FFF #8
He ran through dark woods. Looking over his shoulder he saw the dark shape of his pursuer flitting in and out of the trees. He stumbled. He picked himself back up with arms that oozed blood. He knew he could never run fast enough or far enough, he knew his flight was futile. But the horror behind him could inspire no other response. He stumbled again; this time his arms gave out from under him when he tried to push himself up. It came closer. The last thing he saw was its dark cowl, bending over his prone body.

Waiting

Everyone held their breath, some in anticipation, and some in fear. All stared expectantly at the woman in the front of the room. Waiting for her to smack the table and begin the proceedings. The names of those chosen for hiatus were about to be called. I didn’t know what I was feeling. How could I? There were a thousand rumors and no hard facts. No basis from which to develop an emotional response. People whispered about it, about the selection process and about what it meant. Some people said the selection process was random. Some said a committee made the decisions. The more paranoid said you were chosen when you spoke out against the government. The government always seems to inspire these conspiracy theories, and the one thing that was certain was that the government controlled it. Some believed that the most powerful machine in the world made the decision. A thousand books had been written, all with different theories. All made their authors, if not millionaires, very rich men.
No one knew what happened once they were chosen. They nodded, left the hall with a look of joy or dread on their face, and to outsiders it seemed they carried on their normal life. Yet not quite their normal life, something was different. Everyone disagreed on what that was. There was a change, and a thousand people had a thousand ideas of what changed. Of course there were those that argued that there was no change other than the one society expected to see and saw. No one who knew someone who’d been chosen paid them much heed. Those who were chosen never spoke of it. They would deny it when asked, despite the lists that everyone has access to. They continued to be asked, though, because those who had been chosen inevitably rose high. The ambitious prayed for their names to be called. They tried to determine who to bribe, who to get to know, so that today they would hear their name would be spoken. The fearful or content also tried to determine who to bribe, who to talk to, with an opposite goal in mind. I didn’t know which group I belonged in. It didn’t matter. They didn’t care if you wanted it or not. They didn’t care how much money you paid. They couldn’t be influenced by a short conversation in a crowded room. They chose who they wished, when they wished. They chose me.