A fictional analysis of the real mistreatment of disabled people
It’s 2 am on a Thursday morning, despite being dreary and enamoured by studying, my brain is more aware of its surrounding and my thoughts are more alert than in previous hours of the day.
The poetic region of my wallflower mind would deceive me into thinking of this time of the day as a ‘new dawn’, when the previous day has died and the path of new beginnings for the next day is unfolding.
However, the distinct sense that overrides all my feelings is this bitter taste in my mouth that I can’t get rid of…
Not even the taste of sherbet could override this lasting taste in my mouth.
This bitter taste has developed as the week is drawing to its prologue
I think of how I got to this place in my life. I have flown through nebulas, galaxies and solar systems to reach the celestial object of Jason, a vast, yet barren amalgamation of matter floating around the universe erratically.
The aforementioned object has distinct characteristics that separate it from other bodies in the universe. It isn’t a planet nor is a planetoid, it just seems to be there playing third wheel to the sun and the earth.
It isn’t hard to tell that I don’t work for NASA, and my birth name isn’t Brian Cox… I was bestowed the name Jason from the day I was brought into this world.
I used a metaphor to impress people for my own self-indulgence, and to make a point.
For all my strengths and possible traits, which some academics still debate to this day, I am a creature of my environment.
My story unfolded from the early stages of the play that became my life
I always knew I was unique, from the way I walked, to the way people looked at me. It was like my existence was an anomaly that surprised the society I was brought into.
It was predestined that I would be seen as a threat to the tyrants that continued to bleed the land, and the population, dry!
Others could sense the power and the true gift of strength I harnessed, and that scared leaders. They couldn’t believe that someone could challenge them, that a regular civilian, if left alone, could shift the balance of power.
Utilising that power was never their desire; they had worse plans for me.
That’s when it all went wrong…
During the winter of my youth, the systems of the world met in secret and it was decided by the powers that be that I would be sanctioned with a ‘disability’, with no country vetoing the decision.
For now I had lost my inalienable rights, and no matter what I did to oppose this, my opinion meant little. Due to my crimes, I forever would be defined by the ‘D’ word and would be forced into a prison that overlooked the utopia outside (or what I thought was a utopian society).
It wasn’t like I didn’t deserve it, how dare I go against the order, I had changed my genetic code in order to pose a threat to the governments of the world, as well as threatening the structure of Western society too.
Returning to present day, after 10 years of solitary confinement at Alcatraz Novus, I was now out of my imprisonment, and was now on land once again.
Moving with every step I felt every fibre in my muscles hinder my steps. I felt the weight of expectations beset by my overactive mind, crushing every bone in my feet. Trying to concentrate whilst ignoring the cracking of my toes proved a tasking activity, but I tried to think of what the world had in store for me.
For I knew that that strip of grass was just a crumb on the plate of the earth, and the explorer in me sought to find more of the world I left behind, once again.
I remember the occasional whispers I would stumble upon and the hearsay that travelled like heat through a copper plate to my ears. However, with the abandon of an undomesticated animal, my mind soon forgot about these rumours, considering them tumbleweed.
I had heard stories of men in white coats taking strangers away from the innocent eyes of the townsfolk, but again I chose to ignore it, thinking that people were trying to distort my optimistic outlook on the world around.
My optimistic steps soon became tentative steps as everything reached equilibrium. A distrustful silence had arisen, and I began to finally see the world as it was.
I can’t explain it, it was like the veil had slipped away and the true landscape was revealed.
As the crimson tears slowly dripped from my eyes, I had realised that the nightmare I chose to ignore had become the partner sleeping in my bed.
The fiction had become my very own living nightmare. The slight amusement of such a thought had become a ruthless dictator, which suppressed my positive thoughts and drove me into a state of paranoia.
In the days that followed, I saw men being imprisoned and tortured for daring to speak the codenamed ‘D’ word.
It was codenamed for the innocent people’s safety, as to speak the word could cause mass hysteria from all fronts if heard in the vicinity of shadow dwellers.
Restrictions on speech and the implementation of the Big Brother system acted as the catalyst for the building of the wall, with tensions arising beforehand.
The division was made between those who had been contaminated by the shadow dwellers/and those who were too ignorant and unaware to understand. To live an easier and guilt free life government’s felt it was better that they didn’t understand for the harsh reality may have led to anarchy. The heinousness of life on the other side would have been too much for their simple minds to understand.
Tensions eventually grew to a breaking point, it soon became ‘us’ against them, for I too had been isolated to the wasteland of the shadow dwellers. What started as a means to protect people from the ‘invaders’, became a psychological civil war, which ravaged the landscape and society, with many succumbing to the disease of disillusionment.
I saw many of my brothers-in-arms fail to return from the other side; some say they were tortured and some say they were instantly dealt with.
The real casualty of those years, where progress was faintly spoken of, was the death of my ability to love.
We, the shadow dwellers, had our lungs corrupted by the acrid froth that was dropped on us, and we became the monsters we had no desire to become.
I am now in my study, well it is an abandoned warehouse, and I admit my life was futile. The years of anger and rage have meant it is too late for me. This problem is so far entrenched, that I fear my soldiers I left behind will too become as disenfranchised as I became.
I say goodbye to a world that is now a distant relative!
Take this work and tell people of what life was like in the D̶I̶S̶C̶R̶I̶M̶I̶NATION.