Chatterbox: Inkwell

Story I wrote.

This is a story I wrote for an imaginative essay for comp. class. It was only supposed to be 4 pages and be double spaced but it ended up being 7 pages, 12 point font, and not double spaced... Woopsies. ;) But my wonderful teacher accepted it anyway. :) There was a lot more I wanted to add, but I was supposed to keep it as small as possible. So, feedback will be forever loved and cherished. ;) Oh, and tittle suggestions would be great! So, here it is :) And there's an ending I'm thinking of adding that I did add for my class, but it's pretty cheesy and lame so I'm leaving it off for now...

The hunger gnawed away at my stomach as the warm Californian Spring sun peeked its head above the mountains that cast their huge shadows over my town.  I willed the line to move faster as my stomach emitted a loud growl.  The main street of my town was filled with white vans, government workers inside, all handing out hunger tablets. Posters covered the vans, boasting about how wonderful the tablets were and how dangerous real food was. According the posters, our food had been genetically altered and was the cause of autism, cancer, diabetes, and just about any other incurable disease.              

Although the eyes of each person in line were sunken, their figures lean, it was nothing compared to a few months before.  I shivered as I remembered the sight of them, what I had seen every time I looked in the mirror: just skeletons with skin.  That was before the hunger tablets had come.            

In a matter of days, food prices had skyrocketed.  A gallon of milk cost 120 dollars, and a loaf of bread cost 200. Who could afford that?  Then the diseases came.  We were plagued by mad cow disease, rabies, and just about everything else.  In just a few weeks, all our crops were dead and so were our food-producing animals.  That was when the hunger had started, the hunger that had been my constant companion for weeks on end.  Then the government had waltzed in with their miracle pills, the hunger tablets, or, as they called them, Nutra-Good.  They tasted like nothing and dissolved in a few seconds.  Not exciting, but they filled you up instantly.  Most were relieved to finally have something to eat- if you could call it “eating”- but I was too curious.  True to the journalist I was, I had to start investigating these strange cures for hunger.           

I’d always had an easy time getting information out of people.  Early on in my career, I figured out that it’s all in my shockingly bright blue eyes.  Opened wide and innocent, I was found easy to trust.  Bat my eyelashes and they were distracted into telling me all I needed to know.  Give them an unwavering stare and they couldn’t help but blurt it out as little beads of sweat broke out on their forehead. It had all been easy, until now.  Every door I’d tried had been shut, and none of my tricks had worked.  All I had found was that the tablets had been created by government scientists and were perfectly balanced, the right amount of calories, vitamins, proteins, everything.  The obscurity of it all had just made me that much more determined to find out what was going on.           

Finally, I realized I was focusing too much on the pill, how it was created, why they didn’t cost anything, why the government was so eager to give them out.  Instead of finding out about the pills, I needed to find out why they were needed in the first place. Why had food prices been driven so high? After an exhausting search and numerous dead-end interviews, I found out why: all food-producing companies had suddenly been bought by eight monster-companies, industries that must have been billionaires.  My long fingers danced along the keyboard, furiously trying to find out more about these companies. Just as I was about to click on the link I was positive held what I needed, my computer let out a groan and crashed, oblivious to my screech of rage and fists pounding on the ancient desk that sat in my family’s office. The computer just wasn’t the same now that dad wasn’t here to fix it. My sister, Claire who, at 18, was younger than me by three years called me from the other room.           

“Aileen, what is it this time?” My sister sounded unconcerned, as she was used to my temper.  Claire is as sweet and quiet as I am quick tempered.  She has a sleek mane of golden hair, eyes the color of green olives and is a sprinter through and through.  I, however, have waves of fierce auburn hair, bright, intense, blue eyes, and have been dancing since I was four.           

“I- I just- Nothing.” I sighed as a brought my knees up to my chest and laid my head on them.  After a few moments I uncurled myself, stretched out my strong muscles, and slipped out of them room.  The cool metal of the phone felt good in my hands as I picked it up and dialed the operator. I was going to find out about those companies if it was the last thing I did.           

Two day later I sat in the office of Glendale Inc., waiting for Ms. Bailey, who I had been told would meet me. The door of the office opened and in stepped a woman dressed all in black with a government logo on her jacket.           

“I hear you’re quite curious about Glendale Inc.,” she said. I gave her a quick appraisal. She had bleached blonde hair, mean brown, nearly black, eyes, and a small mouth that, at the moment, curled down with disdain.           

“Yes, I am.”           

“I’m sorry, but anything not on the internet is not public information.” She looked anything but sorry as she motioned for me to leave.           

“Thank you for your time.” I stood and walked out of the room, trying to look disappointed.  In truth, I had found another piece to the puzzle I was slowly assembling. The results of my investigation, however, made no sense. Every single company that had purchased the food was government-run. They were filled with government workers.           

My mind raced with a thousand questions. Why would the government go to the trouble of buying all the food and then just give out pills to stop the hunger? Why would they buy the food and charge such high prices in the first place?           

I drove home and opened my stash of chocolate that I had kept for years. It’s my guilty pleasure. Sure, Nutra-Good keeps you full, but nothing got me thinking like chocolate. I didn’t know what I would do when I ran out, and that was why I only ate it when I really needed to think. A sigh escaped my as lips it began melting in my mouth.  Out of my purse I grabbed my reporting journal and filled it out as I enjoyed my treat. The small chunk was almost completely dissolved and I had just finished recording all my current findings when my idea came: infiltration. That was the only thing left, the only thing that could get me what I wanted. The companies wouldn’t trust any but their own. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?           

I stood up from the rickety chair that sat in our dimly lit kitchen and hurried into my parent’s old bedroom. The bedroom was as cold and lifeless as the day my parents had died. Claire and I had lost both of them about five years ago, in a freak plane crash. My father, a government computer analyst, along with my mother, had been on the way to a computer tech convention when the plane had gone down. They had specified no guardian for me and Claire so, with a few well thought out lies, I had managed to avoid anyone invading our home to care for us. We had managed on our own ever since.

The infiltration had been easy. No one questioned the uniform I wore. They obviously felt completely safe. So safe, in fact, one of the workers left their computer on with a file displayed on the screen while he left for lunch. The file held the list of countries that would soon face the same food shortage and diseases that we had and the dates our government would arrive in their countries. The file held plans, the plans to take over the world. The government was planning to take over the world. It sounded immature, childish, like a cheesy book you’d read in grade school, but it was real. Determined not to let a single detail slip, I immediately opened my journal and scribbled down my findings. My head whirled with all that I found. They wanted to take over the world. The government that had ruled my country since before anyone could remember wanted to take over the world and all with a simple pill.            

The plan was simple; they would be heroes for saving the human population from starvation, obesity, and the supposed “danger” of actual food. They would be the ones to end hunger forever. The pill was easy and cheap to mass-produce, and they were happy to give it away. After all, who wouldn’t trust the people who had saved the starving of the world? Once they had ended starvation in all the third world countries, they were sure it would be easy to conquer the others. They planned on asking the once-starving countries to do them a “small favor”: become their allies. Once the defeat was over, they would have all of humanity under their control. After buying all the food and setting loose the diseases, they would only need to threaten to withhold the hunger tablets and they would be instantly obeyed. Those who didn’t obey would starve to death. They would essentially become the masters of all others in the world. One single government and all the citizens would be slaves.            

I couldn’t let this happen. I had to do something. My frantic mind spouted ideas, but none of them I could do alone. Then it hit me. I was a reporter. If I wrote it up in an article, I could surely get it to one of my publisher friends. It would be easy and then it would be published for everyone to see!           

A sharp knock on the door startled me out of my dreaming. I slipped the journal once again into my coat pocket, just in case, and opened the door. My heart leapt into my throat at what I saw. Two men dressed in government uniforms stood on my porch, glaring at me.           

“Miss Aileen?” the taller of the two asked, his voice a growl.           

“Y-Yes.” I swallowed loudly.           

“You’ve asked too many questions, questions to things you shouldn’t be asking about.”           

“What are you talking about?” I tried my best to look innocent, but they weren’t buying it.           

“You’ll need to come with us.” The shorter one flashed a shiny badge in my face to show his authority. “You can choose to come peacefully, or we can end it here.” He slid his hand along his throat as if cutting into it. They were going to kill me if I refused.           

It felt unreal, moments ago I had been so close to revealing this farce, and now I was being hauled away, maybe killed, and no one knew. They were too big and I was cornered. My heart raced as I stepped out the door and shut it softly behind me. The two men took a hold of my arms, one on each side, holding right above my elbows. We walked toward their car and were nearly there when I made my move. Glancing to the mountain behind me and saying a prayer under my breath, I tensed my strong legs and then leapt up. Using my years of dance training, I landed neatly on one of each man’s feet, thrusting my elbows into their chests at the same time. As their grip momentarily loosened, I ripped myself free and took off, adrenaline pumping. I ran into the small patch of trees behind my house, their following footsteps pounding in my ears.           

I reached the foot of the mountain and faltered in my steady run. A dark black hole loomed in front of me. With a quick breath, I plunged into the darkness, not waiting for my eyes to adjust. I trailed my right hand along the sharp side of the rock tunnel, praying for a tunnel to open up that I could turn down.            

My heartbeat pounded in my ears, the thundering drum my searing legs kept time to as I raced through the rocky tunnels.  I heard their footsteps echoing behind me, tapping closer and closer. My breath came in gasps as I thought about how odd it was that I had no problem with a four hour dance performance, but when it came to running I was exhausted immediately. Raw and stinging from the constant grind of rock as I felt for an exit, my hands finally felt the side of the tunnel give way to the cool air of another passage.  I darted through the opening, sure that I had at last found the tunnel out.  Instead, after just a few long strides, I ran straight into a wall, a dead end.  Blood dripped slowly down from a cut above my eyes, staining my auburn hair an even brighter red and landing on my tongue as I gasped for breath, the metallic taste making me sick.  I spit and shoved my hands into my thin coat, reaching for the cause of the terror that now overwhelmed my mind: my journal.  Like every good journalist I carried it with me everywhere, but I wasn’t here in search of a story.  I was here, being hunted, because of what I knew, what I had discovered. The plans for the government’s world takeover filled the pages of my journal. They were too close. I had nowhere to run. My shaking fingers pulled out a pencil and I scrawled a last note onto the pages of my journal. I felt along the wall for a big enough crack and, after several desperate moments, I found one. I stuffed the journal into the crevice just as the two men rounded the corner, the glaring flashlights they held in their hand momentarily blinding me.           

“That’s it.” One of them snarled and grabbed my arms, his nails cutting into my skin as he snapped handcuffs onto my wrists. As they dragged me from the small cavern, a line of a poem by TS Eliot I had memorized long ago came back to me. “This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang, but with a whimper.” This was how my life was to end. I wasn’t to be a great hero, the one who saved the world; I was to die alone with no one knowing what I had discovered or why I had died. A lone tear dripped down my face, mixing with the still-wet blood, as I thought about poor Claire, completely alone in the world now.           

A small sliver of hope invaded my mind as I thought about the journal that was hidden inside the cave. Perhaps someone would find it, maybe Claire. Claire was brave. Claire could save them. I watched as one of the men slid a silver dagger out of his belt, and I knew my life was at its end.