literature

The Perfect Lie

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Literature Text

 Clean-cut green grass, pristine and sharp like a thousand blades of faus freshness paint an illusion of perfection against a bright blue sky spotted with the occasional drifting cloud. Leafy oak trees nestle on the edge of country and urban development, waving at the intermittent passerby. Light filled everything, even the air, reflecting strongly off white boards and glass windows like a snow-globe sitting next to a flashlight, but not so strongly that it blinded the vision. A slight breeze whistles a melody, lulling minds into a blissful ignorance.
 A picturesque landscape of a modern urban development sits on a gentle-sloping hill, between an open rolling field of wheat grass and miles of uncharted woods. The world seems lost in time here, with no signs of city life or interruption. A blank, clean sidewalk winds through the neighborhood, from the front gate down past rows of houses, running parallel to the fresh asphalt road, to wherever the end is. Mothers and nannies occasionally walk past with babies in the stroller and toddlers waddling behind. There's no noise, other than the wind, and though the wind is gentle and the sun comforting and warm, something doesn't...feel...right.
 Something isn't right. Luxurious modern homes with all the blessings of a gated community and no trouble makers--no hooligans allowed, is nestled in the perfect location. One might think this is good, but there's a subtle tension, an uneasy queasiness in the background like a little white noise nagging at the back of a heavily drugged mind.
 The toddlers are strangely quiet--shy as kids often are--but silent, like they don't know how to talk or even make a sound The mothers are equally numbly quiet, all with a blank, empty look in their eyes and faces, as if shocked into submission. A playground in the middle of the neighborhood has a few kids running around and playing on it, but again the air is silent. There's no noise--no laughter, no shouts, no giggles, not a single noise. Even their shoes are nearly silent as they climb and play, and the strained faces and wide eyes show their uneasiness.
 There are no flags flying, no numbers on the mailboxes, no cars in the driveways, and every house looks identical to the one next to it. Shades are drawn on every window and not a single face peeks out behind drawn curtains. The houses closer to the gate are dark and more quiet than the silence of the toddlers playing in the park. Armed guards, dressed from head to foot in black, with no markings of any kind, no bare skin and no sign of gender, each with a powerful-looking rifle, infrared vision goggles, and a sternly-set jaw, stand at big iron gates. A massive metal fence about 50 feet high lies on either side of the gates, stretching for miles, thick and topped with barbed wire. Every 100 feet or so along the fence stands a guard like the ones by the gate and in the woods are the guards not seen until it's too late. There are no obvious signs of who the figures work for...and no signs of who they're trying to keep out.
The Day After Tomorrow.
© 2014 - 2024 Ancient-Hoofbeats
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