Every morning I walk the dusty path to the city gates. Every morning I see the same guards wearing the same uniforms, clutching the same weapons, sporting the same scowls. The looks of disgust deepen on their brows as I draw nearer. My face remains a blank slate, but inside I writhe with anger at their prejudice toward me.
Here’s the problem with our society— there is a barrier separating my people from the “Luckies.” I don’t just mean education barriers, or economic barriers, or even sanitary barriers, although those are very much present, too. What I mean is the physical separation between the Luckies and the Unluckies. We, the Unluckies, have to go through so many obstacles and trials before we can even get a permit to step foot within the gates that keep us from their golden city. I know this because I had to get a permit so that I could work there.
The jobs in our pathetic shantytown aren’t much of an opportunity, but sometimes I wonder if it is even worth the better pay to go inside; every day I step through those gates and the guards treat me as if I am some miscreant dog who they’ve never seen before. The same goes for those citizens who have the horrible misfortune to look upon me— I stand out because of the crimson uniform we are required by law to wear.
My mom told me that a long time ago the Unluckies were removed from the city by an unnatural selection, one that was likely based on economic standing, or perhaps a feud. I’ve even heard rumors about a drug trade. Since that time, though, the Unluckies have lived in our shantytown a bit removed from the city walls. We have our own small businesses and schools, but everything is highly regulated by the Council.
I’ve never seen this council before; when I was smaller, my brother tried to tell me that it was made up, and that the Luckies secretly governed themselves. But I believe they are real.
Their job is officially to maintain the city; specifically it is to keep us out. But they have another unspoken purpose—they are supposed to justify to us the repression of the Unluckies; to make us believe that they are special, and that we are just trash.
Today it is easier to bear the glances of hatred I receive as I walk through the city. Recently, I discovered a hidden talent; who would have thought that I—an insignificant Unlucky—would have the talent for insurrection?
But as surprising as it may be, I have turned out to be a very effective revolutionary leader. The Unluckies are no longer content to be looked down upon by the Luckies as we struggle to survive. For generations, we had been treated as subpar citizens, no subpar humans, who didn’t have the same rights as the Luckies.
Going into the cramped and dingy edifice where I do menial tasks every day for small pay, I had to hold in my smirk. This morning I will servilely aide the Luckies. But last night was the beginning of the end of it all…
“For so long, injustice has been the norm in our foul, corrupt society, but no more! I am hungry for some unrest, and I imagine you are as well. We will push this insurrection beyond a peaceful protest, because we want them to understand us. They will begin to speak our language. Because as I know, and as you know, we are not mere droplets in an ocean. We are the ocean.”
Tonight, we will start a revolution.
With insurrectional tendencies,
PS. This is just the first draft. Hopefully it will increase in epicosity.