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A Revolution, A Conference
and A Door
By Cathy Zegelin
He opened his eyes to darkness. He couldn’t be sure if his eyes were opened or closed. He reached around him and felt nothing, reached for the ground and felt a cool dampness. It felt like cracked concrete with moss forcing its way through the openings. Where am I, he thought to himself.
The last memory he had was of walking down that dark, abandoned, wooded road in the pouring rain. The mud sucked at his shoes as he walked creating a slurping suction sound as it pooled around his feet and caused his steps to be laborious and slow. The engine of his car had just given up after a valiant effort to travel at too fast a speed to transport him home. He shouldn’t have gone to that conference. His wife had warned him against it, but she was a loyal revolutionary and her mind had already been indoctrinated with the party’s lies. Stupidly he had gone anyway. It was death if rebels to the revolution were caught, especially attending a conference. But he had gone, and his car died and then he was stuck out after curfew on an abandoned road and he knew a patrol could pick him up any minute. He’d pushed the car into the foliage as far as he could, but the mud had made the labor near impossible. He removed all identification from the car that he could manage and began his walk. Every vehicle that passed forced him to leap into the bushes for cover and he was soaking wet and caked with mud. He could hardly see from the lack of moonlight and the stinging, blinding rain. He must have slipped and fallen, but at any rate he lost consciousness and was probably picked up by a patrol. He must be in a holding center. He had heard enough about these places to explain the gripping fear in the pit of his stomach.
The only sound was a steady drip, drip, drip, from off in the distance. The darkness felt close and suffocating. He shivered in his damp and mud caked apparel, but was flushed and sweaty from apprehension. Rebels weren’t treated kindly after being caught. The leaders of the Revolution tolerated no resistance. He would probably receive torture until any information could be gleaned and then his life would be terminated. Once a person went into one of these places, he never came out.
Why had he gone to the conference anyway? He wasn’t really a rebel. Years ago the leaders of the revolution had begun to distribute propaganda against the dictator Prezizio trying to raise support for a revolution and he had supported it. Prezizio was starving the people and anyone that complained was sent to a forced labor camp. If looking from outside the country at the economy everything looked great. Everyone had a car to drive, the same model, a class 5 piece of junk. Every home was the same, luxury apartments for the single and planned community homes for the couples; all were run down dumps. Everyone went to church, the religion of Prezizio and was indoctrinated with the worship of him; he was god. Yet there was little food and little wealth spread around because everything went into the pockets of Prezizio and his cabinet. Everyone embraced the revolution. The war was short and in under a year Prezizio was captured and executed and the leaders of the revolution had set up a new government. It meant a new life for the people, but everything went wrong. The leaders changed nothing, the people still starved and all the wealth went into their pockets. Things became worse because everyone lost hope. No matter who promised change, nothing would happen.
Now there was more propaganda promising change with the conferences. Everyone knew nothing would change, another war, another leader, and another dictator’s regime. The only reason they gained support was because the people had no choice. The inevitable would come, the leaders of the conferences would overthrow the leaders of the revolution, and things wouldn’t change.
A bright spotlight from somewhere above shot 500 kilowatts of blindness onto him. He stood in the pool of light shielding his eyes. “Prisoner 1547, you have been charged with conspiring against the revolution. How do you plead?” A voice boomed over a megaphone.
“On what grounds do you charge me? What is your proof?” he shouted into the darkness.
“How do you plead?” Again came the unrelenting voice.
“Where am I? What is your proof against me? Why am I here?” He shot a continuous strain of questions at the voice in hopes of an answer.
“How do you plead?” The voice was monotone and relentless. The piercing volume resounded through the blackness. The enclosure he was in must have been smaller than he assumed because of the acoustics of the noise.
“Not-guilty then!” He screamed.
“Are you a supporter of the revolution and do you swear allegiance to the party?” The voice questioned.
“What choice do I have?”
“Yes or no.” Was his answer.
“Yes, I am a loyal follower, will you let me go now?” It didn’t take anything to break him because he was already broken. He didn’t care who was in power because life would always be the way it was. He just wanted to go home and return to the miserable existence he had because it was all he knew and all he could hope for.
A fluorescent light somewhere above them illuminated two doors. There were no discerning marks between them.
“You will make a choice. One door will lead you out. You will be fed and given clean clothing and welcomed back to the arms of the revolution. The other door leads to torture and death for conspiring against us. Your choice will determine your treachery. Make your decision, you have no other option but to choose a door and your destiny.”
The voice was gone. The spotlight was gone. All that was left in the darkness was two doors and a frightened man. He had no other options he must choose a door. I don’t know which door. Which door? This isn’t fair! I have to pick one. So which one? He walked up to the two doors. He reached out for one, thought a second and placed his hand on the handle of the other one. He pulled back his hand and stared at the doors. Whichever I choose doesn’t matter. What if they both lead out? What if they both lead to torture? What if they lead nowhere? I have to choose! He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, reached for a handle and pulled it open. Without looking he stepped through.