His Magnificence

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LIFE IN THE GOOD OL' DRF.

Entry in the diary of Jesse Charleston Maith

Saturday, 9 September 14 NG, 146hrs.

Here I am, back under cover of darkness. I’m one of the few people remaining in the DRF – and the world, for that matter, - that still writes on a paper notepad with a ballpoint pen. Everyone uses stupid holopads now. Some aren’t aware that handwriting used to be a thing.

Anyway, why am I writing in darkness? Simple - God forbid I get a Third violation, or worse, of course! If I ever get charged with a Third violation, I’d be executed without trial. If these theories about SPYFLYs are true (and I am one hundred percent convinced they exist), who knows if one is flying around my room right now?! My family thinks I am insane and naïve, but oh well.

Let’s say I get executed one day for a Third violation, and my diary is disseminated to the masses by my family or someone, and it becomes the new Diary of the All-American Marine, or that World War II girl Anne Frank’s diary, or something. Will readers understand the true meaning behind the ostensible “greatest nation on Earth; the one Joshua freakin’ Evans envisioned, and the one Mr. Stewart perfected?” Will they understand that our people truly aren’t free, they just think they are?

But anyway, I don’t want to sound totally morbid, because there are things that make me happy! Like a good talk with Aunt Stacy. She just mentioned how she tries so hard to fill the void left by my mother. Not only has she succeeded, she’s excelled at it. She’s raised me virtually by herself half my life, and I know I can approach her with any issue without judgment or scolding. And for Joshua’s sake, is she funny! She may be the CEO of a mid-sized Lower Manhattan marketing firm, but she doesn’t let her career define her. The genuine excitement in I saw in her face when I told her about my date with Sarah Schale was truly gratifying.

And I guess that’s why it bewilders me that she, like Uncle Bob, supports you-know-who lock step. She watches that dumb FNN propaganda hogwash as much as Bob does, but just not as demonstratively, and not under cover of a damn den or a she-shed. I wonder if she takes being a nine-percenter for granted? I’ve never really discussed politics with her, but she probably is oblivious to the fact that unless you have a lot of cash and can send your children to a place like Everton, me and my cousins wouldn’t be subjected to the absolute worst public education system on the planet, which only pryvies attend because it’s free? Does she realize that at public school, you learn more about Joshua Evans and the benefits of corporate profiteering than you learn about proper English, history, math, and science? I recently read that ninety percent of pryvies can’t locate New Alaska on a map! Scary stuff!

I also wonder if she realizes that most pryvies are too blissfully ignorant or dogmatic to understand we live in a theocracy like our “other” sworn enemies, Russia and China! What’s worse, they think the Third is no big deal. Public executions? A country named the Divine freakin’ Republic of Freedom has a version of capital punishment that fascist dictatorships practice? It’s all good so long as they have their prayer sessions, their harlowcane, and their trashy entertainment!

Aunt Stacy is a very smart woman, so I have all the belief in the world she understands. I think she chooses to gloss over those details, but I love her nonetheless. If there was one thing I’ll take away from our victory tonight, it was seeing her, in her Everton jumpsuit in the front row behind our sideline, jumping up and down, waving her white rally towel, and blowing kisses at me after each touchdown pass and mouthing she was proud of me. Bob, meanwhile, was nowhere to be found.

That’s my life. That’s life in the good ol’ DRF.

Til next time, be free!

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