My executioners are itching for the kill; their trigger fingers twitch with the anticipation of my death, but fate is against them. Descending from the sky with the speed, agility and tactfulness of a Bald Eagle, are three, fully loaded Black Hawk helicopters, better known as machines of destruction to the soldiers, but guardian angels to me. Spinning on their heels the government minions haphazardly fire in reaction, scorching my face with the burning exhaust of their flame-throwers. I duck from the heat and from the small missiles of rock blown back by the force of the weapons, feeling the sting of the tiny particles as they dash against my head and arms. Knowing my existence is being fought for I look up just in time to witness one of the helicopters spiral out of control and crash into the ditch in front of my small cave. Despite the danger of leaving my refuge, I scramble from my hold and fight through the thick clouds of debris to reach my fallen saviors. Two, tough, muscular, and hardy men crawl from the flame ridden wreckage toward natural protection of the hill I was hiding under, the third having been thrown from the machine before it hit the ground was already propped against the incline by the operation leader, or so I assumed by the natural, commanding air of the hardened man. All are distressed for their fallen comrade and the complete loss of one of the helicopters. Big Brother has a tight hold on all resources, including free men, making any tool of resistance a treasured item among the small group of insurgents. As the dust begins to settle and silence returns to the dry land, I realize I must be an extremely important commodity for these men to risk their lives for and therefore must have a specific purpose to fulfill on this God-forsaken hell hold. I only wish I knew what.
There is no time to think, a loud commotion breaks out from beyond the hill, startling all of us to attention. We quickly rush into the open and are met with the strangest sight. The strongest freedom fighter, a behemoth of a man with shoulder length curly grey/brown hair, has lifted the destroyed helicopter onto his shoulder and is attempting to carry the entire weight back to base. Naturally, Big Brother can’t have this debauchery happen because all residence must be squashed into complete oblivion. A small contingent of government soldiers open fire at the beast of a man with the intention to kill. The sound of the machine guns and the ricochet of bullets off the man and the broken metal are deafening to my ears and jars any kind of hope from my mind. But I do not know the strength of this singular being and he does not succumb to the barrage of bullets and continues to tramps along at a slow and tedious pace. Not programmed to lose, the government soldiers continue their volley of bullets and eventually the man falls to his knees, having had enough pieces of his body chipped away that his legs can no longer support both his weight and the weight of the helicopter. Bound about the hands and with the combined power of ten men, the beast is lead back to the containment blocks and is prepare for interrogation. I already know that this act will not be any kind of formal discussion but rather a vicious torture and I once again fear for the man’s life.
I follow closely behind, unhampered and in complete safety, for I am no longer the main objective, that target was removed the moment the freedom fighter was captured. Climbing atop the containment block for a clear view of the on-going torture, I see the massive man with limbs splayed like the fucking Di Vinci Vitruvian Man, with each arm and leg bound to the metal hinges of the block. Faced before a firing squad, the captive is mercilessly fired upon without any forewarning in an attempt to weaken his strength and resolve and hence turn him into a government puppet. However, his super-human power is indestructible and he just laughs and uses the brief intervals of silence as the soldiers reload to spit insults and obscenities at them. “You fuckin’ carcasses! I can’t be killed dumb fucks! There’s no way in hell you have enough bullets to destroy me! Want proof? Watch this you assholes!”
And with that, the whole torso of the man rotates to display a brand new panel, one that is untouched and unsoiled by the violence of Big Brother, with the previous panel being twisted into his body so as to rejuvenate and become whole once again. Realizing the futility of their objective, the government subordinates release the prisoner and I watch with censorious eyes as he, one of my angels, walks to horizon and out of sight, leaving me amidst the camp of my hunters. Thanks a lot douchbag. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
So I sit, perched on top the damn containment block, the site of my crash landing and hence the bane of my existence. I’m clearly wandering in circles and have yet to find my purpose or a safe haven; I am a lost soul in the utter expanse of the universe. Grumbling at my ill-luck and becoming more and more depressed, I sink into the black and lonely recesses of my mind and block out the world. As I close my eyes to welcome the darkness a rough, yet comforting voice, snaps me from my gloomy meditation and I look up to a young girl strolling toward me from the block’s edge. Dressed in aged and manly camouflage, the young girl is clearly a hardened rebel, but carries herself with an air of confidence and respectability. I know she will not leave me and will do everything in her power to keep me safe. Naturally, my immediate trust in her is immediately tested. After all, I haven’t been able to catch a break since the moment I set eyes on this fucking black hole of a planet.
Strolling along the edge of the embankment I previously hurled myself down are two single file lines of middle-aged men and women dressed like investment bankers. They appear harmless, boring even, but their threat is real and my companion stiffens at first sight of them and panic seizes her hardened features. I look at her quizzingly, confused at the issue at hand. “They are the Tracers,” she informs me before continuing, “they are the masterminds of the government; they implement all the laws; they are in charge. We are in serious trouble, they know we are here.” Fleeing is not an option; we will simply be hunted down as I was before. Our only chance of survival is to confuse Big Brother into thinking we are harmless, essentially useless beings that deserve no attention. We must become a waste of space. In an effort to hide my true identity we switch clothes and I struggle to adopt the mannerism of a man. Apparently, women are not allowed in public and my tits and ass physicality would be a dead give-away, so I must hide in the dirt and grime of a true soldiers clothing while she prepares to face the judge, jury and executioner of this world.
I slink back and watch as the eldest female, a woman of 50 with an air of superiority and haughtiness, splits from the parade and heads in our direction. This bitch means business. Ignoring my comrade, she focuses solely on my pathetic ass and orders me to follow. I take one last glance at the panic-stricken face of my would-be rescuer before climbing down the metal ladder to the dry and bleak land below.
I follow obediently as we travel through the dessert and dead forest. Before long we enter a clearing of pure beauty and comfort, a lush green oasis as it were, but better known as Big Brother’s base camp. However, nothing resembles a military or political power. Displayed before me is an expensive resort plush with green walkways, dolphin fountains, and white column buildings with floor to ceiling glass windows. Everywhere I turn I see stunning arrays of exotic flowers that dull my panic by their sheer beauty and heavenly aroma. Even the funeral home, normally a site of depression and agony, has a welcome and comforting atmosphere and I feel at ease as I walk through the open doors, too dazed to question why I’ve been lead here.
My dream state is short lived, being shattered by the husky and unemotional tone of the government leader. “I know who you are.” Simply stated and without any ceremony, but absolutely terrifying. If I’m supposed to do great things for the repressed people of this planet as I feel deep within me, what will become of me when Big Brother finds out? I’m in the middle of the government’s operation for Christ’s sake! I watch intently as the official flips through the pages of a thick bound book laid atop a gold and shimmering pedestal. Each sheet of paper is covered from top to bottom with names of the deceased, making me wonder my very existence. Finally, the woman stops, looks at me and simple asks, “Heather?”
“No. Lindsey.”
Clearly she is wrong. I am not dead. She does not who I am and quickly becomes disinterested and turns around to presumably lead me from the compound. My emotions, however, have spiked to a degree of uncontrollable curiosity and excitement; for I know that the bound book of death holds some secret to my purpose here. Once her head is turned I tear frantically at the book’s pages until I reach the end, where instead of listed names, I find journal entries, my journal entries in my handwriting. In that moment, I grasp the full importance and reality of my quote-on-quote ‘crash landing.’ Fleeing from the funeral parlor like a banshee from hell, I race through the beautiful oasis into the ugly forest beyond, tearing through its dead and rough branches with no concern to brutal battery they’re inflicting on my face and arms. My agenda is clear and I must find the government rebels. I am imperative to their success because I travelled through time and space to end up here; I am the key in overthrowing Big Brother. Fuck ya!
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