Micro Fiction: Vol. 1 June 2009 Entry #5

And so kicks off week two of our micro fiction experiment. Remember, these are short, 300-600 word pieces written in under 30 minutes and the themes must center around two randomly selected words or phrases. Have a submission? Send it to me!

Randomly Generated Terms: fourfold/unstable

Clark could feel them harvesting his thoughts.
There was no time in the panopticon known as "Stockade 32," but Clark knew the Overseers had been monitoring his brain waves for some time now.
Stockade 32 was for the worst of the worst, the politicians said. The murderers, the rapists, the child pedophiles. It was a place where these unstable types could be punished in a way beyond death. It was a plane of nothingness. A plane where only thought existed. A plane where any thought could be seen. And exploited.
Clark's consciousness was damned to Stockade 32 after he'd been charged of "committing a fourfold offense," which was the Overseers polite way of saying he was a mass murder.
A click.
His entire vision changed to a sea of white.
The momentary flash cleared and Clark found himself resting in an open gray room with flourscent lights and wide, arched door at the opposite end.
It seemed to him he'd been here before, but had the Overseers planted that memory? If so they'd most certainly harvested it, he thought.
"The energy of one emotion outweighs the total output of three nuclear reactors by a factor of 5 to 1," Clark remembered the T.V. heads saying. "One thought will power hundreds of thousands of homes for years."
Clark looked up at the gray room's florescent lights, remembering. Had he been here before?
A scream.
Martha. He turned to the arched doorway and saw his wife begging for her life in front of the silhouettes of four towering men. Clark's children Daniel, Michelle and Dayna, were there, looking on helplessly. Dayna was crying, clinging to her brother's ripped jeans which were blotched in the front with a splash of water.
Martha's scream rose for a moment and broke.
, Clark remembered, horrified. The Overseers would be happy with this.
He continued to walk toward the door, screaming for Daniel to take Dayna and Michelle away. His walk broke into a run and his run into a sprint as the arched doorway grew larger and larger, but still remained unreachable.
The four shadows closed on Daniel. He fell into a rigid lump and Dayna collapsed.
Michelle whimpered helplessly as she looked at the broken form of her brother. She screamed as the knife fell upon her sister and the four dark men turned toward her.
The room grew in size but Clark wouldn't make it there in time.
Had he ever? he thought.
Losing all semblance of stability, he fell to his knees, weeping.
Weeping. The Overseers would be happy with this.
The door was now directly in front of Clark. The four shadows emerged, clothes meticulously clean and hair perfectly coiffed into four well-groomed crew cuts. The men gathered around the hysterical form of Clark Jonas.
The Overseers, Clark remembered. He retched. The Overseers would be happy with this.
"Mr. Jonas, you've been selected for interment in Stockade 32. We regret the inconvience we may have caused, but your sacrifice will help power ... "
Inconvenience, Clark remembered. He heard Martha scream and saw Daniel fall, the whole terrible scene replaying endlessly in his mind. He collapsed. The Overseers would be happy with this.
A click.
Clark's vision faded to a sea of white, he awoke in an open gray room with flourscent lights and a wide, arched door at the opposite end.
Haven't I been here before? he thought.
A scream.

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