Unique. Different. Special. Gifted. None were words used in The Utopia. Everyone was equal, everyone shared the work. If you were particularly gifted at a skill, you were forbidden to practice it. The Po-Utopian who was skilled at whittling stone into works of art was made to work at the Great Waterworks. Meanwhile, the Ga-Utopian learned in the art of chemistry was sent to whittle the stones into crude forms of art. In this way, no Utopian was better than another. They were all equally unskilled at their given trade. Given was the only word. Not chosen, nor inherited. It was assigned, but by who, no one knew. All job assignments were passed out by a different Peacekeeper bi-annually. If a Utopian was found to begin learning their given trade too well, they were sent to do another. In this way, all Utopians were equal. The Onu-Utopian was just as bad at hydroponics as the Ta-Utopian was at gardening.
Over all of this watched the Grand Utopian Empire and their many Peacekeepers. Behind closed doors, small cells of dissidents pinned the number of Peacekeepers to being nearly equal to those of an average Utopian. Of course, no Utopian was above average, nor were they even technically average. They were all equally below-average. All Utopians Equal, All Utopians Together. The phrase every young Utopian learned in Utopian Allegiance School, where all Utopians spent the first fourteen years of their life, disconnected from all but the School and the Empire.
All Utopians Equal, All Utopians Together. If you couldn't say that without so much as thinking, a death penalty was almost assured. Lack of patriotism was almost as bad as treachery in the eyes of the Empire. Of course, death was the Empire's form of a merciful punishment. No one knew what happened to those found guilty of treachery, but those that stepped out of the Correctional Facility were never the same. They would walk around with eyes glazed over, occasionally mumbling the phrase 'All Utopians Equal, All Utopians Together' over and over. They worked like robots, and could never speak in complete sentences. Yet, they never had a mark on their body. Seeing these Corrected, as they were called, was sufficient to make traitors think twice.
Of course, there was happiness in Utopia. Sometimes they would have sporting events at the Arena, where Corrected would be pitted against vicious animals and even other Corrected. It was always quite entertaining, watching one Corrected gouge another Corrected's eyes out. Of course, the winner is put down on the field, since it would be far too dangerous to introduce it into the Utopian population again. None felt remorse for them, since they were the only beings considered Sub-Utopian. Even the animals were valued above them.
But of the typical Utopian, their day consisted of their morning meal, a workout in the Common Areas, then off to work. There, you worked for six hours before taking your noon meal, and then returning to work for another six to eight hours. You then returned home, where you were free to do whatever you pleased, so long as you obeyed the lengthy Book of Home, Work, Play, And Thought Laws. It was through that book that many Utopians had been sentenced guilty of treachery. Oddly enough, all trials ended one of two ways: treachery or lack of patriotism. No one who went to court ever walked out free. Therefore, Utopians did all they could to obey the Book of Laws, as it was called for short. For instance-
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
“Ugh...” The Utopian sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. His dreams had been fitful, and he didn't feel like telling them to the Dream Recorder. But of course, he must. Once in a while, he would lie and say he didn't dream, but he only dared to say it when he couldn't remember most of the dream. He had no idea how they could, but he was sure they knew if he lied. Lying, of course, was considered treachery. It kind of made sense, since-
The tube lights on his ceiling boomed as they turned on, and began buzzing incessantly once they had come on.
“UTOPIAN 4891, GET UP!” the speaker across the room blared.
“I'm up, I'm up...” the Ta-Utopian muttered, rubbing his eyes again. He hadn't meant to fall back to sleep. Looking up at the clock, he groaned. He was late for morning meal. He would have to give an excuse, and he just knew he would end up seeing the Dream Recorder because of it.
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Edited by Jinklemeister, Mar 19 2012 - 09:54 PM.