The Rebels...


Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

Christian stepped out of the office building and promptly began walking down the street. He moved with just enough pace to suggest he remained diligent, but not too eager to make use of his one hour break.

Ten years of repeating the same routine had made him nearly master the art completely. His face was an impassive mask of a man who was content with his lot, one with no abominable desires that went against the wishes of the regime.

Still Christian was afraid; deep down his heart raced even though his outward appearance didn't show it. He knew that they were watching him, much the same way they were watching everyone in the capital. The regime successfully had everyone under their thumbs, and so much as a breath of disgust could land you in jail. The worst offenders who openly challenged the regime simply disappeared to be seen no more.

Sometimes when he was sufficiently convinced of his privacy, which was quite rare, Christian dared to think of what happened to those who had disappeared. Perhaps they were taken to the outskirts and left there to be swallowed up by either the inevitable hunger or the dreaded savages. Both cases meant the same thing anyways, they were doomed. But such thoughts were not permitted in the open, so Christian never really knew.

He turned the corner to the left at the end of the street. The thick smell of coffee and plain loaf filled his nostrils. He bore the stench without so much as a nerve moving on his face. He was a pro.

There was a small queue at the front of the kitchen window as he approached, and as he joined them he surveyed the others. In front of the queue was a slender figure, with a body as plain as any other citizen you saw everyday. As he watched, the figure turned and left the queue, ration in hand.

Christian looked away, even staring was enough to render one suspect these days. But as the people in front of him slowly reduced, he permitted his thoughts to wander a bit, a dangerous habit he indulged in whenever he wanted to keep something in particular away from his mind...

Without looking at them, Christian counted the people as they accepted their rations and left. They were hopeless, most of them anyway. They seemed to have resigned to accepting their fates at the hands of the regime. Their movements were mechanical, their faces morose, like they had no humanity left in them. But that wasn't the worst.

What was worse instead, was that there was no way to tell who was male and who was female among the lot, the regime's rule of short hair and complete party kits made it impossible. Christian pitied them, but he also knew that in outward appearance he was no different from them, his only hope at uniqueness was that deep down, he still had his humanity.

He accepted his ration from the man behind the counter. As he turned to leave he pondered for a moment if the ration man was any different from the rest of them. Maybe his smell was different, but nothing else.

Christian shook the remnants of any thought process from his mind, and proceeded to walk down Ration street. His face impassive, his walk mechanical, his ration suitably held in his right hand. He portrayed a picture perfect citizen of the regime.

But as he walked past a group of other morose fellows setting up sticks and tires for bonfires and fireworks, he remembered what day it was. Tonight was the anniversary, another day he both dreaded and liked. Dreaded because of what it represented, and liked because of the loose nature of security the celebratory spirit afforded his thoughts... Once more, he allowed his thoughts drift to what little he had managed to read about the regime...

The regime itself had started about 97 years ago as a laudable effort at saving what was left of humanity after the population explosion. Earth was dying at an alarming rate at the time, and the many prophecies of "the end of the world" no longer seemed like mere prophecies. Earth simply could no longer carry its population, and savages were being made of even the most meek of nations. Thus had the regime started.

At first a group of elite businessmen and political personalities had come together to protect a small nation that still held promise. The population was strongly regulated, and as a result it had thrived while the rest of the earth perished around it. Naturally a wall had gone up, the savages were to be kept out. Then a law was made regulating childbirth, but it had not stopped there. About 30 years later procreation itself was prohibited, and births were only to be by approved incubation. Mild protests had erupted at various times in the beginning, but they were all short lived. Today the regime had both the mind and bodies of its citizens. There was absolute control in the capital.

Christian turned another left into a sharp small corner. He wriggled his way through a cluster of more morose looking citizens coming through the corner, clutching more sticks for the fireworks. In little more than 20 seconds he came out in another street. Then he turned right towards a cluster of small houses.

It was only a slight change, very minute in its difference, but Christian's steps had now become more purposeful. He stopped in front of one of the small houses, produced a key out of the right pocket of his uniform, and opened the door.

Soon as he locked the door behind him, and stepped into the medium spaced room, Christian became a different man. Desire filled his entire features as he placed his ration on a nearby table, beside another, both to be emptied in the sewer later. He walked forward to the center of the room, unable to contain his now raging hormones.

There, on the little bed, she waited for him. Her face was markedly different from when she had left the head of the queue earlier, ration in hand. She was obviously a woman, it was clearer now, her freckled pale skin glowing in comparison to her sunburnt face. But then again, the petite figure with the small pointed breasts was obviously a woman, and Christian couldn't wait.

But first he carefully removed his party uniform, strip by strip, and placed them side by side with the other already on the floor. He looked at the wall clock, it was exactly 25 minutes since he stepped out of the office. There was sufficient time.

Then he fell into her arms. And with an animalistic passion which belittled even the crudest of stone age savages, both of them, after ten years of planning, renewed their humanity.

Regime or no regime, as Christian groaned in heightened ecstasy, he dared today to dream of the earth that was...

He arched his head backwards, as his hands dug into her waist...

She choked a scream in her own building pleasure...

Then suddenly the door burst open, and seven regime officers filed in...

And as they cocked their rifles, Christian and his partner both groaned in hastened release...

The first fireworks sounded in the city...




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