Fatima Dasilva
Anthony Holsten
English 111
August 25, 2013
Catalyst
John closed his eyes. It was eleven o’clock at night when he closed his eyes to go to sleep. He had closed his eyes at eleven o’clock at night for the past three years. Three years ago, when he turned eighteen, his sleeping hour increased to eleven. At eighteen, they deem you an adult, and as an adult, you are required to be in bed with your eyes closed at eleven o’clock. There are no exceptions to this rule. You sleep at eleven and you awake at seven. They have determined that this pattern gives you the perfect eight hours of rest to keep all the adults functioning. Everyone from the ages of eighteen and sixty-five, all the adults in District Six, followed this rule. They have made these rules to make sure that everyone is a valuable and functioning member of the society. Even your meals are given to you, three times a day, every day. Each meal is a perfect blend of vitamins and nutrients. These meals keep you strong, fit, and focused. You do not eat to enjoy, that does not exist. You eat to survive. John has heard of people who refused to eat, or refused to sleep at sleeping hour, and people who had even refused to perform their tasks. You only hear of these people because They know everything; They see everything. And once They are aware of defiance, you disappear. This is the law and these are the rules. You follow these very simple guidelines and you get to live. However, John did not want to live. They kept his body awake and functioning, but the inside of him, his soul, that was dead. John knew that what was inside him had whittled, rotted, and died a long time ago. The only problem he faced now was getting the outside of his body to do the same. Every day for the past three years, John had done the exact same thing. He woke up at seven, got ready by eight, and walked to the factory before it opened at nine. He woke up in the same grey bed, wore his issued grey uniform, and saw the same grey sidewalk as he went to work. Everything was grey, everything was numb, and everything was dead. John contemplated ways to end the perpetual misery he felt in his heart. He became ill of the same emotions, the same images, and the same routine. He knew that death was the only way he could save his life. A yellow crocus