Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Seven Days in the Global Village

For a week the world was Meadows’ global village of 100 people. Monday, the man tagged 25 was employed at the Factory. He met everyone except men/women 1 to 9 in the hierarchy. That was alright because no one except 10 and 15 were rumored to have seen them. It was when he asked where is 31 and then after a while where are those 31 onwards, he was told not to get nosy like he got and that the room at the back of the factory must never be approached leave alone entered.

Second day, under the pretext of overtime he gathered information about the unseen 70. A prophesy he came across said at a certain hour they will march over and take over the factory. A theory of conspiracy it must be he must’ve thought. He got cozy with woman 23. He’s a charmer after all. She flaunted her heart on her sleeve. In her cabin, the otherwise empty dustbin had in it placed a key. He took mental note of it. He didn’t actually know it was the slurp she said and the cabin broke into laughter.

Wednesday, he’s summoned by our immediate boss who was tagged 11. You’re doing great she said. You’re doing great and earning great. If you want to earn greater, charming, you just gotta go down. She parted her legs from where she sat. You will do greater, I will make sure, along as you go. He caught the drift in what she said. Ayee…I’m content that I’m great he said.

Fourth day, he unlocked the forbidden room. What he saw was abomination itself. It wasn’t the spectacle of the missing 70. It was the spectacle that shone a light on why the 70 were the missing 70. It was dead feeding on dead, 30 of us, death breeding death. The stench, like the stench of burning flesh that remains with a soldier, due thanks to his elephantine olfactory memory, all his life would never leave him. The comparison was unjust at best as the stench was unsmelt-of to say the least. He pressed the switch named C that said: Don’t you dare.

Friday, the 70 rounded up (it truly was 43 of them) the factory of 30. At the back, from the patio they were flung stones at and this act later was excused as: They only chucked their garbage. At the front, they were told: Why do you think the Factory exists in the first place. We are here to enhance your living conditions. We are here to empower you one step at a time. We are working on it day in and day out. The clothes they wore hung torn and the brand name read Adida which literally meant: Beats me. Hesitantly, slowly they dispersed, half convinced, back to their tents poled up in the suburb.

Sixth day, switch C was turned back on. No sooner than that was done, 25 saw butterflies when beaten the daylights out of him. He pled justice in the face of greed and injustice. He was told democracy was heaven-sent and there’s nothing just than it. Even as he raised all his ten fingers he was dismissed as minority (his toes fell asleep). The tides wash the shore and when they want to wash beyond the shore there’s nothing you can do about it he was told.

Sunday, our man 25 was rendered handicapped and certified insane. It seemed, so very obviously, at last he rested. Woman 15 said to man 25: You got paid in kindness, I’d bet, for your virtue. Why your hand is still in one piece is a question of fortune. In you verbal report you spoke against the natural possibility of creative destruction, that right before arriving at your conclusion you went crazy, and conclusively accused its propagandists as narcissists and fatalists. Here’s the written report that says your method of sedition, that and that alone, drove you crazy. It will be your report when you sign it and that’s exactly what you’re going to do with that very healthy, visible hand of yours. Man 10 with a sanitary tissue wiped off his hands as an afterthought. He has broken two legs after all.

As narrated by Man 24


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