BlueOctober
A Disposable Teen
Sunlight streamed through the open window, though the stream of light was occasionally cut into pieces by the broken blinds that hung in front of the empty frame. While the sunlight was welcome, the open window also invited in some unwanted noise. Above the usual announcements from the government that started the day, there was the distinct sound of screaming. Ferron, a man who was just out of university, approached the window and looked out into the streets. His blue-grey eyes scanned over the street until they fell to rest on the source of the noise that had floated up the three stories to his studio apartment. It seemed as though one of the many mobs had assembled early this morning to take out their revenge on some petty criminal. His screams became louder and louder as the amassed crowd rained down blows upon the forsaken man, who was shouting for someone to help him.
He must have known, he was in The Valley, no one would come to help him. If anything, people would join in on the beating. Ferron, however, would have no part of it. He reached up to the top of the window and slammed the window closed with a distinct click as it locked into place, before turning and walking to the door. While he loathed having to leave his apartment while the crowds were at their work, he had a job to do at one of the many business offices in the Valley.
His job wasn't the kind of business other people did, not selling things. It was more of an advertisement jobs. He would come up with some sort of advertisement every week for the various events being put on by the party. There were mass executions, gladiator games, things like that to keep the masses excited.
Though Ferron did do work for the party, he didn't have any appreciation for the group. Ever since he was a young man he had known the power of the group. His father had spoken out against them once, and had been thrown into the Colosseum for it. While this wasn't an uncommon thing in The Valley, it still left him subservient to the Party that had driven his family into poverty.
Stepping out onto the street, Ferron could hear that the beating he had heard in his apartment was still in progress. About twenty feet down the road he could see the beginning of a blood trail that led about fifteen feet further away, where the crowd had dragged the man to the bottom of a lamp post. No doubt they intended to hang the man. For what reason, Ferron didn't care, for what crime, no one would ever know.
Ignoring this display, the young man walked the other way, brushing some of his jet black hair away from his eyes as he did so. As he walked, he passed a few people his age, and some younger, heading in the direction of the beating that was going on. At one point, some guy knocked into Ferron and started to throw insults his way. Though the guy was just barely taller than Ferron, who stood at six foot one, he didn't show any hint of intimidation as the more muscular man yelled directly into his face. Instead, Ferron just sidestepped the oaf and continued on his own way.
At the rate this day was going, things were going to be fun.
He must have known, he was in The Valley, no one would come to help him. If anything, people would join in on the beating. Ferron, however, would have no part of it. He reached up to the top of the window and slammed the window closed with a distinct click as it locked into place, before turning and walking to the door. While he loathed having to leave his apartment while the crowds were at their work, he had a job to do at one of the many business offices in the Valley.
His job wasn't the kind of business other people did, not selling things. It was more of an advertisement jobs. He would come up with some sort of advertisement every week for the various events being put on by the party. There were mass executions, gladiator games, things like that to keep the masses excited.
Though Ferron did do work for the party, he didn't have any appreciation for the group. Ever since he was a young man he had known the power of the group. His father had spoken out against them once, and had been thrown into the Colosseum for it. While this wasn't an uncommon thing in The Valley, it still left him subservient to the Party that had driven his family into poverty.
Stepping out onto the street, Ferron could hear that the beating he had heard in his apartment was still in progress. About twenty feet down the road he could see the beginning of a blood trail that led about fifteen feet further away, where the crowd had dragged the man to the bottom of a lamp post. No doubt they intended to hang the man. For what reason, Ferron didn't care, for what crime, no one would ever know.
Ignoring this display, the young man walked the other way, brushing some of his jet black hair away from his eyes as he did so. As he walked, he passed a few people his age, and some younger, heading in the direction of the beating that was going on. At one point, some guy knocked into Ferron and started to throw insults his way. Though the guy was just barely taller than Ferron, who stood at six foot one, he didn't show any hint of intimidation as the more muscular man yelled directly into his face. Instead, Ferron just sidestepped the oaf and continued on his own way.
At the rate this day was going, things were going to be fun.
Last edited by a moderator:
