Short Story: Decree

 by Dawn Sands

All day they sit there and all day I watch them sit there. Unmoving, unthinking, unseeing.

Every tick of the stubborn clock of their lives counts down to zero.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 

The bell chimes five - curfew; not that anyone has paid attention to it for weeks, for months - maybe even for years. 

Things were looking good at the beginning of the Regime. People appeared happy for the first time in ages; they were told, once he arrived. When he came, he issued a number of Decrees which people were expected to follow. Decrees that would finally put an end to the chaos the world had fallen into. Lives have been shattered, he announced, by the deadly spontaneity that has grown to be the norm in this place. I remember the day clearly - what seemed to be all the people in the world gathered in the square, listening intently as he declared his Regime. All frivolity was to stop - socialising is a dangerous thing after all - and a curfew of 9 pm would be implemented. Anyone found outside their homes after this time was to be executed. This, he claimed, was for the good of the people. They needed to learn what was right. He was a magnanimous, selfless leader and the people should rejoice in his Regime.

Sometimes, they move. I like it when they move. If you watch enough, you can learn to tell for days that they're going to do it - at first, the idea dawns as a mere glint in their eyes, but it evolves over time into a mad gleam. The kind of gleam that means change is afoot: a ground-breaking idea, a revolutionary transformation. It is the gleam of hope. Then they stand up, cross over to the other side of the room and sit down again. Finally fulfilled. 

For a while, the curfew worked well for the Regime. And the Regime was for the good of the people. Every time a person broke a Decree, their execution was broadcast live as a sign to the people. They all applauded him and the Regime. It was working. Fewer people were dying, they cheered as they watched it happen. This continued for a long time. Executions were occurring almost daily to prevent death. They all loved him. Business was rolling. Then he issued a new Decree. All people were to be separated and put into different houses. This, he declared, was to prevent the levity that took place between people inside their homes. Slogans sprung up, seemingly overnight. 

FRIVOLITY CAN KILL. 

SEPARATION IS FOR SAFETY. 

And the last, and most important of all:

HE IS GRACIOUS AND FAIR. 

And, because he was so gracious, the curfew was driven back to 7 pm and after that, five, to save the livelihoods of the people. 

I'd like to think that I know some of them quite well. I see them through their windows and I read their eyes. Some read mine in return. Their eyes tell of their dreams - dreams of freedom, of being able to speak, to move, even, without it becoming some great escapade. It's at time like these, when I can read the dreams of their soul, that I feel united with them once more. But then I see those dreams changing and my mind retreats into its chasm of darkness. 

FRIVOLITY CAN KILL.

SEPARATION IS FOR SAFETY. 

HE IS GRACIOUS AND FAIR. 

I often wonder what happened to the old leader. Was she executed? No, surely not. After all, she has never broken a Decree. Only those who break Decrees are executed. He is gracious and fair. In my mind's eye, she stands at the foot of her tower and watches as the world collapses from within, shattered by the power of what she has just become. Shattered . . . 

Lives are shattered. 

Hopes are shattered. 

Dreams are shattered. 

And all they can do - all we can do - is sit and wait.