The Price of Man

Well, whadda you know, another whacky dream! Only in this dream I actually went to the cinema to see this as a film, and this film was so well-made I woke up and thought, how the hell will I begin to do justice to this in words? But what excellent timing as I was racking my brains for ideas on my creative writing assignment, and voila a kooky dreamt that's practically done it for me. I actually submitted this as homework. But I'm oh so clever, bring it on!

Silence, and the never-ending blue. Gently the waves rippled over the vast expanse of ocean as it stretched out, smooth as glass, for miles on end. The skies were clearer than they’d been for a long time, cyan on a deep azure blue, and a gentle sea breeze came from the South. A hot Sun beat down relentlessly, burning the seagulls who cried out as they realised they would fail to adapt to a life so far from land - real, solid land. For if you could have taken a helicopter and flown over the ocean just half a mile from this place, you would make out the rusty steel poking up out of the surface of the water, of the tops of the signs that crowded the length of the motorway which rose up over a hill that had been packed with cars from dawn ‘til dusk not twenty years earlier; signs that led to places that no longer existed, their names eroded and having long since sunk to the bottom of the sea. Five miles further north of the hill had been a city that was on ground high enough that you could still see the tops of skyscrapers, majestically rising out of the waters, murkier here, and with a thin film of green here and there. On the other side of the sunken city there had been a forest, at first having attempted to adapt but now drowning, and where only five years ago, the tallest of the pines would have been little islands of leafy green.  The once great mighty trunks now buckled under the weight and lay rotting on the surface or sunken to the depths of the ocean floor. All other trace of the millions of humans who had once lived on these few square miles had long since been washed away on the outgoing tide.

Welcome to the new world.

 

 

A mother and her two children stood huddled, bedraggled and exhausted.

“Lucas you know we can’t go home now don’t you?” his mother told him wearily. At the age of ten now he knew what a tsunami meant – the third in his lifetime had taught him that there was no going home. It was time to be grateful to be alive and start a new life on higher ground, always somewhere new, somewhere alien.

“Annika, are you ok?” the mother asked her other daughter. She nodded in melancholy, rubbing the too-tight plastic wristband that had been slapped on her by a man in big black boots with a gun over his shoulder.

“Honey don’t do that, these have to stay on at least until we get to the refugee camp.”

They trudged onwards up the dirt track in the searing heat towards a crowd of angry people trying to push their way through the barriers that lined the top of the hill.

“Calm down, calm down!” the voice of a woman tried to yell over the din. Loud gunshots sounded and the noise ceased instantaneously.

“Form an orderly queue. One at a time. Green wristbands on this side, blue on the right. Quickly now.”

When they reached the front the moment the mother was dreading had finally come.

“Please don’t make me leave my children.”

“Sorry ma’am, those are the rules. Your records have been checked. What was your skill?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“You were a doctor. Ok. You know green wristbands for the skilled, go to the left. But it’s ok. Everyone with blue wristbands will be given work. Even the unskilled can do cleaning jobs or factory work. Everyone is made to feel useful regardless of knowledge or background. Now please move along.”

Little Lucas looked down miserably at the blue wristband that clung to his arm like an angry leech.

“Mumma am I going to have to clean toilets forever?”

But his mother had already been wrenched into the swathes of doctors, lawyers, scientists and bankers with the green wristbands, already being led away. It was too late to ask where dad was. It was too late for everything.

 

 

 

 

The man picked up speed now, as the river opened out into a lake. He was getting closer. Even in the dead of night, he could feel how close he was now, he could smell it. The floods had blotted out the glaring orange lights that had filled the sky fifty years ago, and now clear, perfect starlight led the way. The raft he’d built had held out for the entire journey and now he paddled with more vigour than ever towards the far shore. They weren’t allowed to have lights on, he knew well, heavens forbid if the colony was discovered – but soon he could make out dark, distant shapes on the horizon and he knew he was in the right place. He was exhausted and hadn’t eaten for days, but if this was the right place, it would save his life.

The raft hit the bank with a soft bump, and the sound of crickets filled the warm night air. At first there seemed to be nobody there among the dark huts, but then there was movement; a boy appeared, edging carefully towards the man. He looked very anxious, disappeared, then came back a few minutes later with two more anxious looking men. But when they saw him, their features softened, almost into smiles, as they recognised the sodden, half starved and bedraggled traveller from a previous life.

“Welcome my friend. Welcome to the colony.”

They held out a hand and helped him to land.

“I’m looking for my wife and children. Please tell me they made it here. Please, please...”

“Come with us. But you’ll have to wait ‘til morning. Movement is restricted very much during the night. Facilities are basic here but you’ll find rest.”

The men lead him through narrow alleys between wooden buildings, where he could hear the gush of running water and an owl hooting in the dark shadows of trees beyond. They opened a wooden door and ushered him into a cabin with a simple bunk bed, desk and chair.

“We’ll see you in the morning. They’ll be pleased to meet you.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much. Bless you all.”

 

In the morning the man scoured every corner of the colony, searched through every file and scanned every notice board. They were not here. But at least he was and it was a start. He joined the queue of chattering voices, bustling bodies ready for the day’s work to collect a meal.

“Come with me, sir. You need a ration book first.”
“Oh...”

“I’m the leader of the colony, at your service. I recognise you. I can’t quite recall from where. But you’re clearly a one of us and you’re welcome here.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

“Our ideal is simple. Live from the land. Care for one another. Work hard. Play harder. Rejoice in life. And whatever you do, stay away from the watchful eye! They’re always looking for us, and if they find us, everything we’ve worked for here will be razed to the ground in an instant. Do you understand? Living here means you swear to secrecy.”
“Yes I understand,” he replied, gulping down a lump of discomfort in his throat.

“You’ve had a long journey, you needn’t start work until the morning. Have something to eat, then go back to your cabin to freshen up.”

 

Upon return to his cabin, the man looked around, taking the smell of fresh pine in, several deep breaths that rejuvenated him. He reached into his filthy jacket pocket, and there the stained, battered but blank diary remained dry and intact. He pulled the rickety chair out and placed the diary on the desk, racking his brains, how to begin to put it all into words? Where to start?
Then, after a moment’s pause, he grabbed the old fountain pen and began to write.

Sophie Horrocks, 2nd March 2013