Member-only story
Bedlam
Short fiction
A suburb, somewhere in Australia
1984
This place was bedlam, a nightmare worthy of Hieronymous Bosch.
I felt a pull of resistance but it was too weak and too late. I was drawn in among the madness; I would have to fortify my soul and endure it.
We were ordered to line up for the sake of efficiency, although it was hardly the quick and ruthless bureaucracy of a Nazi work camp. Instead, the system of ordering that we plebeian folk were shuffled into was based on a seemingly random game of numbers. As I stood in line (another score of desperates already arrived behind me) I craned my neck this way and that, trying to see the lights that signalled the end of the tunnel. But it was impossible — there were flashing lights everywhere, accompanied by a low drone interrupted only by an incessant siren.
As I stood there turning and craning, my preceding neighbour in this unfortunate mess caught my attention.
His eyes were wide and wild.
What are you looking at?
I looked down and murmured, nothing, sorry.
Again, louder. What are ya looking at?
I could feel the people nearest to me stiffening, retracting.
