500 words a day

720 words - 7th September 2009

It was a weird sort of Tuesday for Emily. Most Tuesdays were the going out days. She was allowed 1 a week, just like most good citizens and like most, cherished them. Today though, she stayed in. Not because she’d been punished or given extra duties or because she had a load of interesting or pressing things that simply had to be done indoors. Today, she just sat in her armchair, next to her bed. The TV was off, of course, it was only ever on, on Sundays when it showed the weekly exploits of the Chairman as he toured the Enclave and visited other leaders in their own , obviously inferior versions of the Enclave. There was The President, as he called himself, in the Compound; their was the King – deluded – in his Kingdom and of course, who could forget the Almighty, who came in for particular derision from the Chairman’s broadcast, who ruled over his ‘Golden Domain’.





As the Chairman often reminded them, his title was not showy or flash or unnecessarily ostentatious. It was simply functional. He chaired the governing body of the Enclave and as such was duly called the Chairman. It was obvious, he said, the superiority of the enclave compared to these other absurd places, with their fancy names. Fancy names were only needed if the substance of the thing wasn’t quite up to scratch, he told them. Hence the enclave; hence the workers, Emily and most of the others in the enclave, and the Committee, chaired by the Chairman – all simple, with nothing to hide and much to be proud of. The Chairman was proud and told them weekly, that just for illustration purposes, he needed to remind them how lucky they were to be living in the Enclave compared to one of the other ‘despotic domains’.





The Kingdom, for example, only allowed outdoor time once a month, he said and the so- called Golden Domain, wouldn’t permit the workers to enjoy the sort of luxury car that the Enclave allowed its workers to buy, at such reasonable rates. No, they were given a bog-standard horse and cart and they had to pay for the horse stabling and feeding and as for the Compound, might as well be called a Prison as far as the Chairman was concerned. None of the delicious foodstuffs that the Enclave provided, none of the comforts of the factory, and no entertainment, like the weekly presentation in the Enclave town square.





So Emily had no reason to stay at home. She could have visited the few friends and family that had managed to make it over the wall, she could have spent her weekly credit in the foodstuff store, but she didn’t, she just sat in the armchair, staring blankly.





She was thinking about Harvey; 6 months now and still no word. She had expected him to be here by now, she knew he had a scheduled entry assessment a few weeks after her and even allowing for re-sits and penalties, he should have been here by now. He only had one more application left before permanent residence behind the wall was enforced and she was worried that he might have used it up and failed again then she’d never see him.





She knew he wouldn’t cope, couldn’t just accept it and stay there, living on the scraps from the Enclave and the other domains. He’d try and break through, bribing or forcing his way in, but she knew that never worked. He always talked about people he knew had done it but when she pressed him, the names he mentioned were all people that had been found and either killed in the hunt or sent back, usually injured or crippled. She was thinking the unthinkable. She was thinking that even though this was better and healthier and you had a much longer life span, it was nothing to do with freedom and without Harvey it was a miserable hideous existence. She wanted to live with him, to see him when she wanted and to do what she wanted. Even though there was no money and only refuse to eat, at least no one controlled your time or what you did or where you went in the boundaries of the shitty world. She was planning on going back.











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Steve Wybourn





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