Hear me out

Guys, I had this like, Idea. And so I wrote kinda like a diary for one of my characters in this world to give myself a guide to how people thought this world worked rather than just my opinion. Just, tell me if this is a world y’all think I could build on and if anyone wants any more details and world building while I’m writing it.

It wasn’t always like this.

The world had men and women, prominent chests and broad shoulders.

They haven’t left, they just went somewhere else.

Ruling behind a transparent veil, iron fists stained with the blood of my fellows. Just children. We were just children. Persecuted at the masses. Our ticking clocks chime loud and clear, then after eighteen years since our mothers in tears held us to the world, the clocks chimed no longer, silenced. People live in dread, not of the tyrants above us but rather, their power. Power to restrict our free thought. Those with acute senses are exploited, but not for long, once their talent is exhausted they’re sent away.

People share the incredibly foolish talent of hope.

Ignorance is bliss, we make ourselves conform to this meaningless idiom because we were stripped of our intelligence and thought, and so we must- we simply must- attempt bliss.

We all have secrets, secrets are the foundation of society, and society creates flaws in people.

Four ministries, Ministry of Common-Wealth, Ministry of Defense, Ministry of Research, and Ministry of Labor. I work in Labor, a pawn. A desolate building, barbed wires hung loosely from the short gate flung open before the building, peeling paint and dying grass surrounding it. And one might wonder why they didn’t devote any of the incredible taxes they collected to make a presentation, only later when I dissented from society had I realized.

The place was meant to terrify.

So, we live day by day learning philosophy was only for those with time.

Dichonoia is our President. He fancies himself a just man.

The old people, deemed Elri after the Viking term, told us tales of a once free nation who controlled the seas and were benevolent and kind and helped other countries, who fought against evil forces. I always believed they exaggerated these tales but as I come of age, I realize their statements were truthful, which made it all the more incredible.

Humanity is a rare thing which few have, and these few were sent to selected areas with close to no government regulation and there, these over-conscious souls would wander in the eternal misery they sentenced themselves to.

We didn’t name this place. And we’re just as cruel as their torturers for we pretend they don’t exist, and if we are to even approach the area we fall into an eerie silence of guilt, but, it’s preferable For us. I’m unsure if it benefits them.

I associated myself with a small group after my escape, we would pretend to be an organized system but in such a world as the one we lived in, there could be no order. Chaos was order.

I was thirteen, the second to oldest of the group of five children and teens who would linger in the landscape. The area was freakish, trees growing through gray playgrounds and black birds circling the sky.

I was never sure as a child what birds they were. I was stupid and knew nothing of vultures, so I thought they were eagles. All the younger children believed my words and so we would look to these birds as rulers and believed they would liberate us. We had come to worship vultures. Though I rest assured they would make for a better government than that of Dichonoia’s.

We would leave a little piece of bread below where the vultures would fly. It was a sacrifice in our view, and over the years I believe we had wasted a good loaf of bread doing so, but we earned hope. And this was more important.

The oldest of us was Roanoke, sixteen, he was always befallen to bad luck, and this was saddening for he was of the highest intelligence. This, however, was nothing to match the wit of the youngest in our group. She was nine, she called herself Maybelle but her name was Alice. She hated the name, but that was what we all called her. She was, although the youngest, the one who always knew what to do.

In this society, those who reach the age of eighteen were seen as too intelligent, so they’re sent to camps to be conditioned as higher workers, or executed. The four others knew their parents were in a camp, and we had befriended a guard in the camp who agreed to deliver messages between us once a week in exchange for gods know what.

Roanoke handled that.

The other two were both eleven, Thalassa and Alex. They were trouble-makers, but lovable and kind.

It never troubled us what would happen when we reached eighteen. Labor took me back when Roanoke turned. I never heard of my companions. And I would have hope they are alive.