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Voting Day
by Jerry McGinley
It was voting day in the Republic,
the biggest holiday of the year. All citizens of Metropod
gathered in central plaza to participate in democracy. Voting was
required of all male inhabitants over the age of twenty. Female
mates and offspring were compelled to join the festivities. The
day started with a feast in which all residents received a celebratory
plate of rice, greens, and animal protein, and also toasted the
Republic with a plastic goblet of liquefied kelp laced with synthetic
sweetener. The citizenry appeared festive, but I felt out of
sorts.
After consuming the food and drink and chanting
mandatory patriotic songs, all participants joined in the ritual
dance. The four other families from my housing unit formed a team
of dancers. The males started the dance, stepping lightly to the
lilting tune of Fatherland Forever. The males moved rhythmically
to the music, knees high, toes touching lightly on the concrete
street. But I was off step and clumsy. I tried to get in
rhythm with the dance, but I awkwardly traipsed on until I drew
attention from the guardians stationed every thirty feet. “Step
right!” I heard shouted from the patrol. I struggled to fix
my movements to the beat, but my legs and feet moved at their own
command.
Suddenly, I felt the excruciating jolt of the laser
blast burning in my legs and feet. I collapsed under the fury of
the pain and lay writhing on the cold concrete. My housing unit
mates danced on, their faces filled with rage at my disgracing our
sector.
When the music ceased, I crawled to my knees and
forced myself to stand. My female mate and my offspring stood
beside me but showed no sign of compassion for that would have earned
jolts for them as well.
I siren blared signaling it was time for voting, and
all of the residents of the Metropod quickly and precisely formed a
line. Each family unit stood three abreast—citizen on the left,
female mate in the middle, and offspring to the right. The
process was orderly and perfectly still. No one spoke or diverted
their eyes from the banner hanging above the central square, with a
scowling likeness of our Supreme Ruler and the bold words: Today Our
Citizens Raise Their Voices!
The guardians handed each male citizen of voting age
a flat wooden box holding three flat stone shapes: a red square, a
green triangle, and a gray circle. When each male reached the
fronted of the line, he inserted one of the shapes into the voting
machine. To ensure an orderly election, each voter was instructed
in advance as to which shape he was to insert in the machine. I
and the other four males in my housing unit were ordered to place the
gray circle into the correspondingly shape insert in the machine.
No one ever questioned the process. It was simply the way to
maintain the integrity and effectiveness of running the government of
the Republic. It was an efficient procedure.
The voting process lasted for hours. But the
residents stood stoically in quay awaiting their turn to participate in
systematic governance. Eyes did not wander. Whispers were
not heard. Only the heavily armed guardian troops were allowed to
take eyes from the banner. These proud troopers vigilantly
scoured the crowd for any hint of dissention. There was none.
When my family unit reached the head of the line, I
stepped forward carrying my box of voting stones. My female mate
and my offspring stood behind me, oblivious, trusting. I
approached the machine, carefully fingered the smooth surface of the
gray circle, but then I inexplicably grabbed the green triangle and
shoved it into the corresponding slot on the machine.
An alarm sounded. Two guardians tackled me and
pinned me to the ground. Another guard shouted,
“Anarchist!” And instantly the entire crowd joined in a
boisterous volley of “Anarchist! Anarchist! Anarchist!”
The guardians roughly pinioned my arms behind my
back and hoisted me to my feet. As they lifted me from the ground
by my elbows, I heard and felt my shoulders snap from their sockets,
and a blinding flash of pain surged through my body. I heard a
scuffle as my female mate and my offspring were also grabbed by
guards. Within seconds the center of the plaza was cleared and my
family unit held by troopers stood alone surrounded by the throngs of
our shocked compatriots. The “Anarchist” cry had subsided and a pall of
disbelief filled the central square. I could not turn to face my
family unit, realizing that they would be equally punished for my
crime. Standing in pain and confusion, I could not remember what
had prompted me to violate sacred voting ritual. Why?
The leader of the guard quickly step forward, his
gilded uniform garnished with medals and ribbons. He glared from
beneath his tall stately hat.
“Citizen Jace, your treason is a disgrace to your
family unit, housing clan, the citizenry of the Megapod, and most
importantly to our Supreme Ruler. Such vile rebellion will not go
unpunished. Your insolence will serve as an example to all our
people.” As the Captain of the Guard finished speaking, a trooper
dressed in black, carrying a taser the size of a man’s leg, stepped
forward. He pointed the ghastly weapon at my offspring, and
without ceremony discharged a murderous jolt of energy that shook the
child’s head back and dropped him to the ground. A violent seizure
wracked his youthful body. I gasped in horror.
Then without hesitation, he turned to weapon toward
my female mate and unleashed another blast of insane voltage. I
sensed the heat radiate from her body and felt her arms thrashing
against my side as ungodly tremors shook her to the ground. I
could not look.
Then before he could turn the awful weapon toward
me, I took my last breath and spit directly into my executioner’s face.
THE END
© 2015 Jerry McGinley
Bio: Author of
four published novels, Jerry McGinley is editor of LAKE CITY LIGHTS
ONLINE ANTHOLOGY. His work has recently appeared in Shotgun
Honey, Yellow Mama Magazine, Burning Word, Drunk Monkeys, and Screech
Owl.
E-mail: Jerry
McGinley
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