Chapter 1
Mr. Steven Brown, Mrs. Margret Brown, and their 16 year old son Marco Brown lived in a normal town like any other. Mr. Brown worked as a lawyer. Mrs. Brown was a stay at home mom with a degree in law and psychology. Marco was a straight A student who was to graduate from high school two years early, and was already accepted to go to law school, like his parents.
Every morning at 6 o’clock on the dot each family was to take their daily Joy pill. The Browns were firm believers in taking their Joy on time every day. One morning Marco wasn’t feeling very well. He slept through the 6 o’clock time so Mrs. Brown set out his Joy for him to take when he got up. When Marco got up he completely ignored his joy and headed to the bathroom, he noticed that everything seemed darker and dirtier then when he had gone to sleep. The walls were covered in dirt and their family pictures seemed sadder than usual; they were standing in front of a bare tree that he had remembered to be very beautiful. When he got to the bathroom, the mirror was cracked and the sink was rusted, when he turned on the tap, the water came out dark brown. He turned it off and backed out of the room and went downstairs into the kitchen where his mother was making lunch. She had a dead mangled cat on the counter her hands were covered in its crimson blood, its entrails and hair were in a bowl to her left.
“Oh Marco you’re up, were having chicken for lunch do you want it grilled or fried?” She smiled and he just shook his head and walked hurriedly out of the kitchen into the backyard to the garden. When he stepped outside it smelt of rotten eggs; the garden was brown and all of the fruit was rotten. He saw his father kneeling next to the watermelon, which now was an orange color.
“Does this one look good to you?” his dad held up the biggest and most rotten melon, “your mother wants it for lunch today.” Mr. Brown picked the fruit and brought it to the kitchen.
Marco looked around, the world as he knew it was normally bright and colorful but now everyone else’s houses, which were always black and white, were run down and dingy shade of brown. Most of the windows on the houses were broken, the shutters were broken off and the doors were off their hinges. Marco ran into the house and out the front door to look at his house. The white house was now a dirty cream color, their black roof was caved in in the middle, and the whole house seemed to be slanting to the left. He then went back inside and ran up to his room to finally take his Joy. Once he did, his vison blurred for a minute, when his room became clear he walked out into the hallway. The walls were nice again and the family pictures looked how he remembered them. He walked to the bathroom and turned on the sink, the water came out crystal clear. When he went downstairs his mother was cutting up chicken not a cat as he had seen; the watermelon his father had picked was the biggest and freshest he’d ever seen. Before he sat down for lunch he went back to the front of the house to see how it had changed for the better. When he stepped outside and looked up at his large house, he saw that everything was back to normal. The house was once again a beautiful white color.
During lunch he looked at his father and asked in his most serious voice, “Dad what would happen if someone didn’t take their Joy.” His father looked at his mother, who nodded.
“The last time someone didn’t take their Joy, they recorded it in writing. They said that everything looked duller and the world as they knew it had changed. As you know, after the war was a hard time for our great Nation, the Government issued that we all take our Joy at 6 o’clock sharp every day to decrease the chance of another war starting. For 50 years no war has started, the country is a much happier place now.” Marco nodded trying to understand what his dad meant.
“What if someone refused to take their Joy?”
“The government would find them and send them to Ellis Island.”
“Is that why no one is permitted to go there anymore?” His Farther nodded slowly.
“It’s now filled with people who do not wish to enjoy the benefits of being a Joy consumer. When the government was looking for a place to put these bad people they choose Ellis Island.”
“They had to add on to it of course, they put 50 acres of steel all around it so the people would have more room around the island to live.” His mother cuts in. This said she just stared down at her chicken trying to make the whole situation clearer for her son, who was asking a lot of questions she thought of too when she was his rebellious age.
“Yes, your mother’s right the island got too small for how many people were being brought there. So they added on to it.”
“Only bad people are sent there Marco. For our sake please don’t be one of the bad people. Joy is good for us, Marco, it helps us stay strong and happy.”
At this one moment, Marco promised himself he would always take his Joy. This experience would haunt him for the longest time; getting so bad he’d wake up in the night covered in a cold sweat. For over 60 years, he always took it. Until he was on his death bed, he hid the Joy he was supposed to take under his pillow. Everything went blurry for a minute, than when he could he saw that the room was as he’d seen when he was a boy. The hospital was a rundown mess just like his house. The bed was a metal table with straps, and the window which had had a view of the lovey city was boarded up.
The IV that he thought was putting medicine in his body was pumping a bright green liquid in his veins. He pulled it out and put a bit of it on the tip of his finger then licked it off. It tasted like a mixture of green Jell-O and vomit. He spit it out and stood, walking wobbly out of the room and down the hall. Everything was moldy brown. He walked to a large window at the back of the hall and looked out. What he saw made his old, weak heart stop. The city was like an apocalypse scene, the buildings were half broken and rusty, the trees were all dead, and the whole city was a rusty weedy mess. He fell to the floor and shook uncontrollably for a few seconds before he went completely still. His eyes glossed over and his breathing came to a rough stop. On the 18th of May, 2063, Marco Francisco Brown was officially dead. In his last moments he had mustered a smile that stuck on his face; at the realization that the world that he’s known, his whole country, was one big lie, all held together by a small pill.
