IceWave
Veteran Member
Give Me Liberty...
by Stephen Moore
All Rights Reserved.
-----
Prologue
A perfect evening. That was the only way to describe it. Perfect. It was one of those times when all seems right with the world. The temperature, a comfortable 76 degrees; the humidity, mild. The sky, crystal clear and alive with the bold colors of a Michigan summer sunset. A light breeze blew and carried with it the smell of pine. A completely perfect evening.
So why did this particular evening feel so completely imperfect?
David knew why, even if he couldn’t say it. Tonight would most likely be the last time he ever saw the sunset or smelled the scent of pine but at least he was experiencing life it as a free man. No one, absolutely no one, could take that from him again. He wouldn’t let them. It would most likely mean his life, but he had decided that his life was worth liberty.
Slowly he lifted the cigarette to his lips, taking one last puff, enjoying the rich taste of tobacco that had been forbidden him so long ago. He slowly inhaled, savoring the warmth which filled his lungs. The aroma was intoxicating. With that last puff, David exhaled and tossed the butt to the ground, straightened himself with a sincere and burning determination not known to him before today, and began the walk down the hill. As he walked he reached beneath his jacket and felt the cold steel he carried.
Tonight, he would finish what was started so many years ago. Tonight, he would write his name in the pages of history. Tonight his life would have meaning.
-----
Chapter 1
David stared blankly at his computer. He felt very unmotivated as the screen continued to fill with lines and lines of numbers. Working since 6am, he had been asked to work through lunch in order to finish the project before he left for the day. Not that he really objected to skipping lunch as he was quite burned out on the processed artificial meat sandwiches that the company was obliged to provide to the workers. More numbers appeared. His eyes glazed over and his mind began to wander. The clock on the wall showed 5:50pm. It didn’t matter to David as he was going to be stuck at work for at least another three hours trying to finish his assignment. Only then he could head home and finally have a bite to eat.
At 10:15pm David finally arrived home having been stuck on the highway for over an hour. His commute should have taken 15 minutes at most, but because of the checkpoints that had been established less than a year ago, traffic only crawled. It didn’t matter the time of day, the checkpoints always kept traffic at a crawl.
David opened the fridge and stared absently before pulling out a mostly full half gallon of milk substitute and pouring a glass. Returning the milk to the fridge, he turned and walked towards the living room and tossed himself heavily on the sofa. He grabbed the remote to the TV and tried to use it, but it didn’t work. David turned the remote over and pulled the batteries. Dead. He had no spares and he would have to wait nine more days before he was allowed to buy his next month’s rations of batteries.
Everything was rationed these days. All excess production capacity was to be used to help in the War on Terror. People were being ordered, yes ordered, to consume less and produce more, all in the name of helping to spread liberty and democracy to all corners of the world. Not surprisingly, those with political connections were able to acquire rationed goods in quantities greater than their ration limits. But woe to those that tried to stash “a little extra” without having those strong political connections. They were called hoarders, un-American, and friends of the terrorists, all before having everything confiscated while being hauled off to jail. Convictions where handed out easily, and hoarding generally brought a sentence of three years.
David rubbed his temples, stood, tossed the remote back onto the sofa and walked slowly to his bedroom. When he entered, he could see the silhouette of his wife under the sheets. His wife. She was only thirty-two years old but she looked much older. But so did he, as did most Americans these days. Stress and malnutrition took their tolls. Malnutrition was actually quite common as most food was processed so much that almost all its nutritional value had been stripped away. Vitamins would have helped, but again, in claiming to look out for the people, the government had outlawed their sale over the counter. Vitamins now required a doctor’s prescription and doctors were very reluctant to prescribe anything that the government disapproved of.
David stood quietly and listened to Michelle’s slow breathing as she slept. He felt like such a failure, which is exactly how the government wanted him to feel. Before they were married he had promised her the world and the stars. Now it was all he could do to try to keep a little bit of food in the fridge, and some heat in their apartment.
Sauntering back to the kitchen, David drank the last of his milk and set the glass in the sink. He then turned off the one lamp that lit most of the apartment and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth, a task he despised but felt he had to do if he was keep any vestiges of humanity. The toothpaste was bland and a sickly yellow color. It came in a plain white tube with black lettering. Colorings and flavorings were deemed excesses and were done away with, all in the name of helping the War on Terror. He still hadn’t figured out how adding a little mint flavor would hurt the War, but then again, no one really questioned the government nor its actions. At least no one who wanted to stay alive.
As he brushed his teeth, David blankly stared into the mirror. The face that looked back was old and tired, not at all reflecting his age of twenty-eight. He spat the tasteless toothpaste into the sink, rinsed his mouth and toothbrush, turned off the light and went to bed. Michelle hadn’t stirred and was still sleeping peacefully. Sleep was a gift from God because one could dream and be free. Dreams where one of the very few things that the government hadn’t figured out how to regulate or tax. Yet.
The next morning at 4:35am, David woke several minutes before his alarm was set to wake him. It was just as well that his internal clock woke him as he hated the sound of his alarm clock. He sat up, placing his feet on the floor and his head in his hands. He was groggy having not slept well, and already tired of the day that awaited him, even though it had barely begun. After a few minutes, David stood and went to the bathroom for his shower. He would be limited to no more than ten minutes of lukewarm water before the government installed meter would shut off. He never even used half of the shower allotment since he wanted to save as much as he could for his wife. She deserved what little pleasures life had to offer, even if it was only five or six minutes in a seventy degree shower. He stepped into the cold tub, sighed heavily and turned the handle. Sadly, he had grown accustomed to the tepid showers and no longer jumped when the stream of water hit him.
After the shower, and another encounter with the tasteless toothpaste, David returned to his bedroom to dress for the workday. The light was already on as Michelle had been awakened by the alarm clock and was waiting her turn for the shower.
“Good morning love.”
“Good morning” she replied, with a barely perceptible, but sincere smile.
“I left you about six minutes worth of water. I’ll fix some breakfast while you’re showering.”
“Thanks, I’ll have two eggs, over easy, with a side of hash browns.”
They both tried to smile at the joke but found it difficult. In reality, their breakfast would consist of a bowl of left over oatmeal. It was just about the only breakfast food that David and Michelle could afford. Hash browns were expensive, and eggs could only be gotten by those with the aforementioned political connections. When they did cook their oatmeal, they would usually cook it in a large pot as one could never tell when the gas would be shut off, making cooking impossible.
David’s work clothes consisted of rather worn gray dress pants, and a matching gray button down long sleeved shirt. It felt appropriate as it matched his mood when he went to work. After dressing, David walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge and pulled out the pot of oatmeal. He ladled a serving into each of two bowls, and then returned the pot with the remainder to the fridge. He would have liked to heat the food, but he was very cautious about using any more of their gas ration than necessary as they still had 8 more days to go before the new month started.
Michelle finished her shower and peeked out of the bathroom.
“I managed to save two minutes of water. We can treat ourselves tonight after work.”
David smiled at her. They tried to save water at least once a week if they could just for such a treat. It was hardly a walk along the beach in the Bahamas, but it was the best that a working couple could hope for these days.
“Breakfast is ready.”
“Good, I hope you didn’t burn the hash browns,” she said with a wink
Michelle was in an unusually good mood this morning and David was hopeful that this was a sign that the day might not be as bad as the rest. He sat down and waited for Michelle to come to the table and join him for breakfast, which she did shortly after getting dressed. They both ate in silence and then put their bowls in the sink and got ready to leave for work. He held the door for her and then followed her out, locking the door afterwards. It was a mere formality as the police had a master key that they could use to enter all apartments and houses whenever they wished thanks to the Patriot Act. If you were lucky, they would even lock up afterwards so that your meager possessions weren’t looted as soon as they left.
David kissed Michelle as they parted ways for work, her good mood rubbing off on him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t completely dread going to work that morning. He walked to his car, a nondescript compact gray sedan with an anemic two cylinder engine. All personal vehicles were limited to two cylinders and governed to 40mph. Of course, government officials, including the police, had no such limitations, and could be seen driving their large 8 cylinder sedans and sports cars in their own special lanes on the highways. David had long ago taken to heart the meaning of the phrase “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.” He got into his car and started the engine. Under different circumstances he might have chuckled at the absurdity of driving a car that sounded like a mistuned snowmobile but didn’t perform nearly as well. Putting the car in gear, David began the drive towards the first of three checkpoints he would have to pass through to get to work, passport in hand.
DFL, Washington DC, 20002. That was the return address on the envelope that awaited David on his chair as he arrived at his office. His stomach gurgled as he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. One never looked forward to having to open a letter from the Department of Freedom and Liberty. The Department of Freedom and Liberty, or DFL, was only twenty-two months old, but already had quite a reputation. Its primary task was to “help” Americans contribute their resources, both skills and finances, to the ever present War on Terror. The DFL was worse than the IRS as there were no courts or other venues of redress. When someone was ordered by the DFL to do something, that person did it and didn’t talk back. No one actually knew what would happen if he talked back to a DFL agent, but no one seemed inclined to find out..
With trembling hands, David finally mustered the courage to open the letter.
From:
The Department of Freedom and Liberty
Washington, DC, 20002
To:
Citizen David Alexander
Information Processing Systems
26987 W. 10 Mile Rd.
Southfield, MI 48075
Re:
Your generous contribution
Dear Citizen Alexander,
On behalf of the grateful citizens of the world, The Department of Freedom and Liberty would like to thank you for your generous contribution towards helping to fight the War on Terror. Many people will benefit from your generous gift. Per your request will be deducting an additional $0.10/hour from your wages each week along with your previous contributions. We look forward to hearing from you again in the future.
Sincerely,
(Signature)
Michael Richards, Director
The Department of Freedom and Liberty.
David sighed as he read the letter a second time. Enclosed with the DFL letter was a photocopy of the letter he had supposedly written to the DFL asking for this deduction with the work APPROVED stamped across it in large red letters. They stole from you and tried to make you think it was your idea. The handwriting and signature looked like his, but were in fact computer generated. When he had last renewed his driver license, he had to digitally sign for it. This digital signature was entered into the DFL database and another computer was able to quite accurately forge his writing style, even altering it so that each letter didn’t look like an exact copy of the previous one. It was a pathetic attempt at trying to make someone believe that they had asked the DFL to steal even more of their paycheck. The saddest part was, many of his brainwashed fellow Americans actually believed the lies and beamed with pride when they received these letters of thanks from the DFL, even going so far as to hang the letters in their cubicle with pride so that passers by could see their generosity.
“So much for trying to save up for a six-pack of cola,” he muttered to himself while shaking his head. After taxes and two previous “contributions”, David’s pay worked out to a paltry $3.45/hour. A six-pack of cola would cost him $6.94 and there was little chance he could save for it now if he wanted to keep paying his rent and utilities. He dreaded telling his wife the news but knew he would have to. They had long ago agreed to not hide things like this from each other as they had reasoned that it would be better for both of them to try to overcome any adversities such as this.
David turned to his computer and started typing. It was going to be a long day.
by Stephen Moore
All Rights Reserved.
-----
Prologue
A perfect evening. That was the only way to describe it. Perfect. It was one of those times when all seems right with the world. The temperature, a comfortable 76 degrees; the humidity, mild. The sky, crystal clear and alive with the bold colors of a Michigan summer sunset. A light breeze blew and carried with it the smell of pine. A completely perfect evening.
So why did this particular evening feel so completely imperfect?
David knew why, even if he couldn’t say it. Tonight would most likely be the last time he ever saw the sunset or smelled the scent of pine but at least he was experiencing life it as a free man. No one, absolutely no one, could take that from him again. He wouldn’t let them. It would most likely mean his life, but he had decided that his life was worth liberty.
Slowly he lifted the cigarette to his lips, taking one last puff, enjoying the rich taste of tobacco that had been forbidden him so long ago. He slowly inhaled, savoring the warmth which filled his lungs. The aroma was intoxicating. With that last puff, David exhaled and tossed the butt to the ground, straightened himself with a sincere and burning determination not known to him before today, and began the walk down the hill. As he walked he reached beneath his jacket and felt the cold steel he carried.
Tonight, he would finish what was started so many years ago. Tonight, he would write his name in the pages of history. Tonight his life would have meaning.
-----
Chapter 1
David stared blankly at his computer. He felt very unmotivated as the screen continued to fill with lines and lines of numbers. Working since 6am, he had been asked to work through lunch in order to finish the project before he left for the day. Not that he really objected to skipping lunch as he was quite burned out on the processed artificial meat sandwiches that the company was obliged to provide to the workers. More numbers appeared. His eyes glazed over and his mind began to wander. The clock on the wall showed 5:50pm. It didn’t matter to David as he was going to be stuck at work for at least another three hours trying to finish his assignment. Only then he could head home and finally have a bite to eat.
At 10:15pm David finally arrived home having been stuck on the highway for over an hour. His commute should have taken 15 minutes at most, but because of the checkpoints that had been established less than a year ago, traffic only crawled. It didn’t matter the time of day, the checkpoints always kept traffic at a crawl.
David opened the fridge and stared absently before pulling out a mostly full half gallon of milk substitute and pouring a glass. Returning the milk to the fridge, he turned and walked towards the living room and tossed himself heavily on the sofa. He grabbed the remote to the TV and tried to use it, but it didn’t work. David turned the remote over and pulled the batteries. Dead. He had no spares and he would have to wait nine more days before he was allowed to buy his next month’s rations of batteries.
Everything was rationed these days. All excess production capacity was to be used to help in the War on Terror. People were being ordered, yes ordered, to consume less and produce more, all in the name of helping to spread liberty and democracy to all corners of the world. Not surprisingly, those with political connections were able to acquire rationed goods in quantities greater than their ration limits. But woe to those that tried to stash “a little extra” without having those strong political connections. They were called hoarders, un-American, and friends of the terrorists, all before having everything confiscated while being hauled off to jail. Convictions where handed out easily, and hoarding generally brought a sentence of three years.
David rubbed his temples, stood, tossed the remote back onto the sofa and walked slowly to his bedroom. When he entered, he could see the silhouette of his wife under the sheets. His wife. She was only thirty-two years old but she looked much older. But so did he, as did most Americans these days. Stress and malnutrition took their tolls. Malnutrition was actually quite common as most food was processed so much that almost all its nutritional value had been stripped away. Vitamins would have helped, but again, in claiming to look out for the people, the government had outlawed their sale over the counter. Vitamins now required a doctor’s prescription and doctors were very reluctant to prescribe anything that the government disapproved of.
David stood quietly and listened to Michelle’s slow breathing as she slept. He felt like such a failure, which is exactly how the government wanted him to feel. Before they were married he had promised her the world and the stars. Now it was all he could do to try to keep a little bit of food in the fridge, and some heat in their apartment.
Sauntering back to the kitchen, David drank the last of his milk and set the glass in the sink. He then turned off the one lamp that lit most of the apartment and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth, a task he despised but felt he had to do if he was keep any vestiges of humanity. The toothpaste was bland and a sickly yellow color. It came in a plain white tube with black lettering. Colorings and flavorings were deemed excesses and were done away with, all in the name of helping the War on Terror. He still hadn’t figured out how adding a little mint flavor would hurt the War, but then again, no one really questioned the government nor its actions. At least no one who wanted to stay alive.
As he brushed his teeth, David blankly stared into the mirror. The face that looked back was old and tired, not at all reflecting his age of twenty-eight. He spat the tasteless toothpaste into the sink, rinsed his mouth and toothbrush, turned off the light and went to bed. Michelle hadn’t stirred and was still sleeping peacefully. Sleep was a gift from God because one could dream and be free. Dreams where one of the very few things that the government hadn’t figured out how to regulate or tax. Yet.
The next morning at 4:35am, David woke several minutes before his alarm was set to wake him. It was just as well that his internal clock woke him as he hated the sound of his alarm clock. He sat up, placing his feet on the floor and his head in his hands. He was groggy having not slept well, and already tired of the day that awaited him, even though it had barely begun. After a few minutes, David stood and went to the bathroom for his shower. He would be limited to no more than ten minutes of lukewarm water before the government installed meter would shut off. He never even used half of the shower allotment since he wanted to save as much as he could for his wife. She deserved what little pleasures life had to offer, even if it was only five or six minutes in a seventy degree shower. He stepped into the cold tub, sighed heavily and turned the handle. Sadly, he had grown accustomed to the tepid showers and no longer jumped when the stream of water hit him.
After the shower, and another encounter with the tasteless toothpaste, David returned to his bedroom to dress for the workday. The light was already on as Michelle had been awakened by the alarm clock and was waiting her turn for the shower.
“Good morning love.”
“Good morning” she replied, with a barely perceptible, but sincere smile.
“I left you about six minutes worth of water. I’ll fix some breakfast while you’re showering.”
“Thanks, I’ll have two eggs, over easy, with a side of hash browns.”
They both tried to smile at the joke but found it difficult. In reality, their breakfast would consist of a bowl of left over oatmeal. It was just about the only breakfast food that David and Michelle could afford. Hash browns were expensive, and eggs could only be gotten by those with the aforementioned political connections. When they did cook their oatmeal, they would usually cook it in a large pot as one could never tell when the gas would be shut off, making cooking impossible.
David’s work clothes consisted of rather worn gray dress pants, and a matching gray button down long sleeved shirt. It felt appropriate as it matched his mood when he went to work. After dressing, David walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge and pulled out the pot of oatmeal. He ladled a serving into each of two bowls, and then returned the pot with the remainder to the fridge. He would have liked to heat the food, but he was very cautious about using any more of their gas ration than necessary as they still had 8 more days to go before the new month started.
Michelle finished her shower and peeked out of the bathroom.
“I managed to save two minutes of water. We can treat ourselves tonight after work.”
David smiled at her. They tried to save water at least once a week if they could just for such a treat. It was hardly a walk along the beach in the Bahamas, but it was the best that a working couple could hope for these days.
“Breakfast is ready.”
“Good, I hope you didn’t burn the hash browns,” she said with a wink
Michelle was in an unusually good mood this morning and David was hopeful that this was a sign that the day might not be as bad as the rest. He sat down and waited for Michelle to come to the table and join him for breakfast, which she did shortly after getting dressed. They both ate in silence and then put their bowls in the sink and got ready to leave for work. He held the door for her and then followed her out, locking the door afterwards. It was a mere formality as the police had a master key that they could use to enter all apartments and houses whenever they wished thanks to the Patriot Act. If you were lucky, they would even lock up afterwards so that your meager possessions weren’t looted as soon as they left.
David kissed Michelle as they parted ways for work, her good mood rubbing off on him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t completely dread going to work that morning. He walked to his car, a nondescript compact gray sedan with an anemic two cylinder engine. All personal vehicles were limited to two cylinders and governed to 40mph. Of course, government officials, including the police, had no such limitations, and could be seen driving their large 8 cylinder sedans and sports cars in their own special lanes on the highways. David had long ago taken to heart the meaning of the phrase “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.” He got into his car and started the engine. Under different circumstances he might have chuckled at the absurdity of driving a car that sounded like a mistuned snowmobile but didn’t perform nearly as well. Putting the car in gear, David began the drive towards the first of three checkpoints he would have to pass through to get to work, passport in hand.
DFL, Washington DC, 20002. That was the return address on the envelope that awaited David on his chair as he arrived at his office. His stomach gurgled as he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. One never looked forward to having to open a letter from the Department of Freedom and Liberty. The Department of Freedom and Liberty, or DFL, was only twenty-two months old, but already had quite a reputation. Its primary task was to “help” Americans contribute their resources, both skills and finances, to the ever present War on Terror. The DFL was worse than the IRS as there were no courts or other venues of redress. When someone was ordered by the DFL to do something, that person did it and didn’t talk back. No one actually knew what would happen if he talked back to a DFL agent, but no one seemed inclined to find out..
With trembling hands, David finally mustered the courage to open the letter.
From:
The Department of Freedom and Liberty
Washington, DC, 20002
To:
Citizen David Alexander
Information Processing Systems
26987 W. 10 Mile Rd.
Southfield, MI 48075
Re:
Your generous contribution
Dear Citizen Alexander,
On behalf of the grateful citizens of the world, The Department of Freedom and Liberty would like to thank you for your generous contribution towards helping to fight the War on Terror. Many people will benefit from your generous gift. Per your request will be deducting an additional $0.10/hour from your wages each week along with your previous contributions. We look forward to hearing from you again in the future.
Sincerely,
(Signature)
Michael Richards, Director
The Department of Freedom and Liberty.
David sighed as he read the letter a second time. Enclosed with the DFL letter was a photocopy of the letter he had supposedly written to the DFL asking for this deduction with the work APPROVED stamped across it in large red letters. They stole from you and tried to make you think it was your idea. The handwriting and signature looked like his, but were in fact computer generated. When he had last renewed his driver license, he had to digitally sign for it. This digital signature was entered into the DFL database and another computer was able to quite accurately forge his writing style, even altering it so that each letter didn’t look like an exact copy of the previous one. It was a pathetic attempt at trying to make someone believe that they had asked the DFL to steal even more of their paycheck. The saddest part was, many of his brainwashed fellow Americans actually believed the lies and beamed with pride when they received these letters of thanks from the DFL, even going so far as to hang the letters in their cubicle with pride so that passers by could see their generosity.
“So much for trying to save up for a six-pack of cola,” he muttered to himself while shaking his head. After taxes and two previous “contributions”, David’s pay worked out to a paltry $3.45/hour. A six-pack of cola would cost him $6.94 and there was little chance he could save for it now if he wanted to keep paying his rent and utilities. He dreaded telling his wife the news but knew he would have to. They had long ago agreed to not hide things like this from each other as they had reasoned that it would be better for both of them to try to overcome any adversities such as this.
David turned to his computer and started typing. It was going to be a long day.
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