I.

It was a snowy Sunday in Phoenix, Arizona. William trudged along the salt-scattered sidewalk, paying minimal attention to anything remotely physical. Despite the blaring news programs and breaking alerts airing on televisions in the storefront windows he passed, he peacefully strolled on, unshaken. He preferred thoughts over external perception. He had always preferred thoughts. There were virtually no boundaries to thoughts, thus no one could dictate to him what he ought to envision or how he should feel; they were explicitly unique in that they were his and his alone. The world could never share what he kept hidden in that realm. He continued along in the open air, far from free of the judgmental stares of his fellow Phoenicians, letting all input of the reality beyond his brain’s dissipate in the futility of their attempts to reach him. The news was always the same s**t anyway.

There had been a rumour in circulation that the Federation was going to attempt to herd a number of test subjects to reside on a recently-discovered exterior planet, Upsilonia, to see what options truly existed for a relocation effort, an effort they direly needed to make due to the stresses and hardships the governance and its dominion constantly encountered in its current location. There had not been a sense of easiness for anyone since the Divide, which had led to the development of the territories: the Federation; the United; the Front; and the Region. A constant barrage of war, famine, and general disagreement among seemingly exponential hardships plagued what had become of a once great nation, though the Federation was by far the most well-to-do of all the territories. William had been told the “modern” stories countless times during his schooling, yet he was completely left to guess any and all history concerning the former stronghold that had occupied the space of these territories: the United States of America. Despite often wondering, he could never convince himself strongly enough to ask about that part of the past. It was, after all, forbidden under the WorldCode to inquire of the land’s history anytime prior to the Divide.

William was deep in thought, staring at the ground in a sort of otherworldly awareness when he collided with a previously unseen and very stationary citizen. The man, who took no kindness to the fact that he was, in his opinion, rudely run into, was on the outskirt of a somewhat large gathering of people surrounding one particular television in front of a local Militant Recruitment office. ‘Well,’ William thought, ‘there must be some sort of new information regarding whether or not the rumour is reality. I doubt any action has actually been taken. The weight of such a decision is far too great to justify any unnecessary haste.’ He ushered his way to the front of the crowd, finding not a news anchor, as one would expect, but rather a black screen featuring an audible waveform and subtitles in the two official languages, English and Nahuatl.

The crowd’s loud murmur created an environment that deemed the voice behind the screen inaudible, but the subtitles revealed all that William needed to know. There was no collection of sentences or any lengthy report being given; rather, there were only 7 simple words being repeated by a harshly monotonous manifestation of imitated intelligence while the bright white characters remained plastered along the bottom of the television screen. There, in large white letters, read: RUMOUR TRUE, PROGRAM LAUNCHING, INQUIRE WITHIN BUREAU.

William was easily the youngest of those bearing witness to this news -- he was, for one more year at least, a student in the EduSystem, and one would never find a participant of such program walking about in the winter when studying and research in a warmer environment was far more welcoming -- and he certainly had the most to lose or gain as a result of the decision the screen shouted at him. What was he to think? What were they trying to make him think? What if this were simply a move to judge how the public would react, and plan accordingly for any outbreak of societal opinion in the future? He had to know if this was real.

He would have to pay a visit to the Bureau before the week was over.

William turned away from the screen, walking back in the direction from which he just arrived. He had planned on going home prior to the announcement, but he now needed to let the information digest and the boorish conditions of his household did not allow for a mind to do its job to its full potential. The snow continued to fall, occasionally deeming William a fitting victim for a flurry of sharp wind and hard snowflakes. His destination was only a few minutes away from the Recruitment Office on a day with fairer weather, but, though it only took him an additional two minutes to arrive, it felt like an hourlong journey. He passed the boundary sign that marked his arrival to the City Natural Outlet, a large public park that had, for obvious reasons, not been considered a plausible spot to spend time in once the winter hit.

He made his way to a snow-covered bench that one would not have noticed had they not been previously aware of its presence and sat down. The announcement he had read merely minutes ago shook his very core. Questions that he had once dismissed as frivolous speculation were now blossoming into paranoia-inducing inquiries that he knew would eat at his brain as maggots upon a feast of a freshly decaying body. The governing body of the Federation wouldn’t have confirmed a rumour unless there were absolute reasoning behind the decision -- there was never a simple motive when truth was so willingly and blatantly being told. William feared that if he were to make an inquiry within the Bureau he would attach his name to a ripple that the Federation predicted would occur. They had eyes and ears everywhere, and he was sure they had meticulously predicted which individuals would react in which ways. The Superiors’ offices had gotten surprisingly accurate at determining the courses of action the members of their society would take in situations. As much as he savored the thought of going against the Federation’s smugly researched plans and ignoring what was essentially an invite to appear at the Bureau, there was no overpowering his desire to find out exactly what was going on.

It wasn’t more than ten minutes of questions and thoughts dancing violently through his mind when a dove flew down and landed inches away from his left shoulder on the back of the bench. William wasn’t a loyalist to the Federation by any means -- that is, he would not adamantly swear his allegiance and believe wholeheartedly that the Federation could do no wrong and only acted in the best interest of those who lived within its walls; however, he couldn’t help but notice that if one were to take a photograph of the situation as it were at that instant, nearly all symbols of the Federation would appear to be present in a scene depicting the most famous painting in Federationist history: a piece of art from the first decade of the Federation’s existence that depicted hopeful serenity and protection -- something the controlling powers tried since the government’s inception to convince their subjects they were maintaining. ‘Nearly all symbols are represented here, but not all.’ he pondered, ‘I’d have to wonder if a perfect reenactment has ever happened before through chance such as this. Though this is rare enough as it is; doves are rarely seen in this part of the world anymore, especially in the midst of a harsh winter.’

What William did not realize was that to a passerby positioned at the proper angle for even a moment, the presence of an oak tree that was in fact to his immediate right but twenty feet behind him appeared to be directly next to him, complete with the lowest branch extending the length of the bench just over the heads of both William and the dove as if to provide a barrier from whatever may come from above. Luckily enough, there was indeed a body stationed at the exact angle that created this illusion of perfect symbolism. At that angle crouched a spy for the Federation sent to track William’s immediate actions trailing his sight of the announcement. This was one of the adopted methods the Superiors used to gather information that would aid in the Federation’s predicting practices. The spy was prepared for the task of tracking William for the short period of time he was assigned to, but not even a spy who claimed to be the most seasoned and prepared of veterans could have been prepared to witness such an image -- and in a natural state, no less! He quickly fumbled through his minimal equipment behind a small patch of shrubbery to which he owed his invisibility, pulling out a tiny camera and positioning it ever so carefully so as to capture the moment just as it had been described symbolically for decades. His camera focused, and with the silent press of a small button the situation was captured forever. His subject had no idea he had just been made immortal.

William was unaware of any sort of tracing, nor did he consider himself worthy of being a target of surveillance to any degree. There were stories told among the older conspirators and Historians of the Federation sparing no expense to meticulously document and corrupt the lives of those who posed the greatest threat to whatever end goal the Superiors deemed necessary at that point in time -- many of these seemingly-paranoid individuals were former denizens of the Federation’s inner workings, which consistently left people wondering whether what they said held credence or if the fact were simply that working in such an environment drove people to the brink of insanity; it was always a possibility that both were true -- though he would never regard himself as a threat to any plans the Federation desired to enact. He certainly didn’t admire the Superiors but he was no Winston, full of angst and steaming blood, looking for a way to defeat a system that knew him as much as he knew himself. ‘Though’ William had privately concluded in the past, as Orwellian works were prohibited under the WorldCode, ‘the Superiors do indeed slightly resemble a regime similar to that which plagued Airstrip One.’

There was a nearly inaudible rustling from somewhere directly in front of the bench. William questioned whether or not he actually heard something, and abruptly decided if it had been anything it must have been a small animal bounding through the inches of snow, aching to find whatever den it had created prior to the weather maliciously playing the role of a mischievous blanket covering the ground. William was generally observant, but his senses were stalled by the gravity of the message he was still wrestling to fully decipher. He hadn’t even noticed the dove had been facing away from him the entire time, as if the bird expected him to give it a command, at which point the aviary creature would take off instantly to fulfill the request. It should have seemed peculiar to him, but his mind was too far trapped in a web of questions and theories. Minutes passed as hours while William’s mind struggled to make any sense. His decision was final, though he could not determine why he reached that conclusion. He was both paranoid yet convinced he could outsmart the geniuses whose sole occupation it was to predict the subjects’ actions. Whether his decided-upon Bureau visitation would have been predicted or not, he could not decide. He sat in cold silence as the dove flew off and a nearby tree branch shook in the wind behind him.

Somewhere in the heart of the city walked a man dressed inconspicuously, in his pocket a small camera with only a single picture ever taken on it.

Author's Note

Ignore anything grammatical -- I've not yet fully proofread. I mostly just wanted to get the idea out and keep going, as I'm letting the flow of the story dictate what comes next rather than thinking it all out beforehand. Thanks!

Reviews

[Ron Spice]

Very good, Zach! It is quite an undertaking to write a story. The third-person point-of-view was a good pick for the points when the Federation was spying on William. However, the point-of-view seemed to take away from the fluidity and depth of William's thoughts and the crucial formation of his character. Have you ever thought about using first-person instead and splitting up William's and the spy's points-of-view into different chapters? If not different chapters, maybe separating point-of-views within the same chapter? I think it might help. Overall, I liked it and look forward to more. I don't write this review to bash your writing style; I write as a fellow writer and in the interests of both you (the author) and me (the reader). Good luck on the rest of the book. Keep it coming!