We Are Not Ourselves pt 1.

May 21st 2024

I walk down the street every day to the same beat. My earphones always pushed firmly into my ears and my head swaying to the rhythm of the music. The bustle of the city has never really bothered me because I’m a city girl, born and raised. I see the same ignorant faces every day, and they have the same scowl on as I weave my way through the queues to get in front of them. Their corporate faces crinkle as I flash them my best smile and their fists clench as I swing my bag over my shoulder, and it dares to brush against their pretentious suits.

I could describe a bus journey in many ways. My personal favourite comparison is “like a ride into hell”. Whenever I’m sat in the unattractive red cabin on the disgusting and always slightly moist green seats, I seem to attract attention from the local weirdo or the annoyingly talkative old lady. The corporate suits always sit upstairs, because they’re too good to mingle with the commoners. But we’re not allowed to badmouth the corporate world, not in public anyway.

It’s like we’ve been brainwashed. Well, we have been. The government wanted to make the UK a “better” place, so they took control of us all. I didn’t let them take me, and there’s a few more people that refused the “treatment” that was offered out. I’ve heard many a rumour about the “treatment”. I’ve heard that they plug you into a computer and wipe your memories, but I’ve also heard that they drill holes into your head and hook you up to some kind of machine. I can’t say for sure what is true, but I can safely say that you probably don’t get your head drilled. But with the state of the government these days, I wouldn’t put it past them.

It’s kind of like segregation – us against them. They sit upstairs, we sit downstairs. They eat at the best restaurants in the city, we eat in the greasy spoons. For the select few of us that refused the treatment, it’s just a matter of time. They’re picking us out one by one and we’re dropping like flies. They got my friend Andrew a few weeks back. It was like something from a Hollywood blockbuster, as a black van with blacked out windows pulled up beside him and dragged him inside as he kicked and screamed for help. But the only people that were around were the suits, so they didn’t bat an eyelid.

Their faces show no hints of emotion. Their suits are perfectly crisp and their shoes are so shiny you can see your reflection in them. A briefcase dangles from their left hand, swinging as they walk in time with each other. LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT. There’s something menacing about the way they look. The way they walk with military precision, the emotionless look in their eyes as they stare into the horizon, straight past you as if you don’t exist. If you made prolonged eye contact with them, I swear they’d turn you to stone.

It was a dirty morning – even the birds hadn’t bothered to come out and sing. I walked along the street trying to avoid the puddles as best as I could, waving my umbrella above my head so I didn’t take anyone out with it. I was the only one at the bus stop this morning which I thought to be odd. A black car circled the block a few times, but I thought nothing much of it. I was too busy staring down the street at the streetlights reflecting off the puddles on the floor, in awe of how beautiful it actually looked. The same black car drove down the road again, slower this time. Again, I took no notice, thinking it was just someone who was lost on the one way system in the city and couldn’t figure out how to get off it. I know I’ve done that before. But the car stopped in front of me this time, and a pretentious looking suit climbed out of the drivers’ side.

‘Excuse me Miss, you need to come with us…’

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