It Was Fine, I Guess: Chapter 1

The basement is dark and crowded. A subtle spray of saw dust trickles down from the ceiling, shaken loose by the blasting speakers of the television upstairs. It doesn’t smell right. Lewis glances over his shoulder at a short man sitting on the floor, releasing a thin line of smoke that floats into Lewis’s face.
“Hey, buddy, can you put that out?”
“It’s Terry.”
“What?”
“Terry. My name’s Terry. You thought it was Buddy.”
“Well, I didn’t think that was your actual name. It was more a term of — forget it. Terry, do you think you can put that thing out? The smoke’s getting all around the room.”
“It soothes me.”
“It soothes you?”
“Yeah.”
“How is that possible? I mean, it’s just a rolled up piece of paper. There’s no nicotine in it or anything.”
“So?”
“So? That means there nothing in there to soothe you. You’re just sucking plain smoke into your lungs.”
“It’s fine. I breath it back out at the end.”
“Yeah, I noticed that. I noticed that you breathe it back out right in my direction. It’s kind of giving me a headache.”
“Well, then you should get one of these for yourself. They’re real soothing.”
“Again Terry, I’m pretty sure they’re not.”
“Y’know what, buddy? Fine. I’ll put it out.”
“See that? You just called me buddy. You don’t think that’s actually my name. It’s just something people do.”
“Oh my God. Please stop talking.”
Terry crushes his paper in his hand then turns away from Lewis, tossing ashes onto the gray cement floor. Lewis bites his lip, preparing for further confrontation. Terry does not respond, so Lewis turns away. Bored, he tries to decipher the sounds escaping the blaring television sitting above them.
“…The new God-King went to work,” a muffled narrator explains. “Destroying all media besides the movie and creating laws against disliking the movie, punishable by death. A secret police was established to hunt down all those who opposed the movie. Now, ten years later, I’m sure nobody’s saying ‘it was okay, I guess’ about It Was Okay, I Guess… I guess. I know I’m not…”
The voice is not familiar to Lewis’s ears. It must be one of the documentaries that the government chose not to destroy.
That can’t be right.
Wednesday nights are documentary nights, but today is a Sunday. Is today a Sunday? Lewis stands up, sore from sitting for so long, and walks over to the brick wall across from the stairs leading up to the real world to counts the tally marks drawn in white chalk. Sixty-six. Today should be a Sunday. Lewis scans the wall, unsuccessfully searching for a misplaced line or a set of five tallies that secretly featured six.
“What’re you doing?” a shrill voice across the room says to her confused roommate.
“Oh — you know — just slowly losing touch with reality,” Lewis replies, wrapping his arms around the back of his neck in anguish.
“Well, cut it out. You’re scaring Terry.”
“Yeah!”
“Guys, I can speak for myself. I’m not scared, I’m just agitated because he made me put out my cigarette,” Terry complains.
“There was no nicotine. You were just slowly killing yourself.”
“Well, at least that’s faster than rotting down here in this cellar. Y’know, I might as well go out there and throw you people to the wolves. The secret police will probably give me a pardon. At least a head start.”
“Did you like the movie, Terry? Did you? Answer me that.”
A doorbell rings upstairs. Everyone in the basement freezes. Upstairs, the muffled sound of a large man jumping up and down, trying to put on a pair of pants that no longer fit, slip through the floorboards. The man jogs to the front door and opens it.
“Hello. How can I help you?”
“I represent the Federation for the Assimilation of Kinetic Energy. Would you kindly answer a few questions for a study we are performing?”
“I hate to say it man, but I’m pretty sure your acronym is FAKE.”
“Alright, you caught me. The Federation isn’t a real organization.”
“No, I’m just saying it spells out F-A-K-E.”
“It’s fine. You caught me fair and square. Secretly, I’m part of…”
The voice of the man who rang the doorbell descends into a whisper. Lewis tries to discern how the man finished his sentence, but he cannot. Fortunately, the man upstairs answers Lewis’s questions in an abrasive bellow.
“You’re part of the secret police? Wow!”
“Hey, shut up, man. We’re the secret police, not the Tell Everyone What’s Going on Police.”
“Good call. That sounds like it would be a really ridiculous branch of government.”
“Sir, we’ve been receiving reports that you have being harboring Finers in your house. I have you surrounded and will now search the premises.”
“You have me surrounded?”
“Yes.”
“Like, just you?”
“That is correct.”
“If there’s only one of you, how can you possibly have the house surrounded?”
“That’s classified.”
“I’m serious. If you look at the geometry, it just doesn’t make any sense. I have a back door.”
“Please step out of the way. You wouldn’t want me to think you’re a Finer yourself.”
“No. No. I’m definitely not one of those.”
“Really? Then who was your favorite secondary character in the movie?”
“Trick question. They’re all tied for first place.”
“You passed, for now. Step aside.”
The noisy footsteps of the man upstairs stumbling to the side to let the secret police officer into his home trickle down to Lewis in the basement. All the other Finers in the basement gape at each other in panic. Lethargic footsteps tread closer and closer to the basement door. A hearty chuckle escapes the secret policeman’s mouth as the resident of the house cracks a muted joke about one of the scenes from the movie. Lewis makes eye contact with the other Finers and mouths the word ‘hide’ over and over until they understand. Quickly, everyone scatters through the room, hiding in closets and behind boxes. After making sure the rest of the Finers are invisible to their visitor, Lewis crouches behind a cardboard box labeled ‘It Was Okay, I Guess Christmas Posters’.
The door drifts open and the secret police officer steps down into the cellar. There is a loud squeal as the bare, wooden steps bend under his firm footsteps. Lewis doesn’t try to glimpse the man, too afraid of his line of sight. His shoes land with a tap on the concrete floor at the bottom of the stairs.
“If there’s anyone down here, show yourself now,” The officer shouts into the darkness. He flips the light switch up and down, but the darkness remains. The man from upstairs tries to explain that he needs to buy new bulbs but the officer ignores him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come out here? There’s nothing to be afraid of,” The officer continues.
Nobody moves. Lewis tries to control his breathing. He is sure the officer should be able to hear him.
From above, the television continues to blare. Emphasized phrases keep whispering down to the frozen Finers. Secret police. Religious warfare. Propaganda. A lengthy ‘all other forms of media were destroyed on sight to honor the God-King’ slips in before an aggressive ‘This is the police. I command you all — under direct assignment by the God-King himself — to stand up!’ stomps it out.
“Alright. Let’s play a game. Whoever stands up first and points of the rest of the Finer scum hiding down here can go free. Everyone else, well, I guess that’s for the judge to decide.”
Lewis looks at Terry. Terry looks back. Lewis shakes his head.
Do not do this.
I swear to God.
Do not do this.
Don’t move Terry.
Don’t you dare move.
I swear to God.
I swear to God.