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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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The Man
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The moonlight filtered through the bars of the cold cell. It
hit the floor and illuminated the march of several insects that were
scurrying along the concrete. Shallow breathing echoed in the room in
time to the rising and falling of the man's chest. He was a little
over 25 years old, and was fairly well built. There was something
wrong though. He was not well, and the unusual frailness in his
breathing made that truth evident. There was a soft sound from the
forest outside. It started as a whisper and grew into a sharp whine.
The man slowly sat up and looked out of the cell block. Nothing but
the everpresent glow of the full moon met his eyes. The sound faded
away into nothing and the silence of the night resumed its eternal
presence.
He was awake now. There was no returning to sleep. The dirt
covered linens that were draped over the bed were in disarray. It was
hot, very hot, and the man was sweating from the heat as he lay back
down on the cot. Slowly his mind drifted off and thoughts buried from
years of captivity were brought to the top of his conscienceness.
A woman was smiling at him. Holding on to her side was a small
child, his clothed dirty from hours of childlike play, and his hair in
the no care style of all children. The woman was waving at him, and
the little boy began to cry. It was very distant and blurry, but his
vision continued. He was getting into a car, a breifcase tucked beneath
his arm. The car was a nice one. From the looks of the interior, it
was well kept. The driver was wearing dark glasses and bore no facial
expression. Without a word the car started and departed from the woman
and child. He looked back through the tinted window and saw them again.
He felt sad.
The car was stopping. It was a lonely looking road. A small
patch of trees stood off to the west. A field to the east and north.
To the south was the road he had just travelled. The stop light was a
fairly long one, and the driver appeared to be nervous. A sharp scream.
Shattering glass and rough hands. The briefcase was ripped from his
hand. He felt pain, and then he felt no more.
His dream continued. Lights, bright lights surrounded him.
Several masked men looked down on him. Again no expressions on their
faces. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Panicked he tryed to
sit up. He was restrained. He could not move. A sharp prick in his
arm, and darkness again reigned his life.
Once more his eyes opened. He was looking down on the earth.
He saw a small clearing surrounded by a fence. There was a flag flying
above the tallest building. It was red. He saw himself in the middle
of the clearing and watched as several well dressed men emerged from a
builing. He was bound and was standing between two armed men.
Conversation, yet he could not hear what was being said. Anger, and he
saw himself spit on the shoes of one of the men. Pain, and he oversaw
the brutal beating of his empty body.
Yet he was still there. His mind focused again on reality.
The heat was still present. The moonlight still shown upon the
concrete. It had become a routine. Sleep as much as possible.
Escape the pain and the suffering that were forced upon him day after
day. He had to eat the putrid substances that they gave him, else he
would starve. The food was not enough anyway. He felt himself dying
on the inside, yet he continued to live.
What had he done to deserve that fate? Nothing he whispered
as he glanced longingly out the window. He had been called upon to
"serve his country". He was leaving on a trip to Washington in that
car he invisioned in his nightly dream. The beurocrats in the capitol
needed him. Why? He didn't know. He was an ordinary person, an
accountant, in fact. He had never had any connection to Big Brother
before. He was excited, yet scared to go. What had happened? There
was no trip. The whole thing was staged. The government did need him.
There were 20 prisoners of war in Iraq who knew enough to hurt the
country. He, and 19 others, were the pawns used in retrieving these
POWs. The car accident? Staged. His wife and child mourned for a
while when they heard that their husband and father had been killed,
but they had moved on now. Why, do you ask? The man didn't know.
The government was given its power by those who it governed.
Yet, it has taken that power and used it to its own benefit. What
had those prisoners known that waranted the political barganing that
involved the man shown above? Not much, in fact. They were special
because one of them was the newphew of a congressman. Had they been
a regular American would this have taken place? Absolutely not. Yet
it goes down in the classified records as an operation to preserve
national security. I feel for the people that are lost everyday in
the twisted system that we call a government. I feel for the people
that are used daily so that an elected official can keep his pretty
pay check and lack of responsibility to the laws that they pass. I
feel for America. What can we do? I don't know, I really don't know.
ùIllusionaryù
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