lijrobert
December 23rd, 2013, 02:51 PM
I recently submitted this to a writing contest in my home state of Alabama. I'm not much of creative writer, but I thought I'd give it a try since my english made it an assignment. Tell me what you think.
The Letter
by Lijrobert
The doors of the King County Population Management Center clunked open just like they had thousands of times before. Through them, a lone man walked. The man, who was tall and had fading blond hair, walked with a slanted, hesitant gait which showed the unpleasantness of the task before him. Approaching the reception desk, he pulled out a pen and wrote his name on the electronic slate before him. The tired, old receptionist looked grimly at her monitor as information flashed by. After clicking a few buttons, the receptionist began to speak.“Mr. David Gault, is it? You can sit down over there.” Taking his seat, David began to reflect on his sole motivation. The sole reason he came to this place of life. This place of death. This place of sadness.
Ethan Gault was born on March 5th, 2058 at Seattle Children's Hospital. The birth went perfectly and the new parents were overjoyed with the addition to their family. Ethan grew rapidly, walking and talking before many other children. His excellent marks in school and wonderful performance in sports and other extracurricular activities made him the pride of his family. Love and happiness encircled him everywhere he went.
In keeping with tradition, Ethan’s tenth birthday was celebrated with a spectacular event. There was food, friends, and of course presents. By the end of the day, the young boy was in bed and his parents were finally settling down. Although it was not yet a late hour, David and his wife were surprised when they heard a knock at the door. Standing up, David walked into his living room, and approached his door expecting a parent running back to get a forgotten toy or jacket. Instead, on his doorstep he found a tired looking, elderly, mail carrier. After passing a fairly sizable letter across the door, the man hurried away to his truck, leaving David Gault with a letter marked "Federal Population Control Administration."
With a jolt, David snapped back to reality.
"David Gault? Is there a David Gault here?"
Looking up, David saw the kindly, young, woman who was calling his name. Raising himself up, David was led away to a small examination room.
The refurbished closet was as covered in posters and as filled with furniture as such a tiny room would allow. Sitting down in one of the two armchairs that were housed in the room, David waited for the questions he knew the government psychiatrist would ask.
The letter that the David was handed said the following:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Gault,
We regret to inform you that your child, through the Population Control Act of 2041, has been scheduled for permanent termination on April 22nd, 2068. To read more about your options at this point and to find your case number, you can go to pop.gov.
Thank you for your cooperation,
James Patterson
Washington Population Control Administration
At first, David and his wife did not fully comprehend what the letter was saying. Only after reading it several times did they finally understand. They were going to lose the thing they both cared about more than anything in the world. Their only child, Ethan, was going to be ripped away, all because of a law written over 20 years ago.
When the Population Control Act was signed, it was the only solution to a mounting problem: a growing, hungry, population. Food was scant; people were rioting; the entire country was on the brink of collapse. In the nick of time, a package of laws passed. Most of them simply alleviated the, then current, crises facing the entire country. One, however, was offered as a permanent solution. The Population Control Act, each year, would a certain number of children, who were age 10 or younger. This would allow the population to stay steady. Also,to prevent bias, the children being euthanized would be randomly selected. A senator's son would be just as likely to be “terminated” as a homeless man's daughter. And what if someone didn’t want their child to die? They had only one option; they could offer their own life.
As the psychiatrist closed her notebook she said “Thank you for your time. We’ll have your test results in a few minutes.” Standing up, David walked back into the hall, and sat down in the same seat he had occupied only a few minutes previously. Soon, his name was called again. This time, however, it was not a happy psychiatrist or a tired receptionist, only a cold medical technician. Seeing that David had stepped forward, the man said, “You passed the psychological testing. Do you have anything you would like to do before we commence with the procedure ?” David simply replied “No.” There was no turning back now.
David never thought about dying before. The wars of past were just old photos by the time David was born. The Population Control Act of 2041 was passed after he turned 12 and thus caused no worry. Even some of the car accidents he had when he was younger, didn’t cause him to think about what happens after your eyes close for the last time. Of course, David and his wife had considered the possibility of their son being one of the randomly selected children who would be killed, but their conversations on this topic always ended short, neither parent saying whether they would make the ultimate sacrifice for the child they so lovingly adored. Now, with the topic ripped open like a raw wound, David and his wife made a truce. They would wait until morning before they made their decision together.
David did not sleep soundly on the idea of pushing off a decision which would so permanently affect his family. While his wife slept, he, without the same sleeping aids she took, tossed and turned. He knew he could not live without his child or his wife, which only left a single, normally unthinkable solution. However, as David’s tossing and turning went on, his decision became more final and more resolute. There was a bullet coming towards his family and he had to take it. In exchange for his life, he would have assurance that his child would be left to live.
Hearing the answer he almost always did, the technician said “Alright. Let’s go then.” David followed him obediently deep into the building. He was taken, again, into a small room. This time, however, the room was not crammed with furniture or covered with motivational posters. Instead, it conservatively held a single chair and an examination table. David hopped up on the table as the technician, now donning gloves and blue scrubs, pulled out an IV tube, two vials, and a needle. When the medical equipment was prepared and fully cleansed, the technician pulled out a pen and two papers which were covered in legal script. With the mask muffling his voice, the technician said, “There are two papers here. The first one is required by law. It confirms that you are absolutely sure about what you're about to do. Once you sign it there is no turning back. The second one is not required. If you’re giving up your life as a donation for someone who is set to be executed, you put down their case number on the first line and your signature on the second, and they will not be executed.” David hurriedly did what the man told him, pulling out the paper where his son’s case number was written down. When both papers were fully filled out, they were taken away, and an IV tube was inserted into David’s arm. For a few seconds, David felt the chemicals draining into him. This feeling did not last long. The cold darkness of medically induced sleep soon engulfed him.
The technician knew the moment when the man died. He had done this day in and day out for so long he could tell when someone had left this planet. Despite his certainty of the man’s death, he still had to go through the routine taught in training. He checked for breath signs and a pulse and only then did he write down, on a small yellow piece of paper, “Time of death 5:35 AM”. The technician proceeded to take out the needle and the attached IV tube and place it in the medical waste bin. The vials were put in another bin. They would be refilled and used another day. After clicking the button which was used to call the waste pickup team, the technician left. His shift was almost over and he wanted to get home to his wife and 3-year-old son.
The Letter
by Lijrobert
The doors of the King County Population Management Center clunked open just like they had thousands of times before. Through them, a lone man walked. The man, who was tall and had fading blond hair, walked with a slanted, hesitant gait which showed the unpleasantness of the task before him. Approaching the reception desk, he pulled out a pen and wrote his name on the electronic slate before him. The tired, old receptionist looked grimly at her monitor as information flashed by. After clicking a few buttons, the receptionist began to speak.“Mr. David Gault, is it? You can sit down over there.” Taking his seat, David began to reflect on his sole motivation. The sole reason he came to this place of life. This place of death. This place of sadness.
Ethan Gault was born on March 5th, 2058 at Seattle Children's Hospital. The birth went perfectly and the new parents were overjoyed with the addition to their family. Ethan grew rapidly, walking and talking before many other children. His excellent marks in school and wonderful performance in sports and other extracurricular activities made him the pride of his family. Love and happiness encircled him everywhere he went.
In keeping with tradition, Ethan’s tenth birthday was celebrated with a spectacular event. There was food, friends, and of course presents. By the end of the day, the young boy was in bed and his parents were finally settling down. Although it was not yet a late hour, David and his wife were surprised when they heard a knock at the door. Standing up, David walked into his living room, and approached his door expecting a parent running back to get a forgotten toy or jacket. Instead, on his doorstep he found a tired looking, elderly, mail carrier. After passing a fairly sizable letter across the door, the man hurried away to his truck, leaving David Gault with a letter marked "Federal Population Control Administration."
With a jolt, David snapped back to reality.
"David Gault? Is there a David Gault here?"
Looking up, David saw the kindly, young, woman who was calling his name. Raising himself up, David was led away to a small examination room.
The refurbished closet was as covered in posters and as filled with furniture as such a tiny room would allow. Sitting down in one of the two armchairs that were housed in the room, David waited for the questions he knew the government psychiatrist would ask.
The letter that the David was handed said the following:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Gault,
We regret to inform you that your child, through the Population Control Act of 2041, has been scheduled for permanent termination on April 22nd, 2068. To read more about your options at this point and to find your case number, you can go to pop.gov.
Thank you for your cooperation,
James Patterson
Washington Population Control Administration
At first, David and his wife did not fully comprehend what the letter was saying. Only after reading it several times did they finally understand. They were going to lose the thing they both cared about more than anything in the world. Their only child, Ethan, was going to be ripped away, all because of a law written over 20 years ago.
When the Population Control Act was signed, it was the only solution to a mounting problem: a growing, hungry, population. Food was scant; people were rioting; the entire country was on the brink of collapse. In the nick of time, a package of laws passed. Most of them simply alleviated the, then current, crises facing the entire country. One, however, was offered as a permanent solution. The Population Control Act, each year, would a certain number of children, who were age 10 or younger. This would allow the population to stay steady. Also,to prevent bias, the children being euthanized would be randomly selected. A senator's son would be just as likely to be “terminated” as a homeless man's daughter. And what if someone didn’t want their child to die? They had only one option; they could offer their own life.
As the psychiatrist closed her notebook she said “Thank you for your time. We’ll have your test results in a few minutes.” Standing up, David walked back into the hall, and sat down in the same seat he had occupied only a few minutes previously. Soon, his name was called again. This time, however, it was not a happy psychiatrist or a tired receptionist, only a cold medical technician. Seeing that David had stepped forward, the man said, “You passed the psychological testing. Do you have anything you would like to do before we commence with the procedure ?” David simply replied “No.” There was no turning back now.
David never thought about dying before. The wars of past were just old photos by the time David was born. The Population Control Act of 2041 was passed after he turned 12 and thus caused no worry. Even some of the car accidents he had when he was younger, didn’t cause him to think about what happens after your eyes close for the last time. Of course, David and his wife had considered the possibility of their son being one of the randomly selected children who would be killed, but their conversations on this topic always ended short, neither parent saying whether they would make the ultimate sacrifice for the child they so lovingly adored. Now, with the topic ripped open like a raw wound, David and his wife made a truce. They would wait until morning before they made their decision together.
David did not sleep soundly on the idea of pushing off a decision which would so permanently affect his family. While his wife slept, he, without the same sleeping aids she took, tossed and turned. He knew he could not live without his child or his wife, which only left a single, normally unthinkable solution. However, as David’s tossing and turning went on, his decision became more final and more resolute. There was a bullet coming towards his family and he had to take it. In exchange for his life, he would have assurance that his child would be left to live.
Hearing the answer he almost always did, the technician said “Alright. Let’s go then.” David followed him obediently deep into the building. He was taken, again, into a small room. This time, however, the room was not crammed with furniture or covered with motivational posters. Instead, it conservatively held a single chair and an examination table. David hopped up on the table as the technician, now donning gloves and blue scrubs, pulled out an IV tube, two vials, and a needle. When the medical equipment was prepared and fully cleansed, the technician pulled out a pen and two papers which were covered in legal script. With the mask muffling his voice, the technician said, “There are two papers here. The first one is required by law. It confirms that you are absolutely sure about what you're about to do. Once you sign it there is no turning back. The second one is not required. If you’re giving up your life as a donation for someone who is set to be executed, you put down their case number on the first line and your signature on the second, and they will not be executed.” David hurriedly did what the man told him, pulling out the paper where his son’s case number was written down. When both papers were fully filled out, they were taken away, and an IV tube was inserted into David’s arm. For a few seconds, David felt the chemicals draining into him. This feeling did not last long. The cold darkness of medically induced sleep soon engulfed him.
The technician knew the moment when the man died. He had done this day in and day out for so long he could tell when someone had left this planet. Despite his certainty of the man’s death, he still had to go through the routine taught in training. He checked for breath signs and a pulse and only then did he write down, on a small yellow piece of paper, “Time of death 5:35 AM”. The technician proceeded to take out the needle and the attached IV tube and place it in the medical waste bin. The vials were put in another bin. They would be refilled and used another day. After clicking the button which was used to call the waste pickup team, the technician left. His shift was almost over and he wanted to get home to his wife and 3-year-old son.