Tortured Soul

I bleed myself to death. However, death does not come and grant me my freedom. I hope the angels watch over me and everyone else. With each passing day, the experience worsens. There is nothing called life. I feel fear and excruciating pain as I browse through my memories. How can I ever tell anyone of my times during my younger days? I am desperately in need of the past, that which I can recall of the times, before war and slavery began.

I was eleven when the war began. It was endless. The world was no more in the hands of governments. The corporate world controlled everything. Every corporation went into infiltrating the government, passing new policies that would grant access to information about countries and people. They created different policies to enhance the security of the country, compelling people have tracking chips networked with the nervous system. Doing such a thing took care of various things. Nothing remained private or personal any more.

After tagging the citizens of their country, the corporates were able to watch through the vision of any individual, what they watched. The good part was that crime went down to zero, as whenever in doubt, the visual footage of the suspect gave proof to serve justice. However, the bad part of it all came when people working in one corporate went on to blame employees of other corporations, by embedding flawless errors in the visual memories of an individual. This led to creating injustice over innocent lives who worked for an honest living.

The corporate world started to fight among themselves. They attempted in destroying another corporation until they could no longer stand up again. Rivalries led to each corporate into implementing military armaments. With the governments unable to take any action, the corporations used them to create pressures over their rivals. This led to wars between them.

If I can remember, it was my twelfth birthday. Nevertheless, everything looked same each day. It was one of the few years when a corporate extracted sensitive information about the other through their employees. They took my parents as slaves that day. Men in suits were in our house when I walked down the steps.

“Go upstairs, sweetheart.”, my mother said.

“Do as your mother says.”, repeated my father.

I watched them both in the eye. When my father nodded once, I obliged and went back upstairs.

It was the last time I saw them in my life. After an hour, a woman accompanied by five men, all in suits came upstairs. The men grabbed our hands after the woman told my sister and me, that everything was going to be all right.

“Do not worry about your parents. They have some work to take care of. Hence, they had to leave immediately. And since you do not have any guardians, we shall be your legal guardians now.”, the woman said.

I had stared at the woman, until a man came and gripped my sister and me. We walked with them and they brought us to a boarding school, which did not look like one. It looked like a place with heavy activity of military people.

Our education consisted of topics different from those, which normally should have had been. They even cramped the details and other topics creating chaos in the beginning. The students in our class were not as intelligent as I was. Nonetheless, I somehow managed to pass in subjects of Stealth, War Physics, and Corrosive Chemical Applications.

The years went on learning. However, at the age of twenty, some corporation hacked into our learning centre, they informed us so, and all of us had to evacuate. It was not a drill, and we left that awful place, only for other military personnel to capture us.

They put us in solitary rooms; they interrogated and tortured us, asking for information we did not know. I have not seen my sister since we separated during these events.

The following years went like slaves in labour camps, performing their dirty work. They gave us less food to eat. It was scarce, which led to fights between us. Those who ruled, watched and laughed over our internal battles.

It has been over fifteen years now. Our work is considered important than daylight and time. As long as there is work, there is no rest. There is one good thing about it all. If we worked hard, they did not bother us. If we did not, it was more than an invitation for a death warrant.

This post is inspired from The Daily Post’s Writing 101 June 2014 Challenge – Day 10: Happy (Insert Special Occasion Here)!

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