Freedom In My Sentence

Last week, while washing my hands, I had the disturbing thought “I want to live slower.” I don’t typically have such jarring thoughts pop into my head during working hours, so I scrubbed a bit harder, hoping it would somehow also purify my mind. “Everything is too--”

This was interrupted by the siren that signaled the disposal was complete (which I usually like to sync with the completion of my hand-washing). Being a creature of obedience, the siren was more comforting than the disruptive thoughts. I quickly rinsed the rest of the soap and went on to the next birthing chamber.

“Everything all right in there?” chirped my lieutenant supervisor.

“Yes, just a standard mutation. I discarded the embryo and will be rejecting the parents’ application.”

“Good. Keep The Unified Governance of Earth proud.”

“Of course,” I assured.

To be honest, I actually like working at the International New Births Center. I enjoy the dry and warm air of the chambers, and the cafeteria is fantastic. The repetition of scanning stage-1 humans in their artificial birthing chambers doesn’t bother me, nor does the hunting for irregularities. In fact, I’m usually humming through the disposal process.

But on this day, the day of my no-good thoughts, I came across case 6-3-1-1-7-7, which developed into a bit of a dilemma.

I had opened the artificial chorion and scanned the amniotic chamber (like normal), to find what appeared to be two bodies (not normal). I resisted the urge to ask for help because I knew another interaction with a lieutenant might flag an efficiency penalty. So I used my handheld scanner to run another check.

Definitely a mutation.

I shuffled over to this particular birthing room’s main system computer. Glancing down at the suspicious pod, I whispered the birthing code as my fingers drummed along: 6-3 then 1-1-7 then the final 7, stroking the keys with an even cadence that may have felt like two distinct three letter words. I found the file.

“Judy and Tristin Tucker; request for procreation approved on February 12th, 2257; low risk of mutation; appropriate population density in parents’ region; correct IQ range prediction; health coefficient stable. Application and fetus terminated on February 18th, 2257. Reason for disposal: zygotic splitting.”

My breathing sharpened. Clearly the computer had missed something, so I rushed to manually shut it down.

I understood from training that the government couldn’t properly scan the genetic codes of our population if two people were running around with the same DNA. It was a security risk. And I vaguely remembered hearing that the UGE had all twins removed from Earth shortly after the unified race was approved in 2110.

And I get it...the system exists to protect all humans from not only disease, but also from physical mutations--which I know has historically caused differences in something a bit scarier: beliefs. Therefore, it is my proud civic duty to make sure no incorrect births make it outside our facility’s walls, because one small mutation in skin color, or one rebel twin unable to be traced, or even one brain wired a little too differently could start a movement that could wind up leading to a full-fledged war.

I try to remind myself often: it’s for the greater good to have one approved religion, one approved language, one approved wardrobe, and one approved race. As they always say, “for everyone’s protection.” Irregularities in the birthing process, like what I stumbled across last week with 6-3-1-1-7-7, pose a serious threat to the system.

I understood all of that, and still do. But what brought on my dilemma was wondering how the INBC of the UGE, which hadn’t made a mistake in hundreds of years, suddenly let this disposal go wrong. Why now? How did someone report a successful disposal, but left the chamber full of twins?

My body pulled back toward the developed embryos’ container. I peeled open the lid and layers of encasement. I paused, entranced by the taut webs of the babies’ pulsing skin, and moved to check on the rhythm of my own heart. We don't usually have to see them before starting the elimination process. I let out a tear, but only because I knew I needed to go through with the disposal.

I would like to confirm for the UGE’s investigation that I did in fact run the disposal.

I did not keep the babies, and the only residue they have found on my shirt and bag must have been from me holding them briefly, for which I apologize.

I did not bring the infants home, and I certainly did not give the babies to my wife, who I understand has since gone missing. I am just as concerned as the UGE to discover her whereabouts.

I am, however, profoundly grateful to the correctional system for providing me this opportunity to process the unproductive thoughts. Upon reflection, I know it was a lesser developed part of my brain that wanted to see these babies as more alive than myself.

Admittedly, removing these stage-1 humans from their pod, and holding them close to my chest, brought back the thoughts of time. I noticed things went slower in this hysteria. And I started having more and more unhealthy thoughts that I would like to correct. At that moment, it felt like certain things speed up my perception of time. Work felt like one of those things, like my mind wants to fast-forward through the dull ache.

This feeling of time speeding up spiraled into a wondering of what might, in fact, slow my life down. I had this radical longing for art and for love as an answer. Of course, I’ve only heard stories of the unapproved artistic process and how it can lead to dangerous manipulation of thought. And I’ve never practiced it at home, and certainly have never encouraged my daughter, Odin, in any artistic way because I know how deadly the thinking it creates can become. I imagine it might even produce thoughts that sound not too far from my own, because my dangerous thoughts--that I would like to release and correct--sounded like this:

The forbidden act of creating art must require a slowing of time. It must be freeing. It must crack at this system of control. And it is feared because it is a path to one’s own truth. A truth much deeper than what’s taught by the Unified Governance of Earth. It comes from a higher origin, and cannot be controlled.

I am then reminded of my Odin. And how I couldn’t even hold her when she first entered the world. I had to wait for her to go through the initial years of government-run societal prepping. I remember her finally entering the walls of my home--and heart--at the age of five. How she had something unique to her, a bit defiant. How she held onto the urge to draw and write well into her teen years. Her desire to do so now feels as natural as twins. And whatever emotions surfaced within me while holding those little newborns must be sort of what art used to feel like.

The thinking continued to grow from topics of art and family to questioning more about the nature of our universal government:

Those who escape from the government’s protection and resources have gone against completely unnatural and arbitrary rules. They, despite not having the protection of modern society and convenience, are likely living freely. And perhaps this programmed life, with all of its bumpers on our perspective, isn’t worth living--that’s why my brain wants to fast-forward. Perhaps the old way of life they paint to be deadly, with all of its war, division, art and broken dreams was ultimately worth it. Perhaps there is a juiciness to the darkness, and a growth that comes from conflict.

After all, my first truly conflicting moment in my life was my slowest and most fully lived. This alteration of time must be a signal of importance. I felt present the day I discovered 3-6-1-1-7-7, even as the guards took me into custody for investigation after discovering I shut off the room’s computer. In the moments of the UGE removing me from my home, I felt more alive than the 43 years of routine prior.

Maybe we need conflict to grow. And if conflict (which was taught to be so threatening) actually engulfed me in a numbingly beautiful wave of presence, perhaps, so too would everything else our government warns against.

That perhaps this one race has been dried of its exterior conflict but robbed of its humanity.

I am now grateful to have this opportunity to correct my dangerous thinking, after releasing it. I'd like to express gratitude to the UGE for letting me warn my daughter, Odin, of the dangers of a wandering mind. And for allowing me to express my trust for the UGE's correctional abilities.

Dearest Odin, I am thanking our loving government that is permitting the encoding of this reflection session onto a microchip. They have allowed me to place this chip into your heart-shaped locket for you to hold as a reminder. Whenever you need, you can scan this to hear the story of why I must leave you to face the penalty for my actions. If we never see each other again, we can both be grateful to the government for letting us at least have this moment.

Listen to this as often as you need to figure out my advice for how to be free.

I know you will remember how obedient I strive to be. And how one slip-up like this should result in correctional action. I know you wouldn’t dare run off to find your mother in the hopes that the banished lifestyle is more freeing than the comfort of the UGE. I know you have worked too hard to overcome your rebellious, artistic spirit. You wouldn’t listen to your old ways of being, or run into the unknown natural world. You wouldn't even know where to go, because I know your mother never told you of this world. I know you wouldn’t have it in you to raise a pair of twins as your own with your mother and the others, if there are any. I know there's maybe a small part of you that might think running away would give you a taste of what it truly means to be alive, but I trust there is a larger--and wiser--side of you that knows your assigned role is safer. Fleeing would be utter insanity, right? I know you value the hard work of the UGE and the safety it provides. And, like me, you don’t mind a quick and safe life. And you wouldn’t ever question a government that purposely planted a mistake to test its employees’ allegiance, because you know in your heart this means your government cares. They couldn’t have anything to hide. Odin, I also know you would I have nothing to hide either. There must have been a miscalculation for the total body count from the disposal that day. That I surely disposed of both twins.

And dearest Odin, I want you to really pay attention to me when I say I also know in my sentencing, I will find freedom. Can you? I’m confident you won’t find any irregularities for case 6-3 1-1-7 7 for my sentences...

trUst Rules.

Never dOubt.

comply With them.

Trust whatever sentencing they give me. Be grateful the government approved this message. Sweet Odin, do what you know is best.

Love you naturally,

Dad