The Year 2020

I was kind of going for a '1984' and 'V for Vendetta' kind of thing.

Posters emblazoned on every building, covering up the giant structures original design. Bright colours scream 'Notice me! Notice me!' to passers by, telling them to watch the latest regurgitated television show; listen to the most recent prefabricated music; buy the newest fashion. The pedestrians ignore the attention starved advertisements, each in their own self absorbed little bubble. They've seen them all before plastered all over their neighbours houses, plastered all over their own. The street is flooded with multi-coloured polo-shirts, skinny jeans (all bought from the same high-street outlet) and identical hairstyles. Yet every person believes themselves to be different and unique.

Speakers perch like vultures on the corners of building, scouting for their next meal. The speakers feed the rainbow-sheep the same drivel, day in, day out. The sheep bob their heads in time with the tune below. Each and every one knows the words, each one hangs on every note. What they fail to hear are the subliminal messages, telling them how to act. Telling them what they are listening to is good, that they lyrics actually mean something.

Half way down the street is a giant obelisk, towering over the mindless droves of neon peons. It is different from all the other structures, it is free of the cluttering of posters. Etched into the onyx marble surface is a single message: 'REPORT ALL NON-CONFORMISTS TO YOUR LOCAL MINISRTY OFFICER'. Depicted below are images of these 'non-conformists'; baggy jeans, t-shirts, converse, smart shirts and ties, long skirts and blouses. Each one scowling and each one's facial features deformed and warped like a erased forgotten era. An ivory logo sits smugly in the top-right corner, a crown atop a circular iron gate with the letters 'M.O.S.' on a banner below. In times past, the symbol for a music label. In times present, the symbol for a totalitarian dictatorship and it's cult following.

Miles away from this cesspit hub of social interaction is a grey, concrete and steel compound. Within this grey, concrete and steel compound is a storage facility. But the items stored here are nothing like anything inn any other storage container in the country. This is where the 'socially unaccepted' are kept. Made to work. Killed. This is where everything sold in the high-streets is made. This is where the country's electricity is produced.

This is the land that 'popular culture' has created.

This is a land of Orwellian design.

This is a land where things like talent; inspiration and morals are shoved to one side in the name of 'entertainment'.

This is England in all her (soon-to-be) glory.

Author's Note

This is my first time publishing on here, so go easy on me.

Nah, just kidding. Let me hear your honest opinions! =D