FicWad

The drugs had never worked on me, and that was something I had immediately learned to keep a secret. The districts didn't like it when anyone thought, much less a factory worker. The Drug kept your mind blank, keep you moving like a zombie. It made you not notice abnormalities, not question, barely feel. They had a file of things they kept on you- they knew your talents (no one really has any), and your physical capabilities. They never throw out files. There are warehouses where they keep the old files. They destroy the files of undesirables. If you have no file, you don't exist. It's the rule here. Everything here is a rule. You just have to see it, but no one does. No one fight, they don't care. No one loves, the don't care. No one cooks, no one can taste. (They're very lucky, the pills they give us for nutrients are awful) You live your life. You die. They move your file. That's it. It's what everyone does, cares for. But I don't.

I can see the colors of the world, even if no one else can. I can smell the stench created by the factories, I can feel desires, even if no one else can. They can't stop me, they don't know. They don't know that the Drug doesn't affect me. How could they? I'm smarter than them, they're all pumped up with the Drug, too high to notice. My nanny was the same way. She taught me to hide it, but she's gone now. They found out about her resistance. Her file was terminated.

I don't think anyone ever wants anything here, none of the fellow factory workers. They don't think. They just obey. They can't afford to think. They need the drug, unlike me. I could go an eternity without it. It's just another thing that sets me apart, apart from a herd that doesn't even know it exists. Never once, for all the time I've been alive, have I seen someone look up from their work with a look of emotion, of anything but death. In my eyes, they're all dead. We live underneath the world, we make manufacture for people who don't know we exist. And we never complain. Never, ever complain. That's rule number 10.

Breaking the rules will get your file terminated. It will get you destroyed, black, oblivion, nothingness. Breaking a rule means you're thinking, and they can't have that. No thinking allowed. No time alloted. Work, Drug, sleep. That's how everyone's day goes. No room for thought, unless you're me.

If you're me, you're always thinking. Always planning, always plotting. I need to always appear unintelligent, when I'm not. I need to escape this prison, this haze of unreality, this insanity, this audacity preformed and caused by those who live on the other side of the world. We are their slaves, but we must never, ever let them know we're here.
They would think it wrong. Besides, we're here for their benefit. Only them, never us and our Drug induced zombie like states, will ever matter. The ones of the upperworld have money, and the ones who own us want money. Very much money, because this world is about money, no matter what you think. Emotions can be easily killed with the Drug. Only money matters, not intellect. Intellect means nothing down here, you still work a factory job, still live in one room apartments, still follow the same, boring patterns. You never, ever think. You can't, you'll wake the Thought Police.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back and forth. Left, right. Side to side. Top to bottom.

It's how the work day always goes. Doing the same, old boring thing, in the same, old boring fashion. The pristine white factory walls make the place seem like heaven, though it's quite actually a hell for someone like me. Silk screening ink onto clothes, usually the same pattern for a whole year. I don't look up from my work, none of the zombie's ever do. I just stare at the design I'm making on the shirt, scraping the ink onto the silk screen, back and forth, up and down. No one ever talks while working, it's always quiet, you can hear the rumbling of machines in the background. The behavior control squad patrols the building, but nothing ever happened. The most that has ever happened is someone got their hair all pulled off by a machine. I wasn't there when it happened, I silk screen things thus am always surrounded by silk screens and the zombies who man them. The woman who got her scalp pulled off screamed, thus disturbing the peace. Her file was terminated.
I jerk my head back a centimeter-before stopping myself- when I hear the chair next to me slide out. I slowly look over-the chair's been empty for ages- eager to see the new zombie. Anything new interests me. It might be different. A man in standard issue white cloths sits don in the chair.

"Mr. Way." Says the security guard with the man "I would like you to show around Mr.Iero until he gets how things work." He informs me. I slowly nod, willing my eyes to look glossed over and deficient.

"Yes, sir." I say slowly, slurring the words together.

"Then I'll leave you to it." The guard says, walking away.

I turn slowly to face the man, I didn't barely glance at him before. "Hi, my name is--" I catch full sight of the man. He has brown hair, cut just like everyone else, at the ears. But his face is slightly tan looking, his skin smooth with an adorable button nose. His eyes are a green brown, gorgeous, his long eyelashes long and full. His eyes, though, they're definitely something more than the usual zombie. They seem wise, yet they're trying not really trying to hide their knowledge.

He gives me a look. "You're not like the rest, are you?" He asks, in a soft voice. My eyes widen.

"What do you mean?" I ask slowly, feigning ignorance by talking slow and zombie like.

"You stopped talking when you saw me. You must have thought something at that point." he says in a low, demanding voice.

I give him a blank look. "I don't know what you are talking about. My name is...it's...Gerard. I forgot it." I say, covering up my mistake with extra stupid. He'll figure it out eventually, he seems smart like me. But having another know a secret like that is dangerous. Very dangerous.

His eyes gaze over in the same manner I always do when I fake stupidity. "Right. I am Frank, nice to meet you." He says slowly.

"It is good to meet you too. To work the silk screen you must..." I explain the easy process slowly, observing him the whole time through a glossy eyed veil. I only explain it once, he's smart and I know he gets it.
"Where did you work before?" I ask. Oh God, I did not just ask a question! Zombies don't think, they don't ask questions.

"I made guitars." He says slowly. "You aren't normal." He whispers the last bit.

"Later!" I whisper back, and we both get back to silk screening.

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I realize that the epilogue was very boring, and I'm sorry about that. I wanted to set up the world a bit before I got into the story. It would be sad if I didn't, and much more confusing than it already will be. So, R&R before I crazy murder you ;D Yup I hoped you liked, R&R good or bad! If I don't get R&Rs, well, mostly reviews, I'm going to stop writing this one! And I like this one very much! Tell me what I need to improve!