Narrators, how pretentious of a job to have. Most of the time, they don’t even bring anything new to the conversation outside of stating the obvious. Good thing I’m here. I’m different. My name is Mr. N and I want to share with you a person who lives in one of the worst places possible. A region where residents are oppressed and violated in ways even the most American, British, or South African mercenaries wouldn’t act on. In a land not too far away was a man named Dunither. These are his inner thoughts and, potentially, the worst days of his life.

After the 12th Washing, it becomes more of a chore than a form of entertainment. It was started in the hope of teaching people to not besmirch the nation but it hasn’t really done much outside of causing people to be more secretive about how they conduct their treacherous activities. The only people who get caught these days are the rash, impatient, and/or poor. If you are smart, you would just bribe the officials since they, themselves, are also in a desperate position. They’re supposed to be given food and supplies first but this system had to be placed on hold since the locusts have been attacking our fields for the past several seasons. Now, these “peace officers” look for any opportunity to better their lifestyle and if people can’t, or don’t, pay up, they aren’t worth keeping around. Pulling out their nails usually leads to a bribe but, every now and then, a serious lesson needs to be taught to future criminals.

Whenever we are in the plaza and the horns start ringing, we know there is an imposed show about to start. They use an array of props to entertain us: pipes, bats, bamboo stalks, pretty much anything long and hard. But, this, too, stopped since people started heckling the punishments.

The traitor would be begging for their life, asking for their friends and family to save them, but why risk our scalps? We all know why the Rubbers are missing body parts. They’ve already ruined their life, there is no reason for us to join them. After all, out of all of the citizens in the nation, the Rubbers are one of the lowest leveled citizens. They are as bad as the thieves, “freedom fighters,” wearers of jeans, animal lovers, rapists, and music aficionados.

I can’t picture a person more dangerous than someone who wears jeans. It restricts movements and prevents the possessor from picking up their daily ration of grapes in the fields. You can’t run at the enemy when on the battlefield, increasing the chance of being mauled by the enemy forces. Worst of all, you are going to stand out in the crowd since you are trying to be “trendy;” going against pragmatic living. Could you imagine living such an impetuous life? I mean, Herbhash Smockins has enlightened us with lifelong living philosophies and he has never been wrong before.

He wasn’t wrong about the selfish elite damaging our economy and way of living.

He wasn’t wrong about the overseas threats stealing our children to use as sex slaves.

He wasn’t wrong about the social degradation due to the invention of animated cartoons.

Ignoring the teachings of our prosperous leader would only cause more problems for our nation and I don’t want to be part of this regression. This is why I read to my children—when they were younger—”The Book of Fulfillment” whenever we relaxed at home, as well as sharing the philosophies from “The Book of Growth” before they went to bed. Now, both of my sons are law-abiding citizens who are advancing the motherland.

Because of Grastroff’s commitment to the party, he was able to meet an exceptional woman capable of helping around the house and bolstering his social status. Daily, after Hodrita spends long hours on the beach looking for savory mussels, she makes us the most mouth-watering dinners. She places them in a pot and mixes the broth with local herbs; tree bark, wheatgrass, and corn are my favorite ingredients. The nutrients are so tasty that I smile louder than a child in a military shop finding the newest Imperialist Hole Maker. It doesn’t matter where you are in the village, the aroma wafting through each house causes people to flock around our home. Thankfully, they don’t attempt to do anything; partially because they’re one of those “Bone” people incapable of initiating a fight. I don’t understand how people can let themselves get that way. Aren’t they ashamed of how they make our neighborhood look? We need to bring back the whippings for spoiling the scenery. If only people lived our nation’s motto:

“Self-Reliance Ensures Longevity”

My wife used to be able to make banquets this savory but she hasn’t been the same since her parents have passed. Throughout the March of Equity, they cried about not having enough to eat and, unfortunately, left our Earthly domain for the White Province. I tried comforting her, explaining how they weren’t helping our society, and, actually, bringing all of us down to the “Bone” class. She only shed more tears. I’ve stopped trying to make her feel better.

Working as a manure harvester may seem disgusting to some but this job is important to the general public. Without us, there would be no fermented onions to pair with our grasshoppers and I would become what our homeland claims are parasites, a Choosing Beggar. For instance, corn isn’t always digested on the first run-through and they are glaringly bright when mixed with the brown we leave. I have the honor of picking them out and rinsing them so our family can rest easy with food in our belly. You can’t even taste the difference between this and fresh corn.

I don’t think we will ever stop eating corn. It can be made into all kinds of culinary masterpieces: bread, sugar, drinks, soup, porridge. Why stop when it is regularly recommended by the Department of Truthful Living? The office’s whole purpose is to help us live a more honest lifestyle. They explain the best recipes to make for big and small gatherings, and what entertainment is becoming popular. Without their guidance, we would be stuck in the middle ages.

Our books, TV shows, and movies may have guidance from the administration but they aren’t involved with these works of art’s creation. They just provide guidance on what is proper and what should be avoided. There is no reason we should be subjected to offensive material or something making our home look bad. In all honesty, I genuinely enjoy their participation since I don’t want to watch the garish smut capable of infecting how I, or my child, think. It’s the government’s job to guide us through tricky situations and prevent the corrosion of our people.

However, the main point of the Department of Truthful Living is to enlighten us about the lies being spewed from those past The Waves. Our enemies are constantly trying to infiltrate our country to see what makes us stand out in the world. Those cretins want to steal our secrets and burn us to the ground. When given the chance, they have even raped and murdered our infants. These “people” aren’t human; they’re monsters needing to be eradicated. If I had a chance, I would drop one of our many successful nuclear bombs on their capitol, neighborhoods, and hospitals. There is no reason we should have to tolerate those ill-folk since they want nothing but our eradication.

Oof! Who is teaching this guy history, ethics, and strategizing? He has nothing else to do but contemplate genocide while on his walk home? What the hell does he think when he is forcing his wife to sexually serve him? But, this isn’t uncommon when you are beaten down by your government in the name of peace and prosperity. He thinks he is on the right and when people feel justified in their thinking, they will do anything to satisfy these whims. This reminds of the time a little girl was used as a suic—Oh! Wait. Looks like he has people waiting for him at his house. Where are my pickled onions?

“Are you Dunither? Father of Grastroff and Wraken,” asked the man in an excessively clean yellow military uniform with accents of red.

Either from the long walk back to his house or from the anticipation of what this interaction could provide, Dunither replied, with a quiver in his voice, “Yes?”

“Come with us,” said the unreasonably immaculate man’s associate as he aggressively grabbed Duniter’s arms.

“Where are you taking me,” Dunither asked with urgency. “Why aren’t you answering me? I am a member of the party. I AM A MEMBER OF THE PARTY! I have been loyal and never committed a crime! I am just coming back from work! Let me explain myself, I’m sure we can work something out. Please, just tell me where we are going.”

Dunither never stopped screaming in frustration. I saw the impoverished man being taken to a facility you could find on any map of this city. The facility was painted in vibrant spring colors but the inside was nothing bright; except for the blinding lights hanging from each cell. What’s the point of these faux suns, you ask me? Well, to keep the prisoners awake for days until their exhaustion “cleared” their minds. This is when traitors are most susceptible to external persuasive techniques. Oh, you’re wondering what this place is called? The average citizen would label it the “Candy Factory” because of how much the enforcers would scream in delight as they burned, pulled, electrocuted, and performed other forms of torture. For some victims, the torture would last a day. Others? Sometimes as long as a season or three.

“Please. No more,” Dunither softly mumbled as the peace officers slowly unplugged the screwdriver. But, Dunither couldn’t stop thinking about how the pain didn’t cease.

“Please. . . Please tell me why I am here. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

The thinner officer wearing the classic outfit of an enforcer said, “You will soon.”

“Why can’t I know now? I’ll help you all with your problem,” Dunither pleaded in an exhausted urgency. “I can’t take much longer of this. My body. . . is already broken.”

“Not our problem,” stated the second peace officer. “We will do what is required of us to make sure we get the answers we need. You should be lucky it’s us doing this and not those across The Waves.”

The first peace officer, fashioning a strong jawline but gaunt cheeks, remarked, “Do you want to know what those in the West or East do to their prisoners?”

“Why am I a prisoner,” Dunither mumbled in an inquisitive tone.

BONK!

The peace officers laughed in jubilation and the one who smacked Dunither with the tire iron continued on his diatribe. “Can you imagine losing an eye all because you didn’t answer a question quick enough or have your teeth rearranged because you “didn’t know why” you were called in for questioning?”

Through a quietly hysterical tremble, “I’ll answer! I’ll answer with the truth! Just. . . let me know why I am here.”

“You’re saying you don’t know anything your son has gotten into,” the second enforcer, with the incredibly smooth face, demanded.

“He wouldn’t do anything to go against the nation’s hospitality,” Dunither hoarsely shouted as his body started to slowly and desperately recover.

“Are you sure about that,” the first peace officer interrogated.

“I promise, with my right hand outward, Grastroff wouldn’t do anything to displease the country,” Dunither begged.

“Wow. I thought I was a bad father but to not know your own flesh and blood has been smuggling prisoners into our neighbors’ doors is astounding,” the first peace officer said with a hateful smile.

“What,” Dunither pleadingly shouted in a depressingly confused tone.

The second peace officer continued the conversation with a devilish grin on his face, “how pitiful. He “saved” all of these criminals but left his own father here to suffer his consequences.”

Despite Dunither’s initial silence, he muttered out, “. . . what do you mean?”

With a chuckle slightly coming out of the first peace officer’s mouth, “You haven’t noticed him not being here for the past two days? You really are a horrible father.”

Between the gaps of tears flowing down his face, Dunither babbled “My own son wouldn’t abandon me for a “better life”?”

Now an uproaring chuckle, the laughing peace officers replied with three words, “sucks to suck.”

As Dunither was forced into the “sitting position”, the sounds of his knees popped, but he could only focus on the fact his firstborn and daughter-in-law left him.

Their mom died to feed them. I’ve given them love and safety. Our homeland has given them everything. How could they do this to us? How could they betray us in such a heinous fashion? Now, I have to suffer because of their inability to think for the future. If I ever see them again, I’m going to teach them why they shouldn’t have done this and what it means to be a Hurshmann.

The two officers came back into the room and the more muscular one spoke up, “Are you ready to prove your loyalty to us?”

Without looking up from the ground, Dunither sobbed, “I’ll do anything. Just. . . please. . . no more of the pain.”

Oh, no. These don’t seem like the people to provide a good and safe option. These enforcers seem to thrive on the despair their “prisoners” radiate after being interrogated. I wonder where they are dragging his limpless body. It looks like they are coming to a large arena within the building. It honestly looks like a basketball field but with higher walls and more vicious fans. They’re not even giving him a chance to speak or stand up, they’re just towing his body against the rough ground. Oh! Another person is being dawdled in, too.

I love my home and the people who allow this place to thrive. I have no reason to complain. I can eat comfortably and sleep soundly at night because of those in charge. Just let me prove myself. I will do anything needed of me, Dunither despairingly thought.

Wait. Who is that person sitting across from me? I recognize them from somewhere but there is too much blood across their face and body. It even looks like they have burn marks on their lower back and genital region. They must have done something terribly wrong for them to be abused in such a way. At least myself has underwear on, the peace officers are just letting this person hang loosely in front of everyone.

“What you are here for,” Dunither quietly questioned.

After a few more seconds of silence, Dunither pestered further, “Why were you sent here? What is this place?”

Why are they ignoring me? How rude of them to just ignore me like this?

“Answer me! I deserve to know who I’m sharing this room with,” Dunither shouted with all of the energy he had left.

“Dad,” said the quiet person.

“Dad? Who is your dad? Why are you calling me dad,” asked Dunither with a passion. Not a passion of inquisition, but a passion of fear of potentially seeing his child being tortured in front of him.

“Dad. . . I’m sorry. . . I thought we could get away without anyone noticing,” said the naked and bloodstained man.

As Dunither stared at this person without blinking, his anger bubbling, he shouted, “Why did you do this? Why did you risk all of our lives for this so-called “freedom”? You are my firstborn! You should have known better!”

The broken man in front of Dunither, didn’t move except to say repeatedly, “I’m sorry. . . I’m sorry. . . I’m sorry. . .”

This must be pretty fucking awkward for Dunither. Wasn’t he just going on and on about his son being the most noble and loving cadre of the party and country? Now, he’s facing his shattered kin in a pit of misery. I wonder what the enforcers have planned for them.

“Hello, all! The party and country appreciate everyone coming to this lavish moment in our history. Sure, we host these battles frequently, as is tradition, but sometimes people just don’t think it’s important to show up,” said the colorfully dressed woman speaking into a microphone. “Today, we have two traitors in our midst. As a surprise, these two individuals won’t just be fighting each other for survival but as father and son.”

These bastards are cheering this on?! They want me to fight my son and potentially kill him all to prove my loyalty to the party? I refuse!

“Now, these two may refuse to annihilate the other. But, we have brought some reassurances to guarantee a lively bout,” exclaimed the energetically happy announcer. As her smile grew, she spoke more fervently. “Bring out the other traitors involved with this defection operation!”

No. . . No they can’t bring them out. How could our glorious party do such a cruel thing as bringing out my other son and Grastroff’s wife? They would use them as hostages just to motivate us into killing each other? There is no way we win.

“We all know the rules to this engagement,” shouted the vivaciously gregarious woman. The more she spoke, the more bile was forced out of her muzzle. “Participants can use any weapon they find, nothing is off-limits, and make sure our audience is happy to come. Audience? Be as loud, spirited, and inspiring as possible. We wouldn’t want our combatants to grow apathetic.” With the last sentence creeping off her tongue, she spoke in a stimulating volume, “Bring honor to the country! To the party!”

I can’t believe this. What should I do? If I stay put, my secondborn and firstborn’s wife will be massacred. If I fight, I could potentially lose my son or my own life. Wait. My son is slowly standing up and looks like he’s coming to me. He sounds like he is muttering something. I can’t quite hear what he is saying.

“Speak up, Grastroff,” Dunither pleadingly shouted.

“You did this,” Grastroff sharply hollered at his father.

With a defeated face and raspy voice, Dunither replied, “What? Did what?”

“You forced us into this lifestyle! You bow before the party as if they fed you as a baby! You’re loyalty blinded you and led us to this nightmare,” Grastroff shouted with wrath. “If you had just listened to us and joined our expedition, we wouldn’t have been caught! But, you couldn’t hear us outside of your own pathetic reality! This. Is. Your. Fault.”

With no energy left in him, Dunither only muttered, “I’m. . . I’m. . .”

This is not my son. My son wouldn’t betray me like this. This. . . this is an imposter. I don’t recognize this “man”.

Yeesh. What a heated exchange. But, it looks like it’s getting them going. They’re both standing and walking toward each other. Grastroff looks like he’s staring into Dunither’s eyes without faltering. Dunither, on the other hand, is scanning the room for something to finish this quickly. There are random shards of glass, broken pieces of metal, and random collections of flower petals. That last one has to be a joke, right? Like, they’re making love but with the opposite emotion; hate.

Looks like Dunither found something but it doesn’t look too sharp. Ohhhh, what a solid right hook from Grastroff but Dunither tanked it and sliced at the air with the tool in his possession. Grastroff launched a left hook and right cross. It connected! Dunither’s weapon went flying across the room and he looks fazed from this one.

My son wouldn’t lay a finger on his dad like this man is doing. Grastroff loves me with the same vigor as he does his wife. I have shown him the way to peace and life. He wouldn’t willfully choose to end his dad’s life. This man. . . This person has decided to end me in such a detestable fashion. He must be one of them jean wearers trying to immobilize our society. I can’t let this stand. This. . . this is a test from the party. They want to make sure I’m fit enough to fight our enemies with frantic loyalty. I knew they didn’t do this to make my life worse. This is just here for me to prove my loyalty. I promise I will finish this and satisfy everyone!

This guy can’t be serious, right? He thinks this is a test? What is he? American? Oh! Grastroff just mercilessly proceeded to kick his father in the chest, pushing him into the concrete wall surrounding the ring. He’s now lunging at him with a devastating combo of fists and feet. Grastroff isn’t letting up and Dunither can’t even process what is going on. Aaaaaand Dunither just slumped into the ground. Grastroff is standing over him, huffing and puffing, staring at the husk below him. He’s turning around. He’s walking away. No one else is moving, though. Wait. Dunither is slowly getting up. He just silently grabbed a sharply fierce shard. He’s running at Grastroff. Grastroff looks behind just in time to lose an eye. Grastroff is screaming. It sounds like a dying wallaby. The sheer desperation coming out is unbearable. How is the audience pleased with this? It’s piercing many of the cadres’ wives’ ears and themselves but they are just shrieking with joy. Dunither just pulled the shard out of his son’s eye, with the eye attached. Oh, my. He’s pulling the eye up to his face. Oh, lord! He’s eating it!

“I haven’t eaten in a long time and having the party feed me proves their love for us,” Dunither spoke with a peaceful tone. Through the sound of soft tissues being masticated and his arrogantly loud tone, Dunither barked, “I knew you weren’t my son. He would never do this to us!”

Wow! It didn’t even look like a second passed before Dunither thrust the shard into Grastroff’s neck, silencing him completely. As a narrator, I don’t think I could ever do this. I mean, I won’t. That’s the perk of being omniscient and omnipotent. You gotta try it out. Oh, Dunither is just hanging over his son’s body. Look at that. He’s copying that one Black American Olympian during Adolf Hitler’s reign. Throwing his right fist in the air caused the audience to cheer more hysterically than any lion could emulate. Oh! It looks like the announcer is about to speak.

“What a fight! It didn’t last long but it was one of our favorites so far,” said the woman with a pleasing spirit. Disregarding the dead body in front of her, she went on to tell Dunither, “Good job! You have proved your loyalty!” Looking at the guards on her sides, she whispered an order.

Wait. What are they doing to Hodrita? I beat the imposter. They don’t need to try to trick me anymore. They need to leave her be! She didn’t do anything wrong! Why are they bringing her to the middle of the ring?

With a sinister grin, the announcer spoke to Dunither without shifting her eyes from his, “You have done well.” As the guards dragged Hodrita into the middle, ignoring Dunither’s pleas, the announcer spoke with a firm, yet loving, tone, “But, we can not allow a traitor to stay. She will be sent to. . . The Void.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” Dunither shouted with urgency and desperation.

BANG!

“Noooooooooooo,” Dunither screamed.

As Dunither crumbled into a ball on the ground, the announcer expressed her remorse for his loss with some choice words, “Do not worry. She will not cause us any more harm or share our vulnerabilities with the enemy. She is in a place where no one comes back from and can live in peace. Her loss may be heavy on your heart now but it’s for the greater good.”

You know, that could have been really inspiring if it were not for the blatant disregard for human life. Dunither must feel conquered in every sense because he’s not even putting up a fight as the two guards who tortured him took him away again. I’m sure he’ll be let out soon.

^{THREE WEEKS LATER}

They told me my old clothes were too bloody and they didn’t want me to scare any of my neighbors. They drove me in some random direction and told me to go home. Unfortunately, I don’t even know where I am. I’m sure the guards thought I lived nearby. I may be lost but they wouldn’t do that on purpose. I’ll just walk until I see someone and then ask for directions. The good old nature of my brothers and sisters will lead me to where I need to go.

All of this may be too much for the average citizen, but they knew I was a party member who could handle this. All of this. They knew I would be able to take down the traitor. They knew I would be able to live through my daughter-in-law’s Washing. I may not like what they did, but it was for the greater good. I just wonder where my firstborn went. Why did they have his wife, Hodrita, and my second born, but not him? Only an imposter. Who knows but I’m sure the Great Leader will speak to my soul and guide me home. Just like he will with Grastroff. Praise the Supremes!