[CW: Short Dystopian/Feedback] The Sun Always Rises

[Peepeepoopoo]

The Sun Always Rises

The sound of ceiling fans rotating and the clicking of typewriter keys was interrupted by a chime from the country’s public PA system. Pulling away from his chair, Darwin sighed. It was a deep yet quite exhale. Any more would have been a sign of dissent. He walked over to one of the large windows that lined the walls of the news bureau and knelt down on both knees with his hands clasped together, looking towards the sun. A voice from the PA system rang out and led the country in prayer. Darwin, his coworkers, and the rest of the population of New Italy followed. Darwin’s eyes began to tear up from looking towards the sun for so long (and not from “profound feelings of love” that “all New Italy citizens” had for the sun). The prayer ended with the obligatory reading of the five commandments.

Submit thyself to the almighty Sun

Praise the Sun thrice a day

Be at peace with thy fellow man

Sacrifice in the name of the Sun

Climb atop the tower of Babel

Darwin stood up and took off his spectacles, wiping his eyes. He blinked a few times and put them back on, looking around the room to test his vision. His coworkers had all gotten up as well to talk briefly amongst themselves of their prayers and their reverence for the sun before going back to typing up their assigned news articles. He looked out of the window towards the tower of Babel. The giant spiraling tower was constructed with the desire to be closer to the sun, and it served that purpose well. From the streets, when the sun was at its highest point in the sky it seemed as if it was sitting atop the tower of Babel.

Ignoring the growling of his stomach, Darwin returned to his desk and stared at the article he had been working on. It featured the public execution of two adulterers that Darwin had attended. In fact, the entire city had stood and watched, yelling excitedly about the sun’s triumph over the heretics and the moon. It was common belief that those who were exposed to moonlight would become heretics and sin against men and the sun. Anyone who was suspected of being under the moon’s influence was burned at the stake. When these executions were made public - and they usually were - those who lived in the area were expected to take part as an audience.

The two adulterers had been caught because someone had suspected the woman of being pregnant, despite not being married. The man was found soon after the suspicions were confirmed. The two were bound and escorted through the city streets to the front of the tower of Babel, where all executions were held. As was customary, the man was burned first while the woman was forced to watch. The local priest Bachs had yelled words of justice and redemption to the crowd as usual. The crowd rallied behind those words, cursing the adulterers and praising Bachs and the sun.

When his recollection of the event ended, Darwin had realised that his fingers had moved on their own, finishing the rest of the article. He pulled the sheet of paper out of the typewriter and adjusted his glasses, reading over his work. The beginning had been written in an appropriate manner, but the draft took a turn of opinion when he had started daydreaming. An opinion which would not be accepted by New Italy. Looking around to make sure that no one had seen his paper, Darwin discreetly tore it into tiny pieces and threw them into his trash bin. He then brought out a new piece of paper from his desk and inserted it into his typewriter, beginning his work from scratch.

When Darwin had finished the article, it was almost time to head home. Many of his coworkers had already left to beat the curfew. Darwin read over his new draft, satisfied with his biased portrayal of the events. He picked up his worn leather briefcase and left his cubicle, dropping the article into his director’s mailbox. Just as he was about to leave the building, he ran into Hannes and Orlando.

“Ah, Darwin! Hannes and I are having dinner at my place. Want to come along? The more the merrier!” said Orlando with a carefree grin on his face.

“Sorry guys, but I have to prepare for this year’s Burning,” replied Darwin, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe next time.”

Every year a festival, more akin to a ritual, called the Burning would take place in New Italy. Citizens would offer up their worldly belongings to the sun by burning them to ashes in a great fire. The smoke that arose from the fire would be thought of as the sun accepting the offerings. Some even offered up their children during the Burning.

In truth, Darwin had already collected a few items that would do as a sacrifice. He was not a very materialistic man, and would buy a few unnecessary items throughout the year in preparation for the Burning. He simply didn’t want to spend his evening with Hannes and Orlando. The three had sat in adjacent cubicles when Darwin first started working at the news bureau.

Hannes and Orlando were acquainted long before Darwin had met the two. They were friendly enough, but Darwin never felt comfortable spending time with them, nor did he feel comfortable with anyone else that he was acquainted with. Hannes and Orlando were model citizens of New Italy, outwardly pious and devoted to the sun. Whenever they talked of religion, Darwin just closed his mouth and went along with everything they had to say by nodding or shaking his head, giving the occasional grunt of approval or disapproval when necessary.

The three of them left the building together, Darwin waving Hannes and Orlando goodbye as the two lived in another direction. A gust of wind blew, gathering dust from the arid ground and blowing it at Darwin. He covered his face and coughed. When the wind settled, he made his own way home, dust kicking up from the ground where he stepped.

“This country has changed so much Darwin. This world has changed so much,” his father had once said to him as they finished eating their dinner.

Even though he was quite young back then, Darwin could make out the regret in his father’s voice.

“What was New Italy like before dad?” asked Darwin, looking up at his father in hopes of another story.

His father sighed deeply and sat back in his chair. His eyes fixed themselves on a point in space not in the small wooden house, as if they were looking past the roof, past the sky even, and gazing upon the past.

“It was just called ‘Italy’ back then. There used to be grassy hills where people would grow grapes for wine and snow-covered mountains where people would go to ski. There used to be a thing called ‘freedom’ too,” he said with bittersweet nostalgia.

He got up and collected the plates, mussing his son’s hair as he headed to the sink.

­“But forget about all of that. Things are much better now that we're following the religion of Malsi. A lot better than they used to be. The sun will always watch over us, so don’t worry about the past.”

By the time Darwin had gotten to his front door the sun was already kissing the horizon, painting the sky a deep crimson. He looked down the street along the row of houses. Their windows were all covered in preparation for the curfew. Unlocking the door, he walked into his house and shut the door behind him. After taking off his shoes and locking the door, he went around the house pulling the curtains closed in front of his windows and turning on the lights in every room. When he was finished, Darwin took a loaf of bread from the kitchen and slumped himself into his living room sofa.

As he bit hungrily into his bread, Darwin looked wistfully at the curtained windows. By this time the moon would have appeared in the night sky, flooding his house with moonlight if not for the thick curtains. The only light that illuminated the room came from the standard lighting fixtures that all houses came equipped with. He thought back to his childhood again, to the days when he used to gaze at the moon with his father for brief moments during the night.

“Dad, why does everybody hate the moon? It looks too pretty to be a bad thing,” Darwin had said to his father one night.

He had been sitting on his father’s lap, and his father mussed his hair.

“Sometimes pretty things can be bad Darwin,” said his father in a sad tone.

Darwin looked up at his father’s scruffy chin, waiting for him to elaborate. He even swung his legs in impatience, bouncing his feet off of his father’s legs. For what seemed to be an eternity Darwin’s father didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the moon. Then he lifted Darwin from his lap and pulled the curtains closed. The room became dark in the absence of the moonlight.

“Listen Darwin, don’t ever talk about the moon, especially outside of this house. Just nod your head and agree with what Bachs has to say, alright?” said his father, having moved from the window to where Darwin was standing.

His father knelt down to embrace him. From the way he shivered and from the feeling of wetness forming on his shoulder, Darwin could tell that his father was crying.

A few years later, when his father was executed Darwin realised that his father had lied to him about many things. He was old enough to understand that those lies were necessary, and to understand that lying to yourself and the world was the only way to survive.

A chime from the PA system in his house interrupted Darwin’s recollections. A voice from the PA led New Italy on the final prayer of the day. Darwin didn’t follow. Unlike the office, there was no one in his home to report his refusal to pray. He lay still on the sofa with his eyes closed, waiting for the prayer to end.

When it was over, he walked upstairs and into the bathroom. He ran the tap and splashed cold water onto his face. Looking into the mirror, Darwin was reminded of how gaunt and weary he had grown. His skin was stretched tight across his face and his cheekbones protruded sharply. His eyes were sunken into his face. Without the sandy short hair and the thin, circular spectacles on the bridge of his nose, he looked like a tanned skeleton.

Many of New Italy’s citizens looked like this. Due to the severe heat and lack of rain, the only food available to them was exported from other countries, and that too was limited and had to be rationed off as New Italy refused to do business with countries that did not accept and follow the doctrine of Malsi. In an attempt to forget his hunger, Darwin walked into his bedroom and put his spectacles on his nightstand. Then he laid down on his bed, shutting his eyes.

Darwin was awoken by the chime of the PA for the daily morning prayer. He groaned and pushed himself up to a sitting position on his bed, collecting himself. When the prayer ended, he put on his spectacles and opened all of the curtains in his house. The light from the sun flooded his house, illuminating the dust in the air. Then, a noise from the PA made his heart jump into his throat.

“There will be an execution today in front of the tower of Babel. All citizens are welcome to attend,” said the voice.

Darwin swallowed and looked out of the closest window. People were already heading out of their homes in the direction of the tower of Babel, a cloud of dust rising from the footsteps of the masses. He rushed into the bathroom, bathed, dressed, and grabbed his camera. Heading out of his house, he followed the other stragglers heading out to see the execution. The streets were littered with the city’s citizens, all heading out to see the execution. Upon his arrival, Darwin was greeted with the familiar back of an unruly crowd.

“Start the fire!”

“Burn the heretics already!”

Fanatical cries like these filled the air along with the dust kicked up from gathering crowd. Darwin took his company issued camera out of its worn, gray carrying case and adjusted the flash, adding a new roll of film. When he raised his head to take a picture, he almost dropped his camera. Tied to the stakes were Hannes and Orlando.

“Citizens of New Italy, these two are guilty of the obscene act of homosexuality,” announced Bachs, standing in between the two stakes.

The cries for punishment grew even louder. Darwin stood frozen in place, his hands gripping the camera tightly. He realised that they too had hated this way of living, and had acted out against Malsi in secret. He had spent so much time with them, and not even he had known. As Bachs lit the fires, the cries of the crowd grew deafening. In that mindless roaring, Darwin watched as the two people he was closest to were devoured by not only the flames, but by the hatred of the people around him. He would always be alone in his beliefs. He let his camera fall to the ground and raised a fist into the air, joining the crowd’s fanaticism. After all, lying to yourself and the world was the only way to survive.

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Hello denizens of the Creative Writing subforum. For those of you who have never seen me around the Reborn forums, my name is Dark. I've always liked creative writing especially as a youngster, but a few years ago my interests were shifted away from the activity. Since then I've not bothered to pen down any of the thoughts buzzing around my head, except for the four months that I spent in that wonderful classroom filled with girls and all manner of their frivolous tales and silly poems.

What you just read is a dystopian short story that I wrote for a creative writing class a year or so ago inb4 tl;dr. Specifically, it is my latest written piece. Why am I sharing this with you, fellow members of Reborn? To get some $R of course hear your thoughts on it. As the title suggests, I'm looking for feedback. I'll also be putting up other pieces I wrote in that class as I find them (don't worry mods I won't spam too much :3), even if you say this is shit because I need to farm $R god damn it.

Edited June 13, 2015 by DarkSpite