The Utopia Delusion

A dark Orwellian piece, depicting a man on the edge of his sanity plagued by the image of a lustful women.

The world was dead. An ever present dull grey cloud was painted on the atmosphere, buildings were desolate and empty. The boulevards were filled with a faceless crowd, each person’s features slowly blurring into another. The cold crisp breeze swept eerily amongst the blank faces. Norman reached into the pocket of his torn trousers, he took out a dishevelled packet of menthol cigarettes. As he lit one he felt the polluted smoke engulf him, he coughed and spluttered. The emphysema left him struggling for breath after every smoke, but the amity that followed the cigarette was more than enough incentive to persist.

Individuals past each other in street but did not speak, barely a glance would pass between them. Norman Orville Hope was a diminutive frail man, his lifeless brown hair was tussled and unkempt. His face sallow and sunken. The harsh labour had caused his skin to become rough and desiccated making him look older than his years. Faded green eyes that glistened like the wings of a lonely moth. His core remained deep-rooted within him.

The world was a peculiar place. Families became enemies, friends became strangers. Once there was a range of emotions to be felt. Love, happiness, peace. Now it’s like they were all programmed to be numb. Mindless, emotionless robots. Cold to the touch. Norman gazed stupidly at a young girl stood across the street. She was thin and pale, her face buried beneath powder and scarlet lipstick. She wore torn fishnet stockings, Norman remembered her clearly as she was everything he despised. He stubbed out his cigarette and spat hatefully on the ground. “S**t.” He muttered to himself as he crawled away back into the murky alleys.

The girl had pursued him. She caught him in a back alley, he inhaled her strong musky scent. “What is it you want?” she solicited brazenly. Norman did not react. Looking upon her he felt dominant, women were obsolete. Unnecessary. He aggressively pulled up her skirt and turned her face away, he couldn’t stomach looking into her fragile futile eyes whilst he stole his pleasure from her.

Sirens screeched out from every corner. A wispy voice croaked over the intercom “Curfew”. Everybody indoors, proceed to your homes.” The voice was monotone and emotionless. The faceless crowd started to drift out of sight, Norman took out another cigarette and like a snake, slithered down the street and into the obscurity once again.

Humanity was decaying. Norman sauntered through the deserted streets until he reached his house, it could not be called home. It was far too lifeless. He stumbled inside and lay down on his flea-ridden mattress, it creaked painfully and smelt like damp earth. The smell triggered something deep inside him. Norman was seven years old, stood shivering in the graveyard. The trees all around him trembled in the presence of the chilling wind, not a single leaf remained on their bones. Ravaged by a vicious winter. Rain poured down relentlessly, his tears hidden within it. Clutching the tender hand of a stranger he recalled the smell of moist earth as his mothers remains were concealed beneath it. Norman closed his eyes and fell into a mournful sleep. His dreams were surreal and unlike any he had ever had, he dreamt of the young girl he fornicated with in that alley. He could smell her, taste her, feel her. As he tossed and turned in his bed a deep pain pulsed inside him as he struggled to picture the poor girls face. Waking suddenly in a cold sweat he quickly looked around him to be sure she wasn’t there with him.

Once he had awoken he felt he had slept for years, but a glance at the old wooden clock told him he had barely slept at all. His mouth was dry and tasted like ash, he stood up slowly. Aching. His bare skin was cold, reaching for his brown overalls he hastily got dressed. He fumbled around in his cabinet for his identity card, it read N.O Hope. The essence of irony was somehow lost on him. Images of the girl were still clouding his mind like the aftermath of a bomb.

Norman stepped outside his house into what should have been daylight, but instead he was greeted by a downpour of cold rain and mist. Faintly in the distance he could make out the figure of a young girl. Powdered face, scarlet lipstick. Torn fishnet stockings.

He glanced down at his watch. Ten past 12. On looking up he saw the girl before him, in the harsh light of day she appeared much younger. Innocent even. The rain continued to fall and smudged the painted on face she wore, her lips pursed she seemed set to speak. “Do I know you?” She asked, her question lacked the seductive tone she gave before. Norman recognised something about her, the way her clothing hung on her slender frame, eyes so deep and blue they were almost a paradox to the darkness surrounding them. “No.” Norman answered. “I do not know you , nor do I wish to.” With that he turned coldly and fled, leaving her stood damp and cold in the lonely street. The girl pursued him once more, but sensing his displeasure at her presence she kept her distance. Norman walked with an evident air of aggression and the walls around him seemed to shudder from his icy exterior.


The girl shadowed him silently, walking several steps behind him. She seemed so fragile staggering to keep up. Suddenly Norman stopped, he turned and paced towards the girl with a sudden sense of urgency. His pupils became wide and dilated. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, he reached out and gripped the girl by her forearms and began shaking her rapidly. “What are you?” he asked with his voice almost a whisper. The girl, breathing heavily, shook her head. Fear gripped tightly around her, like a powerful serpent coiling its prey. “Why are you doing this to me?” Norman shouted this time, he sounded like a man on the edge of breakdown. Sheer panic tumbled from his mouth.

He loosened his grip on the girl, and recoiled seizing the sides of his head. “Why won’t you leave me alone?” His question seemed not directed at the girl, but aimed at something coming from within. The girl backed away from the broken mess of the man and ran, her heels bashing the concrete floor as she went. Norman looked up to see her silhouette now far away in the distance. He picked himself up, wiped his damp brow and continued to walk until his feet felt numb.


The year was 1976 and the world was a very different place. A dark place. A totalitarian government had came into power and darkness followed them. Thoughts were prohibited in public, mass surveillance had begun. The human race began to morph and change into ideological chess pieces for a dictator, small innocent children were made soldiers sent off to fight an endless war. You could think, what they allowed you to think and do what the allowed you to do. But the scariest thing it seemed, amongst all that fear the human race did not fight back.

The girl kept running until she could no longer remember where she was, the buildings around her didn’t look like anything she had seen before. The windows were all blacked out and many were broken. Shards of shattered glass covered the ground like a blanket of clear snow. The girl carefully crept forward, as night was setting in hard and fast the dangerous streets became even more deadly. The streets were empty, not another soul appeared to have lived around there for many years, pictures of the old world still plastered on the side of the desolate buildings, peeling at the sides.

The rain began to fall more violently. Thunder erupted from the sky like the sound of angry drums before a war. Norman walked through the storm with an air of peaceful contentment. The noise surrounding him finally silenced the relentless voices in his fragile mind. He breathed heavily and deep, as if he had found some place of solace within himself. Looking up at the blackened clouds he eyes appeared to plead with the rain, begging it not to stop. Begging it to silence the voices forever.

Norman crept quietly threw the streets as now it was buried in darkness, danger was never far behind. The storm had now passed as suddenly as it had begun. Autumn leaves danced in the air carried by a cold icy wind, the wind seemed to sing a song riddled with pain and loneliness. This song was heard by Norman alone as he stood outside his house, praying for tomorrow. Praying for change.

Norman looked up at the ominous building in front of him. A dishevelled poster hung on the side. It read “Utopia.. Where all are equal.” There were images depicting smiling contented faces, round red cheeks and sparkling eyes. Norman caught a glimpse of himself in a puddle on the ground. He stared deeply at it for a moment or two. Lighting a cigarette he fixed his sight to the faces on the poster, scowling he spat aggressively on their faces and scoffed. “Some Utopia… F*****g paradise.” He stubbed his cigarette until the last glimpse of amber flame in it died out, throwing it into the puddle distorting the image of him.

The city Norman lived in . Utopia. Had been at war with Dystopia ever since he could remember, there were forbidden whispers in the back alleys that made him believe it had not always been this way. But people were too afraid to ask, so they continued their lives, wandering in an empty shell. Desolate.

Norman fumbled inside his brown dusty overalls for his keys. Unlocking the door he longed to be greeted by warmth, by a home filled with comfort and serenity and calm. But on entering his hopes shattered, removing his boots he felt the cold frosted floor beneath his bare feet. The weak light above crackled and flickered. He breathed in deeply and was met by a scent of concrete and damp. Engulfed by dust he coughed heavily and dragged his hollow bones to his cot.

He lay awake listening to the echo of a rusty pipe dripping, the relentless scratching of a rat beneath the floorboards. He turned towards the wall and plunged into his dreams.

He dreamt of a small white room , silent all apart from the gentle beeping of a solitary monitor. The light it gave shone upon the face of a man. A man with lifeless brown hair and skin that was sallow. The beeping became more prominent, faster and louder. Norman awoke...

Author's Note

Please could i get some input on the overall writing competency.
Any and all comments would be appreciated.

Reviews

[Woody]

this is an interesting piece. I like the psychological analysis. it is meticulously done (not surprising, coming from a psychlogy graduate). I'm no great critic but I think the writing is good. there are minor errors that should be easy to spot on rereading.
this is reminescent of 1984, which happens to be one of my favourite books.

[Louise.Myra]

Thank you very much for your kind words! I hope to continue this piece and one day get it to novel form. If there is anything of yours you would like me to critique i would be happy to help :)

[Woody]

you're most welcome. I enjoy a good read. if you feel like reading any of my stories, they're there. be my guest :)

[Pól]

Yeah- young lustful women are such pests.
Liked the story- you can definitely write

[BL]

I like reading this, your use of English and the references you have used. There are some mistakes that are quite obvious that you could correct. I don't see any need for a parental rating. Nice read altogether.