By: Olivia Railton
The building was the same as any other; almost unnoticeable. That is, apart from the vibrancy that spilled from its doors and windows, with cheerful chatter floating on the air like jovial music. This was thanks to the people inside. Creativity hummed in the air as if it was a living thing, and individualism was celebrated with colour and style – individual style. The way people dress, talk, think and act is what defines them, and each and every person crafts themselves to their own definition. They are noticed by each other and accepted, no matter of their differences, for we all have different ideologies, do we not? But that was the beginning of the problem. They were noticed.
It is not a problem at
first, but a man makes it so – in his mind. He sits at a desk in a grey, dim
room, tapping his fingers on the wood in a monotonous rhythm as he contemplates
this ‘problem’. In this room, he keeps himself segregated from the students
outside, the rush of individuals all housing a tangle of stories, thoughts, feelings
and opinions was too much for him to handle. They are noticed, – he thinks –
and if they are noticed that means there will be opinions and judgements
formed. Granted, some may be agreeable, however some will not be so congenial
to his taste’s as a manager of the establishment. Surely it would be better to
have no extreme opinions at all, if some could be on the negative end of the
scale? As soon as the idea is formed, it is locked firmly into place in his
mind, and none of those sharing the office try to deter him, as their fingers
all drum in time on their respective desks. The idea takes shape in the form of
a student-wide decree, and the man, along with his adherents, are to be known
as the Enforcers.
Decrees are found
everywhere, as the Enforcers ingrain the new laws on the impressionable minds
of their students. Soon enough these young individuals are learning that the
Enforcers are quite determined to be obeyed. Hair in crimson reds and sapphire
blues are quickly hidden by a non-specific shade of faded brown. Clothing that
could once identify an independent person is masked by the all-encompassing
grey of a uniform that, although it has not changed in the basic principles,
has pedantically removed all room for original touches – that spark of creativity
and individuality.
Those who cling to
their ideology are swiftly pursued by the man and his network of Enforcers, and
locked away where their creativity cannot spread or disturb the balance of new
order. They are a contagion, the man thinks, and they must be quarantined. They
are ushered into what could be considered the drunk-tank of a world ‘corrupted
by individualism’ – that was an idea the man had borne and become accustomed
to, as he found the phrase rather pleasing. Empty faces line the walls of a
non-descript prison, sitting in a perpetually workless state, wondering why
they even bother living. They did not conform and so they will fail – is what
they are told – leading to a life unworthy of living. All the while the
students who conformed are being prepared for tests, the gateway to work and
money – life, they call it. They are told what to write and how to write it. Enforcers
dictate to them what the students’ own thoughts and feelings are, or at least,
what they should be when they write their essays. It is not learning. It is a
memory game. Roll the dice and pick a card, any card. This is your memory; this
is what you have to work with.
Student Voices short stories
The Enforcer - A short story
Reviewed by Admin
on
09:21
Rating:
Reviewed by Admin
on
09:21
Rating:
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