Progress

March 9, 2010
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They had talked about reform for so long. Change. But until that day Max had never believed they would ever get around to it.
“Let me try to impress this upon you,” he said. He was processing the political dissidents before they were sent to the various camps, just as he did every day. “The state owes you nothing. You have shown it no respect, and it will do they same to you.”
The same speech, every day. He no longer thought about the words, no longer had to force his face into the menacing scowl his superiors praised. Instead his thoughts drifted to the lamb leg sizzling in the frying pan at his house at this very moment, the fat popping as pink slowly gave way to brown.
“I know this won’t stop the flood of questions and concerns, but just bear in mind: Any rights you may think you have are forfeit.”
At this point every day the numerous dissenters would flood around him so that he would have to beat them back with his club until they got in an orderly line, their raucous, open mouths flinging blood onto the pristine linoleum white floors.
And then they would speak, every day the same meaningless babble about the Constitution and god given rights and he no longer had to force himself to give manufactured answers. His thoughts would drift to his lovely wife, lying on their all-encompassing bed, waiting for him to come home and free her from her midday boredom.
But on this day there were no protestations, no bloated mouths or grasping hands. The political prisoners listened quietly to his speech and went on their way without so much as a backwards glance and Max thought, “Good.”

“Good, now we are making progress.”





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