FUTURE CANADA: a cautionary tale

The burgers, hot dogs, steaks, and sausages are made of human flesh now. When I got drunk on Polish vodka, I vomited all of that putrid partially-digested humanity in the toilet, on the floor, and in a cooking pot. The disabled and euthanized are cut up after death, their dead bodies turned into all sorts of grocery store items by desperate poverty-stricken butchers on the brink of starvation. This is how we live in Canada in the year 2029.

"Did you hear about how the new Communist government in America wants to invade Canada?"

When my only surviving friend told me this, I felt overcome by a profound sense of anxiety intermixed with euphoria. I couldn't speak. All I could do was shake my head from side to side as if I were burdened with a nervous motor tic.

"Stop that or they'll kill you too."

With each passing year, people have become more and more afraid to say what they really think or believe, even in hushed tones with friends or relatives. To make matters worse, the most popular authority on sanity and normality (the DSM-6) has four hundred twenty mental illnesses and disorders.

All that needs to happen now is for someone to label or report you as fitting into one (or more) of those four hundred twenty diagnoses, and you are suddenly at significant risk of being forcibly euthanized, especially since there aren't enough hospital beds or psychiatrists for everyone with personality disorders and mental illnesses, and the prevailing view now is that the mentally ill are counterrevolutionary, lumpenproletariat, antisocial, et cetera.

"My mother is disabled now," my friend confided in me. "I'm taking care of her, but sometimes I'm worried about what will happen if they find out."

"We can talk about this later," I told him. My paranoia had reached a fever pitch, and since literally everyone had an i-PhoneX now, we were all being tracked; and anyone who left home without it was vulnerable to being imprisoned or executed.

"You're my only friend."

"You still have your mother."

"I know that," he said with a sudden break in his voice, "but other than her, you're the only other person I can talk to."

"I'm sorry, but I have to go now." I quickly walked away, feeling a profound sense of relief. I needed to find my girlfriend. Maybe she might have some decent food at her place, I thought.

I hadn't eaten for several days, but in spite of the hunger pangs that were torturing me as I walked, I couldn't get rid of the thoughts about all the rumors I had been hearing at the hospital I worked in. A middle-class white woman (a fellow physician) was waxing indignant about anyone who complains about a lack of human rights, and that she's thrilled that she has the power to exterminate useless and obnoxious people like that now. She looked a bit chubby and clearly well-fed.

"I know it's wrong," I suddenly talked to myself out loud, "but I sometimes wish I could live like her."

"Watch it," a morose-looking officer said as he walked past me. This jolted me awake from my nocturnal woolgathering, and I could now see that there was some sort of protest happening here at the plaza.

A fat, ugly, monstrous man shouted at one of the undernourished, skeletal protesters: "Why won't you just die of some disease, you useless piece of trash!?"

When I saw that he had raised his fist against the reed-thin protester who could barely stand up straight, I rushed to defend the poor young woman. I still felt some lingering strength in my body from the many hours and days I had spent at the gym. I sucker punched and tackled him to the ground.

"What are you doing?!" a government officer screeched. Before I knew what hit me, my arms were pulled behind my back, my wrists were handcuffed, and I was hauled into a police van.

"What's your profession?" the officer asked me as he drove in the direction of some awful detention and interrogation center I had never seen before.

"I'm a doctor."

"Don't you understand your responsibility and duty to the nation as a member of the bourgeois and privileged professional managerial class?"

"No, I'm starving," I replied, as I sat uncomfortably in the backseat and occasionally saw other men getting handcuffed and arrested all over this fine city. "Maybe we could make some sort of quid-pro-quo deal?"

"Like what?" he asked as he parked the van by the detention and interrogation center.

I didn't say anything; I didn't want to think anymore: I was too hungry and scared. I couldn't even fantasize of escape as I followed him and he nonchalantly swiped his ID card at the entrance.

"I've killed many sick and disabled adults, yet there are also sick and disabled kids."

"I can't kill children," I said listlessly and weakly, as I followed him with my head down, watching his dark polished shoes, and wondering if I'll ever get out of here as I heard the harrowing screams of countless men and women reverberating throughout the labyrinthine hallways of this torture and extermination center.

As he tried to figure out the code to open a dirty green door, he explained, "You don't have to kill the ones who are really sick and weak. You can just let those starve and die, but sometimes some parents (including mothers) request that we kill their children. Maybe they're too poor, or their kids are too rebellious or disobedient. I guess sometimes people don't get abortions when they should," he said as he finally opened the door.

As I followed him into the blinding fluorescent-lit room that looked like a sterile torture chamber, I still had the audacity to tell him, "I'm sorry, I won't do that."

"One way or another, we'll decide everything about you," he said as masked men forced me onto a table and tightly bound my wrists and ankles so that they were immobile.

"What are you doing?" I screamed, but no one said anything. "What's that high-pitched wailing sound?" I asked.

"Maybe it's someone being boiled alive."

"No! You have turned our nation into Hell!" I screamed as I tried to break free from the restraints.

"Morality cannot exist without punishment," he pontificated as he grabbed a pair of surgical scissors.

The masked men undressed me as I wailed imploringly, pitifully, "Please, don't, I'll do anything!"

"Will you kill--"

"Yes, I'll do everything you want me to!" And just like that, the masked men unbound me.

"I'm glad to hear that. Now please get dressed and follow me," he commanded.

I followed him through the long interminable endless hallways until we reached a shiny red door.

"Welcome to my office," he said as I followed him in. "You're one of us now."

"If I do everything you tell me, can I start getting a better income and access to good food?" I asked as we both sat down.

"Of course! And now you can do more than just 69 with that girlfriend of yours because you now have a License to Procreate too."

"She's transgendered."

"I couldn't tell," he said, nervously fidgeting with some folders.

"Are there cameras everywhere? Don't I have any privacy at all?"

"No, we must monitor as much as we possibly can to prevent any potential harm from befalling our nation. Now, you'll report here tomorrow morning for your first assignment."

"Okay."

"And if you ever have anything interesting to report, please text me at this number," he said as he handed me his recycled cardstock business card.

I stood up and left and as I walked outside hopeful about my new life, I couldn't help but imagine that this officer who spared me must have dreamt of being a billionaire once until he settled on the powerful position he currently occupies. I dreamt of becoming a Christ-like, famous, and high-class doctor, but now all I'll ever be is a traitor to humanity.

. . .

A life-like teddy-bear head rested atop a human body--the body of a doctor. Andrei dreamt this as he slept on the left side of the bed he shared with his mother in a relatively small one-bedroom apartment. The teddy-bear doctor opened the door of the room in which Andrei was waiting and said, 'It's time . . .'

What did it mean by 'It's time,' Andrei wondered. "Time for what?"

"Are you talking about a dream?" his mother, Anna, asked as she held their favorite beloved teddy bear in her hands.

"I don't want to talk about it," Andrei said as he stood up and walked across the bed alongside the far edge closest to and horizontal with the door.

"You're my only friend. I don't have anyone else to talk to other than Teddy," Anna said as she clutched the teddy bear against her face.

"Your sister was right when she said that you remained a child," Andrei said as he took his shirt off, put on deodorant, and got dressed in his casual date clothes that he wore with virtually every guy he ever dated, including the fairly popular local English-Canadian punk-rock star, György Bush.

"Your aunt also mentioned the musty hallways of your extended childhood."

"I don't care. I'm going out on a date today," Andrei said as he quickly put on his outdoor sweatpants that a previous date, the white punk-rocker (previously mentioned) was at least somewhat dismayed by: a ripple effect of disappointments--that first crack in the icy pond of a potential romance partially caused by Andrei's poor time management, not to mention lack of focus and thoughtful consideration.

"Be careful," Anna warned him, "there's a full moon this evening."

Andrei started exercising with some weights and yelled, "It's not just a full moon: it's a blue moon. But it's not an astrological blue moon, because it's not the second full moon in the same zodiac sign; it's just a rare but ordinary...second full moon of the month."

Andrei put some black seed oil on his face as he looked into the bathroom mirror. Black seed oil served a few uses for him, and in this case he was using it as moisturizer to get rid of any dry flaky skin on his face.

Andrei ran outside to meet his date, Ivan who immediately said, "You seem like a sociopathic Russian serial killer. I'm scared."

"And you seem like a rude Canadian redneck," Andrei attempted a feeble retort. "I'm offended," he added cringingly.

"You don't have a sense of humor. You're like one of those anti-Trump RINOs in America."

"I'm just a mediocre man living in a mixed-up world. I've made so many mistakes in my life," Andrei confessed. "Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve happiness; but when you used the words 'sociopathic,' 'Russian,' and 'serial killer' to describe me, I felt chagrined and upset because I have a need for understanding and acceptance of my Russian name and individuality. If you'd ever like to discuss this topic further, could we talk about my background and personal qualities in a way that respects my feelings and needs?"

"Yes. I express my regret if my remark has caused you distress. I must clarify that it was a superficial, stereotype-laden jest, an unfortunate product of Hollywood's pervasive influence. My primary objective was never to cause you any harm, and I sincerely encourage your unreserved self-expression."

After the date, Andrei came back home and went to sleep in their only bed, with the adorable teddy bear sleeping between Anna and him...

Andrei woke up to see three men standing at the foot of the bed: one was his friend, one looked like an officer, and one was very big and muscular.

"Oh my God!" Andrei's mother yelled as she woke up and sat up in bed.

"F*** G*d! There is no G*d!" the officer shrieked. "Your sins against our Nation stink to high heaven. We're stripping you of all your opiates and illusions, and ultimately of life itself."

"What's that noise? It sounds like loud sirens."

"American Communism--it is here. Maybe U.S. would not invade us if we had nuclear bombs. I guess now it's too late."

"Remember when you said that 'morality can't exist without punishment'?" I said to the officer, our fates now at the mercy of the American Bolsheviks.