January 7 2020 11:34 am
It’s been far too long. Redge promised to meet me at the transportation hub at 12.30, its already well past 3. Well, somewhere around then. Its hard to be certain of time when you dont have any timepieces. The sanctuary contraband market has a couple, but the cost is not worth it. I only have 2 credits left, and my stash of chemicals is dwindling. I met up with the chemist (unofficial, as there are no pharmacies or doctors in my sanctuary district. The government does things like that on purposese. There are more than enough physicians in this province, but care is reserved for class 3 and above. Also known as the gimmies, upper class, the beautiful and priveleged ones.
Dims like me and the rest of the poor souls in these slums are not recognized as citizens by the ruling factions and the absolute oligarchical counsel. The onl y reason we have these gated off districts is because genocide is still considered immoral and wrong. What an enlightened society we have. Its hard to believe just 3 years ago there were happy, stupid and ‘’free’’ teenagers roaming the streets with their mobile phones, corrupt businessmen beating their wives, and degenerate drug dealers running free like wild jaguars hopped up on their own primal instrincts. Paradise compared to the thousands of broken, physically and mentally damaged humans that remain on this tarnished orb of suffering we call earth.
The drugs. Chemicals that alter the neurochemicals we already have floating around in our electrochemical computers encased in a hard shell, giving the spark of brilliance to the flesh bags we inhabit and call bodies. Molecules. Microscopic alterants, that was all it took to turn society from developing and thriving, despite the poverty and human faults, conflict and suffering, there was still joy, creativity, kindness, and human connection.
Now, all that remains is a pale reminder of humanitys most catastrophic mistake to date, the government controlling citizens with chemicals as an attempt to paccify criminals and to create a paradise out of the roots of success. Like a dog limping back after being mauled by a rabid timberwolf, never to make it back to its home. Dying slowly and pitifully.
This is intosanctuary 2020.
Chapter 2- january 7 2020, 4:32 pm
Oh fuck. My face is collapsing again. Dried up mucous membranes and sensations of severe pain both imagined and excruciatingly existant - nociceptors being bombarded with signals of notifications to let the brain know theres something fucky going on , painful, sharp-as-a-knife , pulsating reality infesting pain letting me know that the weed i smoked must be laced with nanobots or some sort of caustic detergent, and that the government issued, manditory antipsychots I was given at lunch, have kicked in. Dry as a desert, agonizing as hell, and a reminder of the kind of ‘’life’’ that unfortunate lower class schizoids and dropouts have to deal with. As shuttlepods go in and out of warp onto the designated passenger entry queues, pickup tangents of loud and catasrophically cynical passengers, drop off tired and malaised cynical assholes, and the government mental assistance androids assisting the truly mentally retarded societal money-drainers in going from shitty point A to shitty point B. And I’m the asshole standing by the food ration dispensers trying to look casual while staring at another reminder of the ‘’merciful’’ government ‘’protecting’’ citizens. Staring at another corpse half dissolved in the chemical bath of malajusted inmate disposal, the only verdict for disobeying the man. The rules of aligning your mental pathways with the opinions and ideals of the state. The people who do the work to bring us these glorious slums overcrowded with reminders of the hell that just gets worse as time goes on. Where the only thing to look forward to is the next reality-altering psychoactive distributions. Antidepressants and anticonvulsants, off label and on label solutions to mildly disable criminally unstable disturbing and unnerving members of the human race. More like human disgrace
Chapter 3- january 11 2020 11:28 pm
I dont know what day it is. Due to the familiar stench of metabolites and mortility, the brig, the clink, the home of the dead and the dying. The hole.
Prison.
I mustve looked the wrong way at a lackey or mouthed off to a enforcer. Or maybe my jaundice appeared as chinese and I was arrested due to not being white. I dont know. But i mustve been sedated mighty heavily to be out for what feels like atleast a couple of days, probably severa. Im going back to sleep as it is starting to disgust me beyond coping, that I have to use fecal matter as a utencil to add to my manifesto of mental mongolism. Journal of jaundice. Log of logghorea. DIary of delusions. Intosanctuary.
