A Hard Days
Night
by Michael S.
Collins
Nine non-conformists
were found dead in their beds this morning as
part of the governments sweeping Attack on
Thought. The police said the nine, who were known
to have opinions, had been dealt with as swiftly
and as violently as possible. An eyewitness to
the event commended DCI Wilson for the Victoria
Cross for his bravery in the act of the slaughter.
“It was a
difficult job, but they are dead and that is what
is important” said Wilson. The nation
couldn’t help but agree with him, the
markets were satisfied by the job done, and the
Queen issued a statement of thanks for the brave
mans job.
Wilson
didn’t take much joy from his job, but knew
it was his duty so he kept at it like a loyal
subject. Loyal subjects do as their job demands,
and do not question their orders in any way, not
even if they seem at first glance to be contrary
to the general rules of life that are focused on
at every opportunity by the rulers of society. To
question is to invoke criticism in one’s
duties, and that is not the done thing in a
polite society. It is better to do as one is
ordered to do, and not to shirk duty nor
responsibility, and then, if the duty encouraged
to undertake is an ardous or stressful one, then,
at the end of the day, to receive comfort in a
loved ones embrace. The country would have no
issue with that, and so Wilson found comfort in a
variety of loved embraces all over the country.
DCI Wilson
read his morning newspapers over a breakfast of
cereal left to soak in the milk, which he dripped
on the paper as he ate mouthfuls. The papers
spoke highly of him, so he had bought them all to
read slowly. The best bit about the job
wasn’t the killing, it was the praise
afterwards. What was the pointing in smothering
all those people, if other people don’t turn
round and say “Good job” after?
His second
wife lay across a soft lounge sofa, flicking
carelessly between hundreds of tv channels. She
stifled a yawn, and nodded appreciatively as
Wilson read aloud his favourite bites.
“Wilson
achieved in one night what many government would
struggle to do in a lifetime. Perhaps he can be
our next government.” He read aloud with
nary a smile.
He had often
thought that he might, if forced, with a few
handshakes and pleadings, go on to stand for a
top office job in the government. But they would
have to force his hand first, or at the very
least, grease it with silver.
He continued
reading the papers, quite happily. It was a life
well lived.
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