A buried story

I live in a world where books are banned, and only my imagination is safe to dream.

We live in an age where books are banned. During the years my great great great great great Grandmother grew up, the government first began to call in books. People were manipulated to believe that these books were dangerous, that after a certain amount of time the pages excreted a dangerous substance that could cause you to fade away from this world to the next long before your time. The atmosphere wasn't safe with them inside any longer. They said don't worry, they will all be replaced with perfectly safe brand spanking new books, they said. What they didn’t say was that every single book they received, they combed over, for words that might incite rebellion, and desire for something that was not within your reach. They planned to satisfy the masses, to quiet them of their ill wishes by removing all trace that rebellion existed. 

It started with the history books, all events which involved the people fighting, were replaced with stories of contentment, stories which never had happened, blatant lies of a past never even dreamt of. With the next generation people began to forget the past, only left with lies to believe in. Some families past down the truth from generation to generation, but spoke nothing of this to nobody, for fear that they would be sent West, to the place of exile. Next, all the storybooks began disappearing, the fairytales, the books that spoke of other worlds, of great journeys, and escape, of the possibility for the impossible. People began to fear their next door neighbours, and would turn in those that hoarded these tales, that were soon ripped to pieces, pieces without a hope of being put back together, pieces like teensy tiny bits of sand, almost invisible to the naked eye. It was my great great grandmother that thought ahead for a time when peace would be again broken in order to be saved, when the people would rise up to challenge those in charge. She hid them in all sorts of places, some buried in sand dunes, others in dusty attics where cobwebs ranged free, some even sunk to the bottom of lakes, wrapped in indestructible plastic cases named Tupperware. These were the stories that should not be forgotten, the stories that were read to children before bedtime, passed down generation to generation, to remind them of both the good and bad in the world, and that dreams were possible, anything was possible if you believed. Great knights roamed in Rapunzel's story, fairy god mothers conquered all in Cinderella, and evil witches spied the innocent in Snow white and the seven dwarfs. These worlds knew nothing of life without dreams, without beauty and love, they could not exist without these things. We did, or do I should say. 

Friendships, groups, get togethers, whatever you might call them, are not encouraged, infact they bring about great frowns that will get you sent away, or perhaps even worse blacklisted, a list for all those who are to be watched closely, until they trip up just slightly. I guess you could say it's almost like returning to the dark ages, when people were drawn, quartered, dragged down the street, and witch hunted only to be drowned if they were innocent. Except at least back then they had the knights of the round table, and king arthur to look up to. Now we can only stare up to the sky, and imagine worlds that we could never write down, never tell a soul. It's a lonely world it is, oh so lonely at times when all you wish is to escape to your imagination but cannot for fear of being caught dreaming, simply dreaming. I don't remember if dreaming was ever a basic human right, but it should have been, but who could have predicted this. Nobody. 

By now I probably have you pondering, well if books are banned, then are people even literate anymore? Well to answer that thought, yes of course, because society still needs its teachers for its own purpose, and to communicate, we still have email, closely monitored of course, and the internet is no longer built upon by the entire world, it is now exclusively produced by those that have all the power, for the sole reason of feeding us mind numbing propaganda. My great grandmother spoke of memories of a time when you were free to write, to post anything your heart wanted on the screen, how incredible this must have been, I know that I would have made every single word count, as counted as the words you say before your die, the last few that everyone judges an entire lifetime upon, believing they can read some kind of message in that short sentence of perhaps the after life. Belief is something you can never take away from someone. I know this for sure, and I will take it with me to the end.

Author's Note

....Just a start - not even a chapter really, I'm quite bad at starting stories and not thinking they're good enough to carry on, so I thought it was time to get another persons opinion on whether it deserves to be continued. Thanks!

Reviews

[fireblossom]

You are on to something here. This seems more like a treatment or as you allude and early draft. I am interested in the topic and tone...keep working on this.