We Are Not Ourselves pt 2.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the light as I came round from what felt like a brutal beating. The room I was in was a bright clinical white, but there was nobody to be seen. I was dazed and confused. My eyesight was blurred and I could feel something warm trickling slowly from my forehead, down my nose and onto my cheeks. My arms were strapped down to the table I was lying on, the white sheet that draped over it covered red from the blood I was losing. Looking down, I could see that my arms weren’t the milk bottle white they usually were, they were various shades of purple and blue from the bruises that I must’ve sustained when they knocked me out.

The door swung open and crashed into the wall with a bang so loud it winded me. The air was still, the silence interrupted by the sound of a woman’s heels clacking against the ceramic floor. She walked over to the table and peered over her glasses at me, inspecting the damage. She scribbled something down on her clipboard before pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose and running her free hand through her hair. She turned to the man that had appeared behind her and nodded.

‘I think she’s ready Sir’.

The perfectly clean shaven man smiled menacingly down at me. Not breaking any eye contact with me as he reached over to his right which was completely out of my view. When his hands came back into view, he was clutching a needle in one hand and a bunch of wires in the other.

‘This won’t hurt a bit Miss’.

Helpless and afraid, I saw no choice but to kick and scream, hoping that someone in this godforsaken place would come to my rescue.

But nobody did.


May 30th 2025

I walk down the street every day to the same beat. Rigidly walking in time to the sound of the ticking clock in the square, which chimes every hour, on the hour. I see the same faces every day. They nod at me as I walk past, but never offer a kind word.

I sit at the top of the bus now, watching the world go by as I travel to the office every morning, picking out the untreated in the streets, thinking of how silly they are for revolting from the treatment.

The world has become a better place since the treatment was made a legal requirement. We are all of the same mind now and we all walk to the same beat. There are still a few people that have refused to be treated but they will be hunted. There’s many rumours as to where these people are hiding, but nobody can say for sure. I’ve heard that they’ve actually left the country, but what they don’t realise is that it’s a legal requirement across the entirety of Europe now. Every country saw how much the treatment excelled in Britain and took it upon themselves to make their own version.

Ultimately, we are all drones now, controlled by the highest power there is; our remote controlled minds.


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