A Prison for Paradise - Gabrielle B-G (e books free to read txt) 📗

renamed The City of Peace. Despite that it was over-polluted, it thrived. Despite its mechanical fumes and hazardous  chemical waste reservoirs, it was the most free of corruption and a safe place to live. Only the very wealthy lived there, in an almost surreal city, where the decapitated remains of our machines performed their daily tasks, machines we’d created for only us. We were asked to participate, cooperate, doing only what was necessary to survive. The City of Peace could be compared to an elephant graveyard with bones made of steel, and from the stench of toxic gas could one smell its rotting corpses.

There was a time once when we had more opportunities to change the world we lived in. Then, before the beast had taken over our land and put us to work for it, had we not surrendered our hopes as we had yet trembled before its all seeing. There was once a time of peace, of disobedience, of freedom. And if you think about it, it is truly beautiful compared to the quietude of blind obedience. They were  individuals with choices. They could make up their own minds, and they didn't have to slave away just to live. They didn't live for this beast that still inhabits The City of Peace. But that was a time when things were still good.

There is yet to be a standing history of cities long ago. Here, the words that have survived all wars in all but their meager and fragmentary form will be analyzed and reorganized. These were our secrets. Secrets, mingled with accumulated myths and legends of the coming beast. They are the conspiracies. Only now through electronic records can we decipher all that once had been of the great world's city. In these remnants of our ancestry, contain all that can be derived from references in the Order and the compilations of classical myths on human acts of justice. There's nothing left of our future, only the past remains in a form we are forced to dissect.

As we march on towards full oblivion, centuries of human progress are being fed in through our machines…only with these bitter recollections that we gather, through our willpower and constant speculations, do we have the chance to ever unveil the real truth. As we collect and piece together bits of information, we are drawing ever closer to the ultimate truth about Project 0blivion.

Will it ever be passed under the scrutiny of our future scholars? This is something that we all have hoped for. History still remains the same. And only through this compiling, can a world blinded by our own human folly change. We learn to recognize patterns that influence this new world we live in now.

There were intervals of silence that our cultural influence seemed to perpetuate. Our City was hot with anger and protestors lined the streets with signs screaming for answers. And although their voices were not strong enough to shake the walls of their falling foundations, they were loud enough to be heard across the world.

What justifies another person's rights over our own? There was a bombardment of hearts that screamed: “The outsiders must be exterminated. They need to be punished, and we all need to be safe.” As propaganda traveled far and wide through vast cities of the coast, reaching intersecting streets of the rich and spreading across the world, more and more questions washed ashore.

People wanted to know, and it could not be kept a secret for much longer. A sudden surge of rebellion threatened our leaders’ agendas. All eyes were upon them now. The people became our leader's criminals. Somehow, the questions diminished like fading reflections, and eventually all surrendered silently.
Somehow silence is all that we seem to remember.

When the intelligence of the attacks was put forth, who was concerned in it? Who had our interests in mind? It seemed our leader had had dreams of re-establishing democracy. Yet Democracy had failed. Now all our secret information would be gathered through trade. We collected memory sticks from friends with common interests through the underground network. Not all remained silent. A new underground order was in place. It was a group of people just like you and I, who would not be kept quiet and so together, formed a massive world-resistance, and called it the League of Dreams.

My name is Molly; I once worked for the people who sought to destroy every dream ever created. Yet, my mission as a historian had not always been to erase the truth. I was once a part of a system that was specifically brought about to educate the people about their past. Things have changed since then.

The Airport, Tuesday September 12
Molly walked into the airport and headed directly to the changing room. A large policewoman checked her pockets. Then she removed her jacket. The woman checked the pockets of the jacket, and then commanded her to move along. Molly always hated that, even with body scanners people still had to remove clothing. Everyone did. This was the only way that they could be sure no illegal aliens, terrorists, or black market items could  come aboard the plane. The plane took off as Molly looked down at the palm trees, streets, and city lights through the small window as they disappeared.
“Goodbye…” She whispered to the city as it gradually faded from sight.

  The Children of Destiny

The Great World Order had come, and was welcomed by an authority on our future. After the United States had lost its power, nothing but chaos had remained for so long that people wanted and needed order. We had thirteen years of nothing but war and anarchy across the globe. Rebels led the takeover of lands across Earth. People were used for them as merely soldiers or tools.

War and conquest had become such a routine of life. It was a game of who would wipe out whom first, and who would pay humanity’s price. Only those with enough control and power could ever ask those questions. It was our best choice when The Great World Order presented itself. Yet it was never a revolution. Everyone believed it would set them free and we were ready for peace. So we made the biggest or pettiest sacrifices to achieve it. We voted for it and ignored our fears of propaganda.

The majority of populations across the world wanted World Order and peace.
And then it was as if we had forgotten, as if we had carried on without the slightest notion of our history. Only this time, it had no sectional representation, and there were no more nations. It had become everything the people hated, loathed, and wanted to destroy. It was all that we ever knew as kids. Every person over eighteen had a say and to vote on issues on the world’s issues. People had no reason busy as they were, to realize that this was still completely wrong.

It worked like this, the socialists were ruled by the capitalists, and the capitalists were ruled by the Architects, the designers. The designers organized everything, every fundamental way we lived our lives from day-to-day. The designers had the most power on earth. In publications by the designers whose identities remain highly secret, they’ve said only that God was their divine motivator, their inspiration, and the source of the new foundation of progress. God is so much more than that.

I believe now that God, if he is the true master Architect, is not the original God of our lost world. They were not motivated by an all loving God, a divine source in the stars. I never believed God was a dictator, and that’s partly because of where I’m from…where I’ve been outside cast off from all the respectable people. God isn’t a dream or a hope for mankind. God is not the puppet-master, and we are not his strings.

The forces that have engineered our dreams and fueled our electric life for ages cannot be undone. And so the designers hide behind the shadows, the elites, the corporate leaders who claim that our new order is now the highest peak of civilization. No longer must we have to struggle to survive, the path has been laid out before us, brick by brick. It is the path of the future.

In the Technocracy of The Foundation, we have martyred, murdered, and fed ourselves to our machines. These machines have carried out tasks no mortal could or would want to. They crippled lost nations, defeated empires, and brought peace to the world. Men toil behind the machinery, no longer casualties, but accessories. The scientists who create our machines lead our industries. Our industries lead our world.


Our Foundation is just industry. What purpose is it? Those who did not serve God’s Foundation will never know such a purpose. The rest of us are worthless. The industrial revolution had begun as a revolution of progress, but in 2001 the Industrial age was turned counter-clockwise. It was an industrial dream turned nightmare, turned against us. Machines took over. Everything was electric and everything was instantly digitally ours. Then when the CIA took over Congress and initiated a massive spying protocol i.e. PRISM, and this was leaked by Edward Snowden, a possible double agent or Russian spy. Dissidents, free-thinkers were the children of the new age, the Indigo Revolution had begun. To become passive slaves, drugging ourselves into child-like complacency, to dance on the edge of our future's uncertainty.

As each opportunity had slipped away, we learned to sacrifice choice for a sociopathic false economy. As every minute escapes, a greedy mouth swallows another placebo pill to satiate the rebellion. The world has lost all love and meaning. And so we prostrate ourselves to billboards and worship our technological empire of madness. This is how we've traded our souls for a false flag. That is how we made a prison for the world, a divided paradise.

My name is Sarah. I was born on the outskirts of modern society to the city of Meridia. Meridia was built upon the ruin. Meridia was a station that evolved during WWIII, when people began to hate the idea of a one world government. Meridia is a sea city. It was a safe zone for weapons and technology that were manufactured solely for war, no matter who bought them. Self destruction is, after-all, the power we were given.

These sprawling mezzanines made our new system of life possible post World War Three. It became a place for those who opted to live in solitary, to wait out the re-habitation of the Foundation. These people were the ones who had secretly feared The Foundation, and therefore wanted to stay as far from its influence as possible. These moving platforms take us from place to place across the vast city on the water. Life in Meridia was sometimes isolating, but it was nothing compared to life on the territory of the Foundation.

For many years, Meridia was the only place where people like us were left alone. My mother taught me many things about life after the war. She spoke of the radical government that was formed when the United Stares fell into chaos. When the Foundation finally came to power, the lone government gave way to a simple court of dissenters of influence. These were people who had had authority before it fell. They knew more about governments than the New Foundation. They were revolutionaries. The class societies call them terrorists. But they stood their ground, and did not provoke others to hate them. They had money, and power, and influence in their small city. Mother emulated our government. It was the last and only government left outside the Foundation’s iron fist.

In this unwanted realm of constant flooding and ghetto technology, we were at home. Yet, there was always something innately calling to us. We were discards and anti-establishment rebels by nature"it was