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Short Story beginning, based on George Orwell's "1984"

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Look around you. This is what remains of the Arcadian Empire. This obliterated city was once the very capital, of the great state, of Arcadia. Arcadia is... was a vast empire. It stretched from North America, up into Canada, across into Alaska, over into Russia and then extended across Europe. Visualise it. Over half of the total land mass belonged to Arcadia, before its collapse and subsequent demise. Imagine it. Such authority and command in the hands of the leaders, of the state. Theirs to manipulate, direct and control... however, not anymore. What happened? Well, I'm glad you asked. It was merely pure luck that events happened as they were. If events had have happened any different, with any single aspect distorted, then I would have been here saying, "Welcome, to the great state of Arcadia." ...read more.


My room was... well let's just say not big. It contained a bed, a window, a light, a TV and in a smaller, separate room, a toilet, a sink and shower. Nothing else was deemed necessary, by the state. Meals were benevolently given out, at the local state cafeteria and any reading materials were reasoned to be dangerous, as they were a way of spreading anti-state propaganda. Any kind of media was from the state and only from the state. My room and the whole state housing block, in fact, was decorated grey, with the rare occasion of white. Other colours were apparently brain stimulating, which was merely a distraction from being an upstanding citizen. Eventually, I became bored at gazing at the ceiling, so being the upstanding citizen I was, I finally decided to go out and do something productive, albeit I had no idea what. ...read more.


State propaganda screens, pumped information into the air. I had learned to phase it out, as it was always the same. "Your safety is our number one priority. One policeman for every two citizens. Love for the state is mandatory... blah blah blah." However, today, there was something else. Something subtle. Another faint sound, which entangled itself within the stream of information, pulsing through the air. A beep. It was slow at first. Slow and quiet. Then it got progressively quicker. Increasing in tempo and volume. It stayed the same pitch and resembled my alarm clock. It obviously wasn't an alarm clock and so the only viable explanation was that it was some sort of timer... a bomb. But surely a bomb couldn't be planted, in an empire, where "Your safety was their number one priority"... well you would think so wouldn't you? It wasn't the case. I woke up five weeks later, in the rehabilitation centre. ...read more.

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