Against The Tide

#2badpagesaday (12)

Photo by Vinit Vispute on Unsplash

Days passed.

Tide slipped into a rhythm.

Earlier starts.

A brisk walk to the Autotube.

Seated at Desk 12 ready to start when the Hooter sounded.

The Overseer seems surprised every day at his new-found efficiency.

One week into this pattern, he announced “Much-improved, Tide, we are watching you”.

Gone is the malevolence. The paranoia no longer clings so tightly to him.

Every day, he reaches for the contents of No 27. Every day, the tastes surprise him; a reminder of … what? … definitely a Remembrance.

He recognises flavours. The flavours evoke something.

He doesn’t question what is happening. It feels good. Trust.

Every day his thoughts feel clearer.

He feels ready. Prepared? But, for what?

After yesterday’s Announcements, droning on in the background as he savoured a dish cooked in a rich red sauce {tomatoes, I think I remember them in a house of glass}, the regular dose of ‘Big Brother’ flickered into life. The ‘participants’ {unlucky Transgressors selected to entertain the masses} are lined up in the garden to exercise … a disembodied voice on a loudspeaker compels them to complete physical stretches ahead of a challenging ‘obstacle course’. An exercise routine.

Tide knew how that part of the Entertainment would finish. Several faces on the scoreboard would be dulled, blanked out by the large red cross that satisfied the demanding Citizens that participants’ debt to Society had been paid.

He didn’t need to watch the brutal ‘games’ that delivered punishments for intellectuals, migrants, traitors, outsiders, simpletons, weaklings, and outcasts. He had no stomach for such banal brutality … the ‘enforcement’ dished out by the structure put in place by the Committee, applied by over-enthusiastic disciples of the Rules.

Tide turned his back on the so-called Entertainments.

The exercises, though.

They made sense.

After a few days, the aching in his muscles gave way to increased energy. Press ups, sit-ups, squats. Shoulders, arms, chest, and thighs strengthening.

He walks more briskly. Deep slow breaths.

Strengthening.

In the background, the unpleasant sounds of the latest ‘entertainment’ from the cruel imaginations of the Gamers. Oof, the wind taken out of one … aargh, the thud of metal on muscle …

Ignore the hateful sounds, Tide. Ignore them.

Exhaling on the effort. Push up. Push up. Muscles tightening.

Going to bed tired … good tired … sleeping a good sleep, waking fresh.

As the days pass, he is having to slow his stride. Persuading the cameras that nothing has changed. Convincing the Watchers that everything is the same.

But …

… he has changed.

Everything has changed.

He waits.

Patiently.

Preparing.

Every day, he hopes to hear. Every day, he is ready to know more. More ready than he could have imagined. Senses sharpened, ears strained, body taut.

Waiting.

“We’re watching you, Tide.”

{if you are watching, he thinks, then you know I am ready}