SUBMIT
Present
2030, BLOCK 4A, Ramsgate, United Kingdom.
It has been 3 years since the great war ended and the government first initiated martial law.
Droplets of water drip rhythmically down the smeared pane beside his bed. That tranquil tap is welcomed; accompanied by the meek creaking of the floorboards in the neighboring apartments. The muted whimpers of other residents within the block leave him feeling like less of a troglodyte. He tilts his head to better hear his neighbor hum softly behind the decrepit dry-wall aside his bed. An appreciative audience she doesn’t even realize she has.
Out of nowhere, a siren starts blaring in the distance. Reluctantly dragging himself from the confines of his bed, he rises up and simultaneously huffs in aggravation. He lowers his head, rubbing his eyes lightly whilst dragging his heels towards the window. A small device sits in the nook of the room, firmly bolted to the ceiling. It has a single blinking red light and a reflective panel just beneath it. Stopping, he takes some time to rest a knee on the sill before turning, his leer expression meets the device for a mere second before his gaze is redirected to the window. He pulls his tattered blinds apart, grumbling under his breath. Leaning forward, he squints his eyes in the direction of the alarm. “Fucking racket”.
His scrunched eyes continue looking curiously into the distance. The sky is complemented by the luminescent crimson red and orange radiance emitting from the sun as it lowers towards the distant horizon. Rays shimmer and shine between the vacant cracks in the skyline as night falls. Light gradually evanesces, leaving the surrounding blocks swallowed by the darkness. The only remaining indicator of life beyond his apartment are the gleaming flashlights of the patrols below.
A quiet huff escapes his nostrils as he looks down upon one of the patrols. A beam from below comes scurrying up towards the window. As hastily as it moves, he removes his fingers from the spread between the blinds, retreating quickly as to avoid being seen whilst emitting a quiet “Shit”. He glances behind himself, staring up at the device momentarily before leaning down, putting his hands on his knees and lowering his head. Breathing deeply, he is seen regaining his composure. The alarm is gradually tranquilized, leaving him with nothing but the surrounding whimpers and creaks again. This is equanimity.
A final glance is given to the unwelcome friend in the corner of his room. Looking towards his bed he waltzes with uncertainty towards the back most side of the room. This leaves the little device just out of sight. Exhaling deeply, his hand is lowered, rummaging through his right pocket. He feels around until he stops on something. A small box and an engraved metallic lighter are pulled from within. He slides down the wall, sat with his back up against it, tucking his legs in front of him. Leaving them interlocked.
The box is held in front of him, he inspects the outer packaging intently. It’s a box of cigarillos, obviously pre-war. The cardboard is aged and marked with the dreaded red X. It’s the sign it was supposed to be destroyed at some point or another but instead, it’s here.
3 Years Prior
2027, Civil Unity Assessment Centre, Dover, United Kingdom.
The assessment centre bares a sinister resemblance to the baggage checks in your average airport; the only difference being the guards donning black combat gear, assault rifles and respirators.
Queues of citizens hunch timidly beside each other, each of them growing visibly anxious as they await their name. One by one, buses stop outside the glass-roofed centre, people pouring in by the dozen. They’ve all come from camps looking horribly malnourished and tired. They pile in behind the crowd that’s already waiting.
A robotic voice echoes throughout the building “John, Pamela and Rose Leisk. Make your way to the nearest Assessment checkpoint. Malcompliance will result in disciplinary action.”
“That’s us!” the man exclaims, grabbing the hand of his wife whilst carrying his sleeping child in his arms. She rests her head on his chest, snoring gently. They walk hastily towards the closest checkpoint, stopping in-front of the guard. “Child, down. All of you, step over to this wall and turn around.” John gently lowers Rose towards the floor, waking her up. The trio make their way to the wall. Vo-coded words seep aggressively through the soldiers respirator “Hands, behind your back. Submit.” The three of them comply, immediately being zip-tied from behind by three more armed men.
Rose is grabbed by the arms, being pulled away violently by one of the guards. She begins screaming, only to be hit in the back of the head by the soldiers gun stock. She trembles, her body going limp as she loses consciousness and is dragged away.
Pamela screams in protest, fueled by her daughters pain “BRING HER BACK PLEASE! SHE IS ONLY 8, PLEASE MY BABY-” as they drag her further away, she keeps screaming “YOU FUCKING MONSTERS. YOU BASTARDS THINK YOU CAN DO ANYTHING BUT WE ARE PEOPLE TOO…- HAVE SOME FUCKING RESPE-” She is silenced too, the swing hitting her temple directly. Falling onto her back, she lays motionless on the floor. The guard kneels beside her, pulling a small blade from one of his cargo pant pockets. He slices an X, deep into her forehead. Blood gushes from the lacerations as she’s dragged away into a protruding corridor. A burgundy blood trail is left behind by her lifeless body. A few moments pass before the sound of single gunshot emits throughout the centre.
The X means exterminate.
Present
John stares at the the red X for a moment, thinking about previous events. He shudders slightly, shaking his head as to forget.
The cardboard lid is pushed open without any further hesitation, one of the little cigars swiftly being thrown into the corner of his mouth. A shit eating grin sits on his face as he flicks at the flint. A familiar distraction starts reverberating through the ventilation beside him. Isn’t it peculiar how minor things can bring such genuine happiness?
Smoke escapades out of his nostrils as he exhales with a carefree sigh. Although the relaxation doesn’t last long. With a quick snap back to reality, weighted footsteps and violent banging can be heard along with the howling whimpers of his fellow citizens downstairs. “Fu-.. What have I done.” he says in pure fright. Standing up whilst putting the cigar out with his wettened thumb and index finger, he looks around as though all hope is lost, blatantly unsure of what to do now. A quiet “Hey, you.” can be heard from the vent beside him. It’s that woman, the humming one. Gazing down at the vent and halting as the voice speaks again. “Yeah, you. I heard the lighter. Looks like you’re in a bit of trouble, huh?”
Her voice is suffocating the daunting reality of what was going on beneath him. He kneels down, calmly inspecting the vent as she speaks. Footsteps and cries draw closer with every second. He responds, “You’ve got one beautiful voice miss” whilst twisting what seems to be a loose screw. The panel swings down as he manages to pull it out. “Thanks, I knew someone was listening.” she responds jubilantly. There’s a small compartment behind where the panel was, just enough room for all of the ‘discouraged’ items in his possession. Without taking even a second thought, he turns his pockets inside out, jostling everything into the hole before placing the screw back.
Thumps draw closer, heavy clad footsteps slam up the stairs in unison. The man leans down for a moment, whispering “shh” into the ventilation. He holds his breath as the creaking floorboards holt beside his door. Radio chatter echoes throughout the hallway.
Knock
knock
knock
“Citizen, open up by order of the Civil Unity Guard. Malcompliance will result in forced entry. Disciplinary action will be taken.”
