from Mama’s fingers, sliding to the ground and falling beside her foot. “Oh,” she whispers. “He… I should’ve… I should’ve remembered.”

How would Pa know these people? Was he part of the resistance? Was he a criminal when he was young? How had I never known? I stood and helped my little brother to his feet, peering around Mama at the forest woman. She met my eyes and gave me a brief smile.

“Come on,” she said again. “We have no time to waste.” She turned on her heel and strode off into the trees, her steps light as a deer’s.

I took my little brother’s hand and followed her, not hesitating for one moment. Ain’t these the people Pa was leading us to? Leastaways, if Birch is telling the truth. I know I’ve got to trust her. Mama follows us a moment later, moving like she’s got a boulder on her shoulders. But she keeps up, even when Birch leads us into a dark part of the forest where the trees are so thick they block out the  moonlight. A couple of times I glimpse some people around us, who I think are like Birch: all dressed in green. But they don’t show their faces. I think they must be guards, keeping watch for monsters and Police. They must do a good job, because nothing attacks us. After an hour or so, Birch stops and talks to some men in the trees, saying who she is and who we are. Then we go into a cave, and I want to collapse, because it feels so safe in there.

“Welcome to the Warding Caves,” Birch says, turning to us with a smile. She’s got a nice smile, all straight white teeth. Her eyes seem so bright. She’s got a life to her, this one has, and it ain’t like nothing I ever seen before.

“I’ve heard of this place,” Mama whispers. “Never thought I’d see it.”

“You wouldn’t be seeing it now,” Birch says, “If it weren’t for your husband. Now come on. I’ll find you a room.”

She takes off her weapons and puts them on a rack by the entrance of the cave. There’s a man there, who hugs her when she drops off the weapons. He looks very clean-cut, not like I would’ve imagined a rebel who lives in the forest to look. It seems like he is very fond of Birch.

The green-clad woman takes us further into the cave, and leads us through some tunnels. There’s other people there, also dressed in green, and most of them look tough and dangerous. But they’d have to be, if they want to survive. Birch doesn’t show us much. All we really see is the tunnels, which are cold earth and stone without decoration. I catch a glimpse of a bigger cavern, a really huge one, bigger than any cave I ever seen in my life. There’s a whole lot of people in there, and machines and equipment besides, but Birch ushers us past before I can get a good look. She finally stops in a very dank part of the tunnels, at the end of a long row of scrap metal doors.

“You can sleep there,” she says, pointing to a door in front of us. “It’s not much, I know, but we don’t have much room here. I’m afraid we won’t be able to take anyone else in after you.” She sighs. “It’ll be time to expand soon… but, in you go.” She pushes the door open, giving us a faint smile. It creaks on rusty hinges, showing us a tiny room with a dirt floor. There ain’t nothing much in it, just a chest and a couple of beds.

Well, the beds are the most important part. I go in, feeling a little light-headed, and fall down on the mattress. I’m already drifting off to sleep, as I hear Mama thanking Birch behind me, and then telling my little brother that we’re all safe now and the Police won’t catch us….

Them Doctors–Part III

Hey, all! I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write the next installment of this. I’ll try to be a little more on the ball with the next one. I had no idea it would be this hard to maintain my interest in a serial story… anyway, I hope you like it!

 

Sec.3.

 

Mama’s got to be so strong.

I don’t know how she does it, how she can keep going, how she can run with my little brother on her back and the tears streaming down her face. I can’t hardly see, ‘cause my eyes are all blurry from the tears. I want to ask Mama if Pa’s all right, but I’m afraid to know the answer. So I just keep going, just keep running, like I ain’t never done nothing else. The forest seems to go on forever. Behind us we can hear sirens, and droning that means the Police have copters. Then I think it’s good the trees are so thick, ‘cause otherwise those copters would catch us. I’ve seen movies of this: of people running from the Police, and they never end well.

But I have to hope this won’t be like the warning movies.

We splash through a stream. Mama’s stopped crying now, and her mouth’s in a thin line, a hard line, that scares me a little. The sirens fade behind us, and we start going uphill, up and up and up until it feels like my legs might fall off. My little brother starts coughing, and we have to stop so Mama can let him sit against a tree and rest. She takes off her pack, her arms trembling, and collapses next to my little brother.

“Mama,” I say. But I don’t know what to say next.

“You’ll be fine, sweetie,” she murmurs. She opens up her pack and starts digging around inside, pulling out little bottles of pills. When she finds the right one, she takes a red pill out and slips it between my little brother’s lips. He swallows and his coughing stops, for now. Then she stuffs a few of the pill bottles into her pockets and hides the pack in a hollow in the tree. When she sees me looking, she smiles.

“We have to leave that behind, sweetie. I can’t carry your brother and the supplies.”

“But how will we survive?” I ask, and I feel so afraid.

“We’ll make it. Don’t you worry.”

Then she slumps back against the tree, I sit down, and we rest for a little while. We’re on a hill, or maybe the beginning of a mountain, and I can see the forest stretching away at our feet. In the distance there’s some flying dots, little dots that crisscross over the trees, and I know those are the copters. I count four of them. Why so many just for one family? Was–is–Pa that important? Or are they afraid other people might try to escape if they hear we done it?

Well, no matter. All that matters is that they’re chasing us, and they’ll catch us if we don’t move on.

I turn around. Mama’s head is resting on her chest, and tears are leaking down onto her shirt. It’s like something huge and heavy is crushing her, like a whole tree is resting across her shoulders. I want to start crying again, too, but I don’t. I swallow and I stand up, and put my hand on Mama’s shoulder.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Time to go.”

She looks up, and gives me a wan half-smile. “You’re right. Let’s go.” And she stands, wipes away the tears, puts my little brother on her back again. We’re walking away within a minute, still going uphill, and we don’t stop again until well after dark.

I dream of Pa during what little time I sleep that night. Mostly I don’t sleep, because we’re up in a tree and all the branches poke my back, but when I do, I see Pa smiling at me, then a bullet and some blood come flying out of his mouth and he’s dead. I wake up sweating and crying. Over and over I tell myself: you didn’t see him die, you didn’t see him die, you didn’t see him die, so maybe he’s still alive, maybe he hasn’t died. I can’t know for sure. Ain’t it likely that they’ll just put him in jail? But they might do things to his head. He might not remember us anymore when he gets out. He might even want to kill us, just like those Police do.

I shiver and shudder, and I want to ask Mama what will happen, but I don’t think she’ll be able to answer.

There’s mist everywhere when we leave the tree and set out again, and I think that’s good  because it hides us. There’s so much mist you couldn’t see me if you stood ten feet away. It burns off after a few hours, but now I think we’ve left the police well behind. It’s hard tracking someone through a forest. The old woman who called herself an herbalist, she always said that to me. I think now maybe she was trying to tell me to run, back then, but maybe that’s thinking too much.

Mama don’t speak much that day. My little brother don’t cough much, either, but he seems to be getting weaker. I’m getting hungry, myself. I ain’t eaten since before we left, and I know I need food. I need drugs, too, and Mama gives me some of the pills she rescued. I feel a little better after that, but still hungry, and now I’m feeling thirsty, too.

We drink from a stream and it makes us sick for hours.

When we wake up, I can hear sirens again.

That’s when we keep running, really running now, so the tree limbs scratch our skin. I’m so tired I don’t think I can keep it up for very long, but somehow, I do. The whole world starts to blur together. It’s just trees and boulders and sirens in the background, branches scratching my face, stopping sometimes to throw up because of the bad water. We slow down. Mama’s streaming with sweat, and trembling, and she can barely hold my little brother anymore. Well, I think, now it’s my turn.

I don’t ask Mama if I can hold him. I just take him off her back and she gives me a grateful half-smile. We keep going, but it’s harder after that, with my little brother’s weight dragging me down. The moon’s coming out when we collapse in a little grove, unable to go any further. I can still hear those siren’s behind us. They ain’t getting closer yet, but it won’t be long. I reckon they may not catch us tonight, but we’re too tired to keep up this pace tomorrow. It’s only a matter of time.

That’s when someone speaks out of the woods.

Them Doctors–Part II

Sec.2.

 

It takes us a while to find the Highway. We don’t leave town much, and why would we? Everything we ever needed is right in here. School, doctor, food, park. They don’t take too kindly to people traveling, neither, and anyway Pa never got approved for a car. So none of us is quite sure where that Highway is. My little brother used to explore a lot, before he got sick, and he would’ve shown us right where to go, but he ain’t talking. We find it anyway, though, just as the sun is setting, all orange and purple and beautiful. It reminds me of the broken colored window by the old church, such clear colors. They say the sky used to be all smoggy and foggy, but we’ve got rid of the pollution now.

The Highway is like a big long millipede, up on huge concrete legs, roaring with the cars that go by overhead. The exit ramp has carvings all over it, showing how great the President-King is, how he liberated us all from famine and strife and such. Biggest of all is the American Eagle, with the hammer and broken chain in its claws, symbol of the Government. People’ve done graffiti over the carvings, but it don’t last long. They say those carvings are our history, and it ain’t right to cover them up. I don’t know what I think about that. All I know is this Highway’s terrible huge, and longer’n I can tell, and I don’t want to have to follow it all the way to the end.

“Pa,” I say, while we’re standing there listening to the cars go by. “We followin’ that all the way? We going to go to the other end?”

He looks down at me, raising his eyebrows in that smart-looking way he has, and shakes his head. “We’re just following it out of town,” he says. “Just to get away. It’s clear ground, see?”

He points off under the Highway, and I can see it: it’s kept clear for a ways around, and right underneath the road. I don’t know why, but it is. We’ll be awfully exposed under there, but we’ll move fast.

“Come on,” Pa says, and he strides off toward the Highway, his back so tall and straight, even with my little brother strapped to it.

So we walk, and we come into the shadow of the Highway just as it’s getting dark. It’s cold down there, bone-chilling cold, even though it ain’t winter. I wonder if the Police know where we are yet. They always seem to know. But I don’t think anyone saw us come here. Then I think: they probably have dogs. So it don’t surprise me when, after a couple hours, Pa leads us away from the shelter of the Highway and we go through some streams, and then through the water ditches by the farms, getting all wet and muddy. We don’t come out ‘til the sun’s just coming up, and I can barely walk anymore ‘cause I’m so tired. We go into the mouth of a sewer pipe, and then far enough back so we’re in the dark and no one could see us if they looked in. It’s scary in there, but that don’t matter to me, I’m so tired I go right to sleep.

 

 

My little brother coughing and hacking is what wakes me up. I crawl over to him, hardly able to see because it’s so dim, and hold his hand. He thrashes a bit, but Mama takes his other hand and we calm him down.

“Mama,” I whisper while we’re sitting there in the dark. Pa’s out checking to see if it’s safe to go outside. “How are we going to live? What are we going to do for food?” I avoid the question that I know we both can’t stop thinking about: how will we save my little brother?

“We know some people,” Mama says. “Your pa and I. They’ll help us. Don’t you worry, honey.” She gives me a hug.

I feel warm and safe, wrapped up in her arms, and then Pa comes back and says it’s okay to keep going. It’s almost night time again, and there’s a forest close by. We can stay in the trees and there ain’t no one who can find us. We should be away from the dogs by now, what with all that walking in streams and water and getting our pants all muddy. I’m feeling less scared now, and more excited. If my little brother weren’t about to die, it’d all be dandy. I’d only ever dreamed of doing something like this. Running away. Living out in the wild like an outlaw, like Robin Hood in the old stories Pa told even though he wasn’t supposed to.

We make it into the forest, but that’s as far as we go.

They’re waiting for us in the trees, those Police. Men and women both, you can never tell with Police because they all take drugs to make their muscles bigger and don’t show their faces. They come out, like evil ghosts, with their guns and their shields up, and they shout for us to get down on the ground. We all go flat and put our hands over our heads. I want to cry and I want to scream, but I ain’t gonna. I ain’t gonna let those police see how scared I am.

“When I move–run,” Pa whispers.

Mama nods, her eyes all wide and frightened, and takes my hand. I don’t know what’s going on. The Police are coming closer, and they’re laughing. Mama is crying. But didn’t Pa tell us to run?

“I love you, Eric,” Mama says, so quiet it’s almost not a sound.

“I love you too, Dany.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

And then Pa undoes the straps and pushes my little brother off his back and leaps up. The Police are close now, aiming their guns at us, but they don’t react until Pa takes a pistol out of his pocket and starts firing it and screaming.

Mama drags me up off the ground and picks up my little brother in one arm, and we run, stumbling away into the woods. There’s gunshots behind us, and everyone is shouting. Pa’s voice is loudest of all. I look back, tears streaming down my face, and I think: this is what he meant. This is why she cried. Then we’re out of sight behind the trees.

But I know it won’t take them long to catch us, and I know Pa’s got himself kilt for almost no reason.

There’s an emptiness inside me now, and I know it won’t go away for nothing.

Them Doctors

Okay, so I just wrote this up in an hour this morning… I think I’m going to serialize the story here. Seems like there’s a lot I could do with it. Let me know what you think! Oh yeah, and if anyone tries to steal it, I’ll hunt you down myself. With a chainsaw.

 

Them Doctors

By Jared Schmitz

 

My little brother is dying.

He’s only seven. Sweet little fella. He’s got hair curly as mine, just as blond, but he’s also got Pa’s dark soft eyes and that golden-brown skin. Me, I take after Mama. Pale as a sheet, I am, and no one could tell by looking at me that my mama and pa ain’t the same color. They give us grief for that, at school: they tell me it ain’t right for two folks of different color to have kids. Some call my mama a–

But that ain’t no matter. No one treats anyone nice in school. It’s been that way forever and ever and it won’t ever change.

He’s wasting away.

I remember his face, as I swing up toward the sky. Back and forth, forth and back, not stopping. It’s all sweaty, my little brother’s face. Dripping, almost. His hair sticks to his forehead. Eyes won’t open. He shakes, but I touch his hand and it’s cold, too cold, like a dead pig. I touched one before they took them away. No one’s allowed to keep pigs no more. I wonder if we’ll get to keep my little brother. Mama and Pa ain’t called the doctor yet. They’re holding off, they don’t want to let them know my little brother is sick. I don’t want them to know either. I don’t trust them.

I know that’s a horrible thing to say. Doctors is everything. These days most everyone gets sick. We wouldn’t survive without those doctors. Pa says when he was a little boy, and the world was bright and shiny and new, people didn’t get sick so much, and doctors weren’t so important. But these days everyone has a disease. Those doctors, they’re giving everyone all these medicines, vaccinating and vaccinating, but I never seen no call for it. I been taught in school most of these diseases are all in your head, but if that’s so, why do they need so much medicine? Imaginary diseases can’t hurt you none, can they?

But my little brother’s disease don’t look so imaginary. I heard Mama and Pa talking one night, when I was supposed to be asleep. They said his body don’t like the medicine. They said he had a reaction. Pa talked about his brother, who also reacted and the doctors came and took him away. My uncle. I never knew I had an uncle. Never met him. Never saw him. Because the doctors took him away.

That night, I prayed they wouldn’t take my little brother away. I prayed to the Old God, the one who you ain’t supposed to pray to anymore. They called him Jesus Christ, and just speaking that name made me shiver all over ‘cause it was so illegal. They said those Christians were Terrorists. Didn’t tolerate no one and just wanted to kill everyone. Well, they sure caused a lot of damage before they all got killed, so I figured their Old God must have some sort of power. So I prayed to him.

In the next few days, my brother got even worse. I couldn’t bear to look at him. So I came out here. To the playground. It’s old. It’s rusted up. No one ever comes here anymore. The reason is that old church next to the swings and stuff. It had a steeple, with a big old cross on top, but that steeple’s been pulled down. You can still see the cross, though. Right there. Half-buried. There’s bits of colored glass around it, from when they smashed the pretty colored windows. It’s all graffitied up now, with bad words Mama told me never to say.

Pa told me it used to be, people would come here and sing. They’d all sing together, which no one does anymore, because the only singing you hear is from the Stars. I never liked their singing. It’s all about love and beauty and boring stuff. I never liked the Stars neither, but that’d get me in trouble if I said it. They always seemed like plastic to me. Plastic skin. Plastic faces. Hair like wires. Don’t look real, none of them, and sometimes I secretly think they might be robots. I told Mama once, and she laughed, but then she looked scared. She pointed at the Eye in the corner. Everyone’s got an Eye in their house. It watches ‘em. Makes sure they don’t say anything bad.

I swing to a stop, my feet dragging over the old rotted bark chips on the ground. I know I’m just trying to get my mind off it. Off my poor little brother, who’s like to die. I should be thinking of him. Trying to find a way to save him. But I don’t know what to do. Them doctors, they’d say he needs drugs. Drugs and drugs and drugs, they’d say, to fix him so he won’t react to the drugs he’s already taking. When I think of drugs, I start feeling sick. It’s been too long since my last dose. They say if you go too long without those drugs, you might die. I don’t want to die, not yet, so I get off the swing and run on home.

Mama and Pa are out to work. They won’t be here ‘til it gets dark, ‘cause they’re busy being productive. People always say  “a productive person is a happy person!” And why would they lie?

My little brother’s on the couch, a blanket over him, moaning.

I don’t look at him. I go to the Drug Cabinet, which takes up a whole wall, and take out my pills. Three different bottles, red, blue, green. I take them, and sigh with relief. Then I look at my brother. A whole Drug Cabinet, and nothing in there to help him. I kneel next to him, and take his hand. It’s cold. So cold. It reminds me of the pig again. I put my hand on his forehead. That part of him’s hot, like the oven when Mama used to cook, back before we came to town. I don’t see how we can go much longer without calling the doctor. But they might take him away. Sometimes they do when someone has a reaction. They might say he ain’t fit to live, they might say he’s too sick and a danger to society. But no one else can help him. None of us townsfolk, none of us know nothing about medicines and drugs and stuff.

Then I remember someone.

It was years ago, when I was just a little girl. There were an old woman, who lived outside of town. Out in the country. Most people who live out in the country are farmers, and I should know because we were farmers, before they killed all our animals and made Mama and Pa work in the food factory. Like a farm, they said it was, but better, because you didn’t have to kill no animals to make the food. Didn’t hurt nothing to make food from chemicals, so weren’t that the humane thing?

So there was an old woman. She weren’t a farmer. She had this little cottage out in the woods, made of rocks and logs, the roof all overgrown with moss. Lovely little thing, it was. I used to visit her, and I’d go on bare feet through the soft dirt. It felt good between my toes, that dirt. The old woman always laughed when I told her that. She seemed happier than anyone I’d known. Always happier, even though her face was wrinkled and brown and she wouldn’t get no beauty treatments. They said ugly people were sad people, but she never seemed so sad to me, and when she smiled, she wasn’t so ugly neither.

She called herself an herbalist. Wouldn’t take no drugs or no medicines, she just gathered up leaves and mushrooms and plants and gross things, and made them into her own tinctures and elixirs and such. She said they were better than the medicines them doctors would prescribe. She said those medicines had bad stuff in them, but her herbs wouldn’t hurt nothing. A queer sort, she was, but that never bothered me. She had a granddaughter my age, who lived with her, and believed in everything she said, and that always made me trust her. An old lady with a little granddaughter couldn’t be so bad.

One day they came. Dressed all in black. Black visors over their faces. That dreaded word on their shields, “POLICE.” They beat her half to death and dragged her away, the herbalist. Called her a witch. Said she was an evil Pagan. Took her granddaughter, but Mama came and rescued me before they could take me too. Weren’t long after that that they killed our animals and we lost the farm.

The old herbalist lady could help my brother. If she was still alive. If I could ever find her.

He gasped in a breath, his chest heaving.

“Sh,” I whispered, resting my head on him. He smelled sick. Smelled terrible.

I wished the herbalist was still here. They said Pagans was evil. Bad as Christians. Those Pagans didn’t want to listen to the doctors, didn’t want to use no drugs and medicines, so people said that they weren’t right in the head. Said they all had mental disorders, and should die before they could breed and pass the disorder to everyone else. Pagans is almost as hunted as Christians these days. Nobody’s allowed to talk about magic or witches, and they banned my Pa’s favorite book. But that as back when novels were still allowed. These days, they say novels are lies, and no one should read anything that ain’t government issue.

I fall asleep with my head on my little brother’s chest. I might catch the disease from him, but that ain’t no matter. I don’t see how life’ll ever be the same without my little brother in it. I dream while I’m sleeping there, about a doctor coming with a needle, and jabbing my little brother in the arm. He don’t wake up after that. But I wake up. I wake up screaming. Mama comes running, and wraps her arms around me.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she murmurs.

“He’s going to die,” I say, my voice all choked.

“Sh, sh. He won’t.” She strokes my hair. “Everything will be all right.”

But I don’t believe her. “He’s going to die!” I repeat, louder. “The drugs don’t work on him! He ain’t gonna survive without those drugs! And if them doctors come, they’ll give him more and that’ll kill him for sure!”

Mama’s face was white. Pa came over then, a sandwich in one hand, gaping at us. I didn’t stop shouting.

“I hate doctors! They just want us all to take their drugs and take more drugs, and they don’t care nothing for little brothers who–who–Mama, he’s going to die!” And I bury my face in Mama’s shoulder, crying, crying so many tears I feel like my eyes might fall out.

A noise comes from the corner. I go all tense and hard, because I know that noise, it’s the noise the Eye makes, and it means someone is coming. I pull away from Mama, and see her staring at Pa, both their eyes wide.

“Mama,” I whimper, tugging at her shirt. I know I’m acting like a little girl, but I don’t care.

“They won’t let us off so easy this time,” Pa says, his voice deadly serious.

Mama nods, and it looks like she’s going to cry. But she doesn’t. She stands, and she puts a hand on my shoulder.

“We’re going to leave now,” she says. She tries to smile, but she can’t, not with the tears leaking from her eyes. “Pack your things. And hurry.”

She doesn’t say it loud. She doesn’t say it fast. But I know I better do what she wants. I run to my room and throw everything into my little pink backpack, my favorite clothes, my notebook, my pencils I use for drawing and sometimes writing. But that’s all in there I care about. Don’t care about none of the old toys. At the last minute I take my yellow teddy bear. When I leave my room, Pa has my little brother strapped to his back, and Mama is wearing another backpack, much bigger than mine. The sound of sirens comes from outside. Them sirens, I’ve heard them before, and they always scare me. It means the Police are coming. Means they’re going to take someone away. Those sirens played before they beat up the old herbalist lady. They’re playing now, as we run out through the back door, and sneak away before the Police cordon can close us in.

We’re on the run now, and it’s all my fault. I said something stupid. I said I hated doctors. They could put you in a Special School for that. It weren’t right. That was hate-speech, that was. But running was kind of exciting.

We might not make it, though. I never known anybody who ran and didn’t get caught.

And my little brother is still dying.