My Local Dystopia by Rebecca Reynolds

dystopia

Tonight I went to my local dystopia. I go there often.

The dystopia is two rooms. One of the rooms has no windows; instead, there are mirrors where we, the inhabitants, may observe ourselves. Each of us is connected to a machine which makes us move: rhythmically, fast, but without travelling anywhere. We are silent, but the rooms are not: there is thumping music, and we are exhorted to buy flights, holidays, finance.

The other room is lined with screens. On one screen, tonight, three overweight people were fed portions of food by a fourth in his home. One of these four then received a large amount of money, presented on a serving dish. On another screen a stern leader made a line of people answer her questions. A third screen always shows football league tables, repeating them every 20 minutes with no change.

We inhabitants rarely speak to each other or make eye contact. Each of us thrashes around on our own for a time, then leaves, into the cold, the sky now dark.

 

Above image by Anna Pleskow

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