In response to the first couple of posts, btw, the story does involve MCR and other Killjoys of their world, here is part two to my story.
-------9 years later-------
“Listen to Better Living Industries and they will—”
“‘Help me towards a better life’, yeah I’ve heard slogan pitch before.”
“You will show respect to your elders miss, or you will be reported to your reformatory counselor…again.”
“Like I give a—Ah!” I cringe as I receive the shock of my band, the one intended to keep me from swearing like a Killjoy—I’m used to it now after all these years with it, but that one had an extra charge behind it that actually got me to show it hurt.
“Watch your language miss,” continues the new bus driver, wearing the same cold smile that all BLI zombies have plastered across their smug faces. “And you will report to your assigned reformatory counselor, tomorrow morning before your classes.”
“Right, see what corporal punishment she’ll dole out for almost swearing,” I say this with so much venomous sarcasm in my words it’s almost burning his smile right off.
“Now miss, you know corporal punishment is no longer accepted in our wonderful society,” the driver remarks.
“If you want the rest of us reformatory kids to listen to ya, don’t go around quoting the rule books to us,” I say back. “Whatever—see ya guys tomorrow,” I wave to the rest of the kids that are forced to attend BLI Reform 16, they’re the closest I’ve got to real friends, even though I’m in the hard core classes.
Those classes are basically for the worst of the worst in this place…as in the most rebellious and creative of us, the ones most likely to succeed in becoming a future Killjoy pioneer. But unfortunately those are also the classes where you get assigned a personal reformatory counselor that monitors you in your classes and “helps you with your problems”. And if your major rebel, like me, you also get a custom “behavior band” that measures your brain waves or some sorta crap along those lines, and prevent you from doing anything bad like cuss or physically hurting someone, or worse: run away. Try and get away with that stunt and the band just shocks you with all its got ‘til you pass out, then you wake up in a lab where you get slapped around pretty badly so you learn your lesson—trust me I know first hand.
Tried it last year, I struggled against blacking out, and I almost made it to the outskirts of town where I thought it’d lose signal…but I got dusted before I could, and woke up attached to an IV. Don’t believe me, well I have the scares on my wrist to prove it. I fried the old one in the process of it frying me, kept randomly shocking me after that. And BLI was nice enough to supply me with a brand spankin’ new one on my other arm, one that would shock me when necessary. But in order to do that, they had to disconnect the old one from my wrist, and when they did, it showed just how bad the shock had marked me. They blamed me for being radical and bringing it on myself—mom got really mad with that, she almost gave in to that old Killjoy spirit of hers. I know she still had it in her, she never really gave it up, even after she left.
Any way, even then I’m the worst kid in the prison, you can see it on everybody’s face…which is why I also have the private reform classes too.
So I walk up to the drive, and am greeted in the usual way…
“Your home!” Jen’s bursting out through the door, grinning ear to ear and so happy to see that I don’t have a black eye or a cut lip like I normally do.
“Hey Jenny! Come here and give your sis a hug,” I say as I kneel down so she can run right into my arms. Jen may have been ten years old, but she was small compared to my 5'4" fourteen year old self.
“Stayed out of radar today?” mom asks with a weak, yet still pleased, smile that I don’t need cleaning up for today.
“Almost, I have to report to Mrs. Grim tomorrow,” I say standing, Jen now on my back for a piggy-back ride to the house. (By the way, Grim is how I refer to the Grim Reaper called Mrs. Hiroshi that my messed up reform school assigned me as a reform counselor.)
“Well by the looks of your hair I’d say your band went off for something,” she says with some tiredness to it.
“I didn’t even get the words out of my mouth when the band went off, but that stu—” I don’t even finish that before the band goes off again. Luckily the bands don’t transfer their currents, or else poor little Jen would have faced the consequences of my mistakes. And thank God I’m used to the normal shocks or else I might have dropped Jen too.
“At least try sweetie, it pains me bad enough to see you get forced into their ways like I was, but it’s worse to see you bring some of it on yourself,” she gives me such a sad look, that I actually consider watching my language a bit more. As we’re heading back inside, Jen whispers something to me.
“We have our rights to express ourselves how we wish, and they can’t stop that.”
So young, yet so able to spit out words of wisdom in the philosophy of the Killjoys…I really gotta stop telling her this stuff about them. The only way you can find out anything about the Killjoys, is to poses the same spirit and drive that makes them, and for them to come after you and take you up into their cause. It’s that or listen to the censored version they give us in those “Threats to Society” classes they give. But thanks to my parents past, I picked up a thing or two from the Killjoy hideaways that used to pass through our house when I was young. They all taught me something: how to hot wire any kind of vehicle, how to aim a raygun/nuke, high-jacking BLI vending machines (the cool ones that give you batteries and rayguns), how to make a bomb, and most importantly, never to give in to those who try to change who I am—because being myself is how I contribute to making this world beautiful as it once was.
“I know Jen, yet…they still say it’s not corporal punishment,” I finish grinning.
“What punishment?” she says as I set her down in the entry way of the house, looking dead confused as my words.
“Corporal punishment, it’s when the government allows schools and other educational systems to physically punish the kids if they misbehave,” I tell her. I always give the honest to God truth whenever she asks me something, even if the truth isn’t good. “And before you ask me what ‘physically’ means, it means like to hit the kid or something along those lines,” I continue when I see her get a little bit confused when I say “physically”.
“Oh, but in science they say it means—” she picks up the conversation with something else, probably trying to keep herself from thinking about how many times I’ve come home with such punishments, and never knowing that it had a name to it.
“I know Jen, in science it means to change something’s outside form but not the chemical make-up of it,” I finish.
“Yeah, and they say chemically means to change something into something entirely different, like burning wood, you can’t turn it back into wood once you’ve burned it,” she says, grinning with pride at her show of knowledge.
“Or like the BLI trying to get everyone to be the perfect clones they want for society,” I say under my breathe—but that was a stupid mistake on my part. “Gah!” I end up bent over from the force of the shock my band gave me. That’s the worst thing anyone with a band can do, talk smack about the BLI, gives you the nastiest kind of shock without actually knocking you out.
“Better Living Industries is a happy and wonderful society…” says the bands recording. “Remember: ‘I will obey and respect Better Living Industries, and trust them to provide me a better and happier life.’” That’s the worst part of the recording, the part where they play your voice, repeat the very words we hate to say, the one’s they forced me to say when I was first assigned my band when I was just a bit younger than Jen is now.
I’ve gone to my knees, and am now gasping from the shock, Jen’s so scared, and mom’s running out of the kitchen to come check on me. “Oh honey, why do you keep doing this,” she says looking at me, and I swear, if she hadn’t cut herself off from tears back when dad was…well back then, then she’d probably be crying now, with disappointment.
I manage to gasp out, “I’m sorry mom…I forgot for a minute.” Jen just plops down next to me and holds me tight, like I’m about to be dragged off or something.
“Corporal punishment can’t be allowed to do this,” she says.
“Nothing they do should be allowed sweetie,” mom says. She leans in and hugs the both of us. She kisses us both on the head and helps me back to my feet, “Alright, come-on you both have homework, even if it’s silly lines for some of us.” She gives me a knowing smile, and I can’t help but give a little laugh in response, because she’s right.
A little long, but better than not enough!
Part 3: http://www.mychemicalromance.com/blog/zone-specter/danger-days-part-3
