The morning was a cold and foggy morning; John stepped out of his home, if you can consider a former garage door with wooden boarding a home, to see how his carrots were doing. The carrot leaves were forming ice on them; John began to water them. He had very little water, but he needed those carrots to survive. He set out to the market to trade a bag of oranges for some meat. He put a padlock on the gate of his garden and walked quite slowly along the broken and cracked sidewalk.
Along the way, he saw some men carrying rifles. He gave John a piercing glare, as if he was staring into his soul. John knew he was no threat, and continued; he passed many deserted houses and buildings along the way. John saw a family around a fire, and a dog with three legs. He felt pity for them, but he quickly reminded himself that he wasnât in the best situation either.
John arrived to the market. There he saw men lying on the floor, begging for food. He saw children's destroyed faces, as if they had lived a whole life time, but were in the body of small children. He wandered to a stall where meat was being sold. The vendor had a bit of grey stubble, along with long, grey hair. He had a cane and limped when he was walking over to cut the veal into slices. John took the wrap of meat and left the market for his home.
John decided to take a different path, away from the armed men and shattered family. He spotted a sign that showed a picture of Stalin and read "THE AMERICAN DREAM HAS BEEN RECOGNIZED" under it. There was a door above it; for some reason, John decided to enter, assured that he wouldn't encounter anything dangerous. There was a dark room containing the silhouettes of a chair, a desk, and a lamp. He flipped the switch of a lamp and it flickered a bit before dying down. John spotted a body lying on the floor. There was no blood spilt nor was there anything near him. At first, John thought he was unconscious, but upon further observation, he was indeed dead. John didnât think anything of it, as he encounters many people lifeless due to starvation. A few metres away from the cadaver, was another door. John opened it and found the armed men with rifles. John was stunned, at first, but suddenly, he found himself on the floor looking up at a man with black hair. The man looked at John as if he was an alien, but then grabbed his hair and picked John up and set him on a chair.
"What is your business here, fool?" asked the man in a chill, raspy voice that could pierce armor.
"I am just- I was just wondering what was in this building. I love a few blocks over and I never knew what went in on here," replied John, nervous at first, but easing up as he completed the his explanation.
"Get this intruder into the cell," ordered the man with the black hair to his fellows.
They took John into a small room; probably used to be a storage room. John decided it would be best to close his eyes and sleep on the cold, concrete ground. He woke up and found that he was in a different room. While he was there, John walked around the room thinking to himself how he got into this situation. He began to think about his parents, and when he was a child. How everything was so peaceful, and everyone had enough of everything, food, water, and a warm house. John was miserable. John was trying to understand how he had survived the transition from wealth to poverty. It was still a mystery for John. He had trouble remembering what had happened. A few minutes later, the men had stepped inside the room and commanded John to get up and follow them; he did so. They took him outside, and walked a few blocks before entering another building. This building was a few stories higher than the first. It lacked the sign that the first one had, though. John entered and was surprised to find that there were even more armed men, but these men were arguing.
"Socialism will lead to Communism!" shouted one man.
"Capitalism is what made America so successful, forming a Capitalist republic is what is best," stated another.
"This is what we are doing," explained the man with black hair. "We are trying to organize this decimated and impoverished place into a civil society. Our intentions are good, but we have trouble managing people to listen to us. You seem to be an average man who is trying all he can to survive. You are also young, and strong. I am approaching the age of fifty, and my strength is deteriorating. I cannot wait to do this, so I need you to assist me very much. What are your beliefs? What is your religion? What do you want to happen?"
"I believe that all men should have a life, and that people should help others. I just want some help, I don't like solitude, and I think you should organize people into groups to farm," answered John.
"CORRUPTION!" exclaimed one man.
"Silence, Phillip!" ordered the leader of this so-called croup. "I understand you, but the men here are afraid that that would mean having a hierarchy, giving some people power. We think that will lead to corruption, but we need a way to give everyone equal amounts of power. You provide us no new suggestions nor any reliable information. Take this fool to his home and give him some bread for his trouble."
John tried to contest but he was grabbed by his hair again and shoved out the door. He was guided to his broken home and was constantly trying to say something, but the words escaped his grasp. John stayed in his home all day. He didn't eat. He didn't read. He didn't do anything. John was wondering if he should show back up at the building where the revolutionaries were. John knew he couldn't help them, but he longed to go back. John picked up the piece of bread and decided that he would at least eat it. He then left his home and walked the path to the building.
