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It’s a burden I feel I have to take on because nobody else will. Few can see how we’ve been enslaved. It’s like opting for slavery because it’s so convenient and an easy life but believing yourself free. We can’t stand for it and maybe my sacrifice will open the world’s eyes to what is really happening.
Every three months, there is what they call a Grand Council. Representatives from our leaders and from our occupiers meet to discuss what needs to be done next. Yes, we have a comfortable life but there is much to do. Just a few miles away, poisoned land where nobody lives that we will need in future. If we are to succeed, and expand, we need to grow into these areas to stop others claiming resources.
Anyway, terms of agreement are thrashed out – they clean the land and they get to take some resources from the area. They usually want metal deposits and a little bit more food but only when we have increased surplus. I told you it was a comfortable existence but we must never forget The Blood Years and the people they take during those times.
No matter how much they help, no matter what they do for us – human lives, especially young lives – are too high a price to pay. I’m angry that they do it and I’m angry at the Council Members for letting it happen. All for what? Prosperity? Territory? Their continued support? We heard that some ancient societies had to give the best prime specimens in sacrifice to their gods to appease them and ensure good harvest, but surely we have outgrown such superstition? Or perhaps not and maybe our conquerors are the gods of yesteryear come back to reclaim what was once theirs.
Sorry, forive my rambling. I tend to do it a lot recently, especially since I decided I was going to take my present course of action. Friends have noticed I have become withdrawn but they assume I am brooding once again over Kyla. Her birthday is coming up soon, that is true, but she is always in my thoughts.
If they knew why I was really withdrawn, they would try to stop me. That is why I must do this thing alone – without their help.
I’m standing outside the Council Building now. I’m told it was made from lots of robbed material from the old Manchester Library. Not that means much to me now, but it’s easily the grandest building within eight villages – mere shanty towns in comparison. Anyway, I’m here outside the building. It’s grey, miserable and a little cold for September but we’ve had worse.
There are people milling about. Most seem indifferent to the Council Meeting taking place in about half an hour, but that’s to be expected. When we had the first ever one, people packed the tiny building to the rafters. Since then, it dwindled down in numbers until only the most hardcore political junkie turned up to watch the proceedings. I’m no political junkie, but I have learnt how to act like one over the last few months. I occasionally attend smaller meetings – usually when I’m bored so my presence there today won’t be out of place. I’ll be the youngest one there by about – ooh, 20 years or so.
I cautiously make my way up the steps and nod at the disinterested guard. He nods back and I pass him, acting casually.
Inside there are few people around. A few village representatives are at the bar and a reporter trying to weasel a few words out of them only to be pushed away; at the back is a metal scanner and two guards stood either side. My pulse quickens at seeing this, but it’s to be expected and I’m sure I’ll have no problem going through in about ten minutes.
The reporter spots me then and comes over with a grin that looks welded on. Seriously, nobody smiles like that – not even the least trustworthy Council Member!
I turn my back on him and walk as quickly as I can towards the scanner.
The guards strike an official pose as I approach but far from acting gruff, the woman gives me a smile. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want to talk to him either. Bit of a snake that one.’
I grin back. give her the thumbs up and step through the scanner.
And the fucking thing BEEPS!