Ultimate Corruption Chapter One

I knew that America was dying. Everyone knew, actually. Under the insidious, sorry, almighty President Sawk, America was more of a home for the destitute and dying than for the free and the brave. But no one could do anything. America was made up of a few raggedy people, from all over the world, and a bunch of fat pigs with money and food in the government. Mr. Almighty Sawk doesn’t know how to feed the poor when everyone is poor.

“Eric?” My sister walks into the room.

“Hi, Iris.”

“Any food?

“Guess.” She collapses to the couch.

“I haven’t eaten in two days.”

“I haven’t eaten in three.”

“Stupid President. He said he’d feed the poor, and now…” She trailed off, staring at a white spot on the otherwise brown and dirty ceiling.

“Now everyone’s poor, except him and his damned goons. They’re fat and healthy off of the food he promised us.” My anger echoed around the room. Iris wasn’t listening. She had passed out on the armchair. I wish sleep was that easy for me. I haven’t slept in a week, and am living off of dirty snow.

“Who’d of thought he could do this much damage in two years?” I groaned aloud. He was elected in the 2040 election. It is now 2042. I grabbed a pocketknife and hurled it at the wall. It stuck into the drywall (except it should be called wetwall because of all the relentless rain) and quivered. The knife, hurled with all my strength, did nothing to soothe my anger.

I am eighteen now. Not that it makes much of a difference. I’ll be dead before the next election, and I wasn’t old enough to vote in the last one. If I had, anyway, I would probably have, like everyone else, elected Mr. Sawk. If only I could travel back in time, and warn the past.

But time travel isn’t real, so I’m stuck in this Hell for the rest of my life. Luckily, that won’t be much longer. A boom shakes the floor. I pay it no mind, even as I’m shaking. It’s a mere aftershock, one of the many quakes following the quake of 2033. They devastate the whole U.S., even though the big one was in California. The clean patch of ceiling breaks off and falls into a trash can. It is clean no longer. The bang it makes wakes Iris up.

“Brother, what’s going on?”

“Another aftershock.” She groans and turns away from me.

“I miss Mom and Dad,” she whispers.

“They’ll be back soon. You know they’re just trying to help.” My lie sounded pathetic coming from my parched lips. Mom and Dad died a year ago, in a riot. But Iris was thirteen. She didn’t need to know yet. I got up with a grunt and retrieved my knife. When I found out about my parents’ deaths, I vowed that this knife would be the knife to pierce Sawk’s empty, selfish heart. I picked up a rock and slid it along the blade with a grating noise like nails on a chalkboard. Iris stirred, but didn’t complain. Noise was a normal part of life now. When the blade looked sharp enough, I tested it on my wrist. It drew blood with a casual flick. Perfect. I wiped off the red and put the knife in my pocket. There were seventeen scabs on my wrist from sharpening. Iris doesn’t like that I do it, but she can’t stop me, either.

Just like I can’t stop Sawk.