A dystopian Dictatorship

Diary Entry – September 23rd 2031

When Prime Minister Harrison was elected, they thought that he would trade the pollution for progress and the terrorism for tourism. He promised us that he would. That was back when democracy was our way of life- when we should have known better. It’s like when you interview a new employee- you realize a thirty minute conversation is not enough to decide if you want them as an assistant for the next ten years. David Cameron started it all, teaching us that politicians lie; it must be part of their job description.

Harrison’s view was not only narrow-minded, but also both crude and derogatory. Even the most loyal followers of the late Nigel Farage would be shocked at his outrageous ideas. That was back when he was at least sober, and his signs of schizophrenia were being mistaken for a mid-life crises. But those views were given to us at a time where our egos were near to exploding. We had everything, but it was not enough. We were selfish, shunning the vulnerable and patronising the poor. So we followed Harrison, believing in our warped minds that he would save us... We were blind towards him as a catalyst; ignorantly hopeful that he would be the vaccine.

Nobody remembers the way it really started. It wasn’t long before all humans, who were ‘not of English rose’, were merely discarded- dirty and irrelevant. I don’t know where they are now, if they are alive, locked away in the darkness somewhere, like they used to do with unrecyclable plastic. They are probably gone. At least if they aren’t alive, their breath isn’t ‘polluting the purity of our homes.’

Diary Entry- November 2nd 2031

I’m haunted in my dreams of Benedict. His chocolate skin stained with tears, being dragged away, screaming desperately.  We used to walk to school together when we were younger. Every morning we would meet on the embankment and cross Waterloo Bridge. Mind you, that was a long time ago- when we were supposed to have an ‘overflowing population.’ Now you’d be lucky to fill up the 265 bus to Putney Bridge.  And nobody ever goes to Putney bridge- there’s nothing there! Benedict was my everything. I forget how to breathe, every time I think of our fingers intertwined on a Sunday morning; my head resting against his chest, the movement of his heart beat- my own antidepressant. 

Diary Entry- November 10th 2031

My next door neighbour was arrested this morning. I watched it through the gap between the window and curtain, terrified. Of course, I ducked every time I saw a policeman look behind them. Not that I’m guilty. I’m hiding to protect myself. The police used to be people I could rely on. They used to be people I had faith in. Now they are just rich men, with no morals and an absent conscience.

We refuse to let them take our pride, which is why, I guess, Marty didn’t even look scared. He just laid there with his hands behind his back and his face against the pavement. He screamed words that even my uncle Jimmy didn’t even use and he had Tourettes! The Police just spat on him and laughed this sickening hiss, which ironically sounded Scandinavian. After they chucked him in the back of the van, they locked the doors. Aggressively, they drove off with a wheel spin that I can only assume was for dramatic effect. And the whole street went back to normal. Dull and neglected- Dead. Just like most of the people within it.

Diary Entry- November 15th 2031

Today marks an anniversary. It was exactly this day a year ago that Prime Minister John Harrison was elected- its amazing what can change in the space of a year. The world used to describe our city as multicultural. Although we moaned about the occasional Polish immigrant taking our job, we secretly took pride in being a part of that title. But now there is nobody left in London at least no body other than the corrupt police, Harrison’s brain dead followers and people like me who hide terrified of being in the open- visible.  They had a mandatory broadcast to ‘celebrate’ the anniversary. I hurled everything I owned at the television, but it didn’t stop. “I would like to thank you all for accompanying me on this remarkable journey.” He stands in front of Buckingham Palace; arms open like he’s Jesus. We all know he’s holding the Royal Family at ransom. King William rumoured to be hiding in a family home somewhere with his children, ever since Kate was in that tragic accident with the organ in Westminster Abbey. But yet we allow him to control us, like Frankenstein’s creations.  One day this will end. For better or worse it will end. And at this point I am counting down the days until it does. “We are not yet clean but we will be soon. Many have tried and failed but I have succeeded. We can start from the beginning. Here it is Ladies and Gentlemen, My field of English Roses. I welcome you to Genesis Version 2.0.” The broadcast shuts down ant the sound of static nothingness fills my room. I sit by myself in darkness and think of Benedict. There is a burning deep within me, which rises and scolds the back of my throat. I vomit, removing the sparse contents of my stomach on top of the carpet in front of me. One day this will end. And I’m counting down the days until it does.