People are curious as to what happens to the prisoners at Greystone. They believe punishment and harsh time is the only way to reform. But those sent to Greystone never leave. Families of those sent there are wondering where their family members are. A crew comes to ask to do an interview with some of the inmates and show the families life inside the prison.
Just kinda curious what would happen if the outside world, especially the families of inmates, would do knowing what Greystone is like rather than what they think it's like?
@internutter/challenge-02168-e339-true-reform -- DaniAndShali
[AN: As always, eternal blessings for giving me the link to the thing]
In an infinite universe, all things are possible, including a world like this one. It is a world divided in half. A world where rigid, high borders scribe a clear line between law and order on one side, and namby-pamby moonmelon nanny-state permissiveness on the other[1]. Or, if you're on the other side, between the freedom to choose the shape of your life and an oppressive, fascist dictator state.
And then, in the middle, there's Greystone. On one side, it's very easy to tell that it's a prison. On the other, it's a reform centre where the residents are introduced piecemeal to the ways of the benevolent-anarchy side of the divide. On one side, higher, more menacing, imposing grey walls. On the other, no actual visible barriers. There was little, indeed, to denote a border between the reform centre and the rest of the "real world" that was not on the grey side of the wall.
Those on the grey side are eager to send the worst of their worst into Greystone. It is held over the heads of all "decent citizens" like the sword of damocles. It hung a little more intensely over the "stained" citizens. Those who had a less appealing history with the administration had it hanging heavier and on a thinner thread. That included the families of those who had already gone to Greystone.
Crime, according to the "pure and noble righteous leaders of the true way," was an infectious disease that couldn't be treated. The only way to purify the community was to isolate those who were infected from the "proper citizens." Those infected by a criminal association were under the intense scrutiny of the systems of control.
It was not, the administration insisted, being a nanny state. It was controlling the disorderly with law, order, and demotivation from the unexpected deviation from the proper norm.
That was what they called it.
What it really was in actuality was as much up to debate as to what the divide between political philosophies represented.
What it felt like was the looming eye of big brother over Liam's shoulder. He had to perform better than anyone with a better social standing. He had to be the model man without being as violent as accepted masculinity was in the social strata. It felt like waiting for the judge's hammer to fall on him for the least little mistake.
His sisters expressed the same feeling. In a whisper, away from windows and electronic devices, behind fans, hats, or hands. Always watching over their shoulders for anything or anyone that could be hearing them say the wrong thing.
When the letter came, it seemed too good to be true. It was from Robert - his father. It had come inside a greeting card with enough glitter to foil the scanners in the mail service. Liam knew his father's handwriting. So did his older sister. With the letter was a filled application to transfer them to a neutral zone where they could spend time with him during his continued therapy. All expenses paid.
All they had to do was take it to the embassy and they would take care of the rest. The other side of the protecting wall called itself Freedonia. This side referred to it as "the tinfoil hats" and ridiculed them. There was even a bookshop that provided entrance by the back door, for those who feared to go in by the main gate.
The letter detailed all of that, too.
They packed their thin treasures and took the card, letter and paperwork included. After all, if this was some form of trick, there would be no coming back to the home they kept via four jobs each. If this was a trick, there would be no keeping the treasures, their remaining finances or, in fact, their lives.
In desperation, hope, or a combination of the two, they went just before curfew, making sure they were indoors before the street patrols swarmed for their safety.
Once on Freedonian soil, they were taken in a literal underground railroad to the non-combat zone between Righteousland and Freedonia. There, out of the view of Righteousland surveillance cameras, there were accommodations for those who were similarly invited.
There was also Robert Anulman. Their father. He looked - prosperous. He looked healthy. He wasn't wearing a criminal uniform. He was wearing a suit and a natural smile. Something never seen in Righteousland.
He embraced them all, showing them around their new home - fully paid for and available for customization. They had a bedroom each, if they wanted it. Far more spacious than the entire apartment they had been crammed into on the other side.
"You can't have paid for this in five years," said Liam.
"Technically true," said Dad. "I paid for it in one. The Freedonians love my work ethic and I got promoted a couple of times, so I used that to my advantage. I asked about getting you all on this side right after I got citizenship. Since you're my family, all you have to do is pass the course."
Ah. There was the catch. "And how much does that cost?" asked Liam.
"Education is free on this side," breezed Dad. "Lots of things are. Including us."
[1] Careful readers aware of the meaning of many of these terms will realise the inherent contradiction.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / Elenarts]
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