Watchers

A dystopian story originally written for an english class assignment, but it's honestly grown on me a bit.

As a gust of cold wind bites through his coat, Rupert shrugs into the threadbare wool and slips inside his workplace. He strides to the opposite wall and punches his time card. 8:00 AM. Perfectly on time. Rupert makes his way to his desk and begins the process of getting to work. He removes his old coat and places it carefully on the back of his chair, then quickly turns his computer on. While he waits for it to boot up, Rupert watches as many of his coworkers file in and begin settling in like he is. The office is a single large room, with row after row of long surfaces; dividers between each work space. The department head says this minimizes distractions.

            During his time working here, Rupert has occasionally seen other watchers on his floor summoned to the department head’s office, after which they are promptly escorted away by security officers that have a tendency of materializing from nowhere. Today it happens again.

            The man of the hour is Thomas, a fellow who Rupert lunches with at the noon meal time they are allotted. Rupert, almost enviously, looks up from his screen as his companion is escorted away. Thomas has a stricken look on his face, and Rupert can see a single tear streaking down his cheek.

             ‘I’ll miss having a companion at lunch.’ Rupert thinks. ‘Hmm, I would be in tears as well if I had the good fortune of a promotion.’

            He sighs in yearning, and returns his attentions to the screen. After a moment, he is absorbed in his work once more.

            Rupert is one of the many watchers whose job is precisely that, to watch. Watch, and if a subject behaves in violation of any of the country’s edicts, laws, or suggestions, file an incident report. Each watcher is provided with an up to date booklet of the laws, which seem to be constantly in-flux. It certainly occupies Rupert.

            Rupert’s rigid concentration on the screen, occupied by feeds of varying people, is jarred by several loud cracks emanating from the back side of the building. He shrugs off the sound, as the department head explained before, it is merely the sound of firecrackers being set off by hooligans in the neighboring lot.

            He glances at the clock at the front of the room. 8:30 am. She ought to be arriving on the screen momentarily. The ‘she’ in question is a young woman about Rupert’s age, mid-twenties, whom he sees every morning on the train to work, and then the rest of the day from his monitor. Rupert had been surprised when she appeared on his list. The document of identification numbers correlating to citizens is another booklet updated often, and each watcher has his own list with numbers constantly disappearing and new ones replacing them. He had never before experienced seeing a person he knew being one of his subjects.

            On the train one morning Rupert had asked her name. She replied with a smile, “Judith,” as she stepped off amid the rush of people.  Since then, they had become seat partners, and when there were no seats, standing partners. Rupert always naturally shifted in front of her as a shield from the swells of people embarking and disembarking the crowded train. They rarely said anything of much consequence. Trivial things were discussed: the weather, grocery shopping, and television programs.  The deepest topics they braved were books. Judith always had a new book in her bag that she would show to Rupert, and then tell him all about it. Rupert liked the stories Judith told him, they reminded him of the tales his mother used to tell him each night. However, he had no idea how she came upon so much reading material. Reading too much was frowned upon by most of the population, and there were very few novels to be found, let alone legally read. Rupert’s department head said many of them planted dangerous and unhealthy ideas in people’s minds.

            Rupert often wonders who takes over his list of subjects when he goes home at five o’clock. He would hate to have a night shift, but he doesn’t like the idea of others watching Judith. Or him. Anyone monitoring Judith before he arrives at work would also see their morning commute together, which he considers to be a private moment to hear her latest stories.

            The day passes slowly, and bored by the masses of dull faces he must watch, Rupert only finds reprieve in seeing Judith’s smiling face on his monitor’s feed. He cites a few of his subjects for minor offenses, and collects this paperwork to deposit in the violation receptacle. While shuffling papers he looks again to Judith’s screen. She is reading a book at one of the parks on the city’s outskirts. Eager to get a sneak peak at tomorrow’s story, Rupert enhances the screen to identify the title. In bold letters, it says “1984”. He is hit with a wave of anxiety immediately. That book is the first entry on the banned book list. Rupert knows that this is not a light matter. Reading explicitly banned books is a serious violation.

            He doesn’t know the severity of punishment for a violation of this kind, only that it falls in the category of top-level violations, for which he fills out a red citation.

            ‘That can’t be good. I have to keep her safe. But I couldn’t neglect my job. Has a watcher ever not filled out the forms?’

             Rupert slumps in his desk, plagued by this indecision. Rupert has selected the red citation and is about to put pen to paper when he is hit with what he’s doing.

            ‘No. I have to protect Judith. She will be fine. Nobody will notice; she was smart to read that away from onlookers.’

             Soothed by his rationale, Rupert grins, crumples the unused citation, and tosses it to his row’s paper waste receptacle.

            When the clock strikes twelve, Rupert eagerly heads out for the noon meal, only to be interrupted by the ancient intercom system crackling to life and requesting Rupert Stuart’s immediate attendance in the department head’s office. Disappointed that he must abandon his luncheon, Rupert steps along, caught up in the idea he had to find his own book so he might tell Judith a story she hasn’t read yet.

            Still on this content train of thought, Rupert opens the creaking door to the office. It’s a small room and has an odor like rust. Rupert’s superior, the man behind the desk tells him to come in. Rupert steps inside, and gently presses the sticking door close. He takes this time to look around the office, until his gaze lands on the screen atop the desk. The department head stiffly tells Rupert that this is not acceptable. ‘This’ being the image on the screen, playing over and over again. The image of Rupert watching his own screen, then pausing, then pulling out a citation, then hesitating, and finally, of Rupert tossing the paper in the waste receptacle.

            As his own activities of the morning play out before him, over and over again, Rupert is frozen. He finally manages to turn his head and sees the security officers appearing beside him, each with a malevolent glint in their eyes. One of them has a hand on his holster, patting it with anticipation. The department head chuckles and then, as an afterthought, reminds the officers that they’ll be calling on a certain Judith Bonheur this afternoon. He continues, stating that Rupert must know what comes next. Now he does.

             Rupert looks to the smudged window that faces the street in a futile hope for some sign. He gets it: the sight of a lifeless body being loaded into a van.

            It seems he will have luncheon with Thomas after all.

           

           

           

 

Author's Note

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