I take out my phone and open the app to the pornography site I frequent.
The Global Founding Fathers Party was created as a response to the horrific stalemate in the Terrible War that began in 2009. This stalemate that lasted four years caused nearly a quarter of Earth’s population to die due to starvation and lack of common necessities that were previously allocated through free trade, but diminished as the warzone grew to a global scale and embargos were emplaced to try and collapse the opposing nation’s economies. In a desire to end the self-destruction of Earth’s old hegemonic system at brutal total war, they formed a global revolutionary military separate from any warring state, and which was unified on one ideology: peace. They then began the seeds of revolution simultaneously in all the warring capitals of Earth.
This revolutionary militia was commonly referred to as the People’s Army, or Freedom Core. Their strategy was to raise the populaces will to revolt against their current leaders that were determined on perpetual war, and begin the goal of creating a unified world with permanent global peace. We call these pre-Party governments and their members Traditionalists. (Author’s Note): This book or the writers do not support or encourage Traditionalism in any form, and only reference them for academic purposes. Traditionalist thought or activity as you know is illegal for their grave crimes against humanity.
I switch back to my phone. But when I am closest to finishing I turn it off, and pull out a picture of a girl, probably in her twenties. I don’t know her, but it’s as if I did. She is in a white dress, moderately covered—ready for church even. No sign of indecency or behavior a father would glow red at. Her hair brown and tied into a French braid that drapes her left—or it would be her right—shoulder. Just beautiful in being there. Not trying to solicit something, or imposing a superficial image upon me. Innocent and perfect in who she is, in what she is. It’s her I always finish too. Something about her I wished I had, not selfishly, or enviously, only longingly. Something all these girls I meet here don’t have, but also something I know I couldn’t give them even if they did.
KNOCK KNOCK
“Peter, you done yet? Girls have to get ready too.”
My phone and photo fly out of my hand, alongside any hopes.
“Yeah, sorry, I was studying too.”
Thankfully, I had already dressed up and created the scene of flossing while reading my textbook over the sink as she bursts in, half naked above the hip still. I stare at her as she turns the shower head on—maybe she would let me finish with those. She gets in the shower, “Take your time.”
I look at my phone. “Sorry, I got to get going for midterms. I’ll text you latter?”
“Yeah, I may be free this weekend.”
“Great. See you then.”
I reach my dorm, finish my previous business, and sit down on my bed as I prepare for the day. My roommate, Isaac, lies nestled in a rat’s nest of blankets and clothing on the opposite side of the room. “Unity, Defense, Revolution…” blares my phone’s wake up alarm again—shit, I forgot to turn off my normal alarm last night.
“Shut up,” moans Isaac. I tap the clock symbol turning it off, and begin the delicate process of lacing my shoes and grabbing the rest of today’s text books and supplies. Isaac looks over from his bed with a face of disbelief. “You’re already up? Fuck would you let it stay on asshole, tryin’ sleep.” He disappears back into his fort of pillows.
“Sleeping is a waste of life, should stop wasting yours.”
“Should stop being such a little bitch,” he mutters underneath his pillow.
I grab my stuff and leave for the door. Isaac calls. “Hey, I need your notes for Comparative Party’s.”
“Again?”
“Yes again. Don’t play dumb, we talked about it a thousand times. It’s the class’ midterm tomorrow. I’ll buy your pizza or something tonight if you let me.”
“And breakfast.” I am out the door before he can reply.
After group study and a few hours of listening to my Professors warn us of the severity of passing midterms, the school day finally ends. I hit my dorm quickly to get ready for the night. I drab a blazer, and wash my face in the sink. I look into the mirror while I dry off… still scrawny, my nose peeling from my last Junior Mock Congress that was held in an outside auditorium—an obvious sign that I don’t go outside that much—and my shoulders are just bone. Then that birthmark I have, the one on the bottom left side of my chin that Isaac jokes looks like a pot leaf. Overall, it’s had an equal amount of girls sayings it’s cute, or ugly.
“One hour till Dolus System,” announces the ship intercom.
I keep my eyes closed. It’s just a nightmare.
Someone close talks. “Christ man, we’re it. We’re it. We’re gonna land first. We’re gonna die first.”
“Have faith brothers! Believe in the Cause!”
I doze in and out, hearing more than the talking now: other muffled sounds that scare me—noises I don’t want to accept as real—then it all disappears.
I spot Isaac’s curly wild hair, flopping about first before the rest of him appears as he moves through a crowd in the hallway. I catch up and we walk out the main entrance of the college, along a red brick pathway underneath a wooden terrace covered in vine and surrounded by Devilwood on each side. We reach the parking lot and I pause in the middle of it, rubbing my fingers through my hair. God, this migraine. I take out my painkiller bottle, pop a few pills into my hand, and swallow them.
“You’re addicted, bud,” says Isaac.
I place the bottle inside my pocket. “How many times are you going to tell me that?”
“Every time you take them. You go through a bottle a week.”
“Because my head fucking hurts, dude. Get off my case.”
“Maybe if you smoked some weed.”
“Shut up. Can’t believe you’re telling me my painkillers are worse when you blaze it all the time.”
“It’s natural.”
“So is dying, doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”
We reach my car, a bright red mustang from the sixties, its bulky shape standing out from the slicker modern cars in the parking lot.
“Alrighty, why hell-o Wang-Stang,” says Isaac.
I get into the driver’s seat. Isaac opens the passenger side and his feet crunch around in all the trash. “Do you live in here too? Clean it out, it wouldn’t kill you.”
I go to lower my window visor to block the sun. Hmm, I already used his mom quite a bit this week as a comeback, what should I go for next—something black falls out and lands onto my lap—NO! I can’t move. A black stuffed owl lies across my lap. I feel my eyes cry, but I have already retreated within myself to try and escape, it’s as if I am watching someone else panic.
Isaac grabs it quickly and runs outside. He comes back out of breath, “It’s gone. I am so sorry. What asshole would do that to you?”
I can’t fucking breathe! Isaac hands me an asthma inhaler in the glove box. I suck in and breathe out till my hands stop trembling. “It, it, wasn’t—”
“No bud, I can’t believe you would think that. I may hate you, but I’m your best friend.”
I look over, he gives me a smile.
“I don’t know who would then.” I turn up the radio to forget and we exit out onto the route. I won’t let it ruin my day. Just fuck the guy who thought that would be funny, probably one of the guys from Speech trying to be clever. We enter downtown as I lazily rest my foot on the gas.
“Not this guy again,” says Isaac.
I realize he means the talk show host on the radio. “He’s pretty informative.”
“He’s a Party bitch.”