Dec. 31, 2121
Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who sees it. No one recognizes people as people anymore - just competition.
Do they act out of fear? - Or are they monsters in disguise?
Yet this way of thinking is praised - encouraged even. The Limiting system decides the fate of those father calls “the plagued.”
Those who aren’t productive in society meet a gruesome end, ultimately decided by the public.
Overpopulation was always an issue. It wasn’t until president Haul announced the first annual Limiting ceremony that we realized how desperate our government was to get off this sinking ship.
Each month U.S. citizens are given a quota of productivity. Simple, learn a new skill, demonstrate how much you’ve learned in a month.
Unfortunately, not everyone is blessed with even the most basic of essentials. For this reason those in poverty don’t last very long. When each year comes to a close, a massacre follows close behind.
Last year’s group included our neighbor’s son and my dear friend Mathew.
He was the reserved type. Always with a book in hand, long matted hair that hid his face and never gave a glance toward anyone who’d addressed him.
Others seem to think he deserved the anything but brief three hour torture that took his life. That he was filth dirtying the image of the strong in our great country.
“How are these thoughts even human?” I wonder?
The sting of Matt’s death continued on after he had passed. Not knowing who had wrote his punishment deprived me of any closure. Images of hundreds of nails and screws deep in Mathews’s skin made headlines. His last words “what have I done?” printed on the back of t-shirts, hoodies and backpacks.
It’s been hard to concentrate on studies. Sometimes I find myself trapped in my bed, not having the motivation to finish lessons or submit progress reports.
Am I weak for missing my friend? It seems everyone else around the house has already forgotten about his presence. Father says it’s best I do the same before I’m the one strapped to a table with drills in my brain.
It’s almost been a year since I was able to feel something besides heartache. Tomorrow’s the ceremony, which means this is my last night of journaling. I’m not too confident on my productivity reports. I’m numb.
The terror wrapped in the mystery of my execution method has been in combat with the excitement of seeing my friend again for a whole year. Every day I feel more distant from reality.
Name: Sean Watts
Graded: January 1, 2122