Dystopia

The lady in the TV cleared her throat.

"For the next few minutes, we will be broadcasting an important public announcement by our Prime Minister, please stay tuned"

The lady pursed her bright red lips and stared at us blankly for a couple seconds before the screen went blank.

An involuntary shiver ran through my spine. I knew it, the pot-bellied man standing next to knew it, everyone here at the TV center knew what

the Prime Minister wanted to say. But we all stood, glued to our spot with bated breath, squished inside the dingy room that has become the town's "TV center"

for the last two months.

A man in crisp blue and white suit appeared on the screen. The Prime Minister. From what it seems, he must have taken quite a hit from this

apocalypse too. His face was pale, his eyes were sunken in, and darkness was surrounding his eyes. However, his eyes gave away nothing.

A part of my mind was impressed by the man's ability to present a completely sane figure to the public. A part of me was sick of all the pretense.

He spoke slow, as though to prolong the announcement as much as he could.

"At the situation we are in, we have but two choices - to die, or to live. We have done our best to save the public as much as we can. But-"

He paused.

We were the french king under guillotine, to be killed any minute in one swing. In one word.

"We request you to choose the death centers. We have arranged hospitals. Painless death is assured. As a democracy, you have free will and

we will ensure you will be able to chose what you wish. But I must emphasis on the consequences. We have run out of resources, we are locked

in and we are festering. Our nation cannot stand longer. If we were to strive towards making the whole nation survive, grim scenarios await.

It could be anything, from our nation falling into anarchy to certain groups resorting to cannibalism. Choosing to live, would be choosing

a life of torture and pain. As this country's Prime Minister, I urge you to give up your life -not for the nation, but for yourself.

The decision is yours, choose wisely."

The Prime Minister nodded, and the screen went blank again.

The room was silent. I could taste the panic, the fear in everyone -it was palpable.

"Chose to die? Is this for real? Chose to fucking die? When was our nation handed over to cowards? This is bullshit" A drunken man hollers

from a corner.

I wondered how he managed to get drunk when most of us couldn't even get food. But then, you don't need alcohol to go insane. Not anymore.

I shuddered.

On the TV the news anchor continued to ramble on about dying, how to die and why we really, really need to die.

Everyone started moving -some out the door, some to their family, to their loved ones, crying and consoling.

I grimaced, and left the room.

The roads were empty - automobiles didn't run anymore. Street lights stood every corner like leafless twigs, dark and desolate.

Electricity was shut down for most places. Only few public centers had electricity.

It could be any of us, then. Anybody who chooses not to die.

It was abundantly clear who exactly will choose to live. The insane. The ones slowly increasing in the nation day by day.

Could be anybody. None knows how they're being turned into one, but it keeps happening. Walking outside was dangerous. So many TV centers

had been turned to sites of homicide. Nobody knows who will be next.

I knew then, I will chose to die. For some reason, that made me feel relieved.

I smiled dryly at the irony. Relief because, in a day or two I'll die in an hospital bed, dreaming of green fields and white death.

----------------

"Do you give your word, without the influence of anybody else, that you choose to die on your own free will?"

I swallowed. The doctor was surrounded by five army bots. The government relied heavily on Artificial Intelligence now, now that humans were unreliable.

I looked down at my hands. They were grimy and calloused, they had life in them still.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath- probably my last -and nodded.

For some reason, my eyes were blurry with tears. I was surprised at how, no matter how much I wanted to die- a primal part of my body was

striving to survive.

I wanted to live. So badly.

I looked up at the doctor. He was waiting for my answer. He stood so stiff, his eyes were the only visible thing, rest of him

was covered up in hazmat suit and masks. His eyes however, looked tired, looked numb. Seeing so many deaths must have made him

so... inhuman.

Why does he get to live then?

Why should I give up my life? I haven't lived at all. I didn't marry, I fathered no kids, I have no legacy.

If I die, I'll die just like any other. Yet, somehow -this doctor, he gets to live- probably with his own family somewhere safe.

That thought made me angry. He doesn't get to live. How does he get to live?

A sudden burst of rage ran through my veins and all I saw was red.

I lunged at the doctor with all my might -I knew it clearly. He cannot fucking live. He just can't.

But before I can, the machines took hold of me and something pricked my neck.

A guttural scream erupted from my mouth. I wanted to live. I wanted to survive.

I could hear vaguely, the doctor passing on instructions calmly.

"Case 192, registered at 4:10 pm. 4.5 molar dose of sodium phenobarbital injected."

I struggled against the machines holding me back, I knew it would kick in soon. I didn't understand, I choose to live, why can't they let me live?

I didn't understand at all.