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Dystopian Narrative, what do you think of how i wrote?

i have to write a dystopian narrative-- basically a dystopian story thats 7-9 pages as of now according to word document this is 8 pages long and im just wondering how you guys think-- and how i can make it better? this is my narrative

Today is July 4th, 2074. As always the leaves are bustling across the freeway. The day is filled with dust-- with people walking along in a trance. I remember exactly fifty years ago after Hillary Clinton became president, the United States went into a state of tyranny. Military rule rose up and threw the lady off of her throne. Civil war happened, and NORAD activated all of their missiles and destroyed over ninety percent of the country. Only a few have survived, and only a few parts of the country are left habitable. People have escaped from major cities, grouping up in smaller areas may it be Visalia, Arvin, Lebec, or Gorman. That is what happened to me, I am named Conrad Comrade, but the faction leader calls me CC1183. My wife and I have given birth to five children which our Eugenicist-- the faction leader-- said was the right number. However my wife has been what they call decommissioned-- but it is really to be put to death. I am next as I have served my purpose. However, I will get out of here with my children someday-- somehow.
----------------------------------------------END DIARY---------------------------------------------------
I picked up my diary and headed towards the decommissioned IKEA Factory on Dennis Martin Road-- in the city of Lebec. I finally have five children and the Eugenicist named Eugene is looking for me-- wanting to end my life. That will not happen. I already have four of my children with me, ages of seven, ten, nineteen, and twenty-three-- John, Justin, Jacob, and Hall respectively. We will all escape-- I know it. My son entered the factory instead of me, as my number is broadcasted all over so I will be immediately executed for resisting arrest.
"Good evening, I pledge my allegiance to Eugene. I am HC1183, I am looking for my little brother," said Hall.
"Evening. He is at Room 203," replied the security officer.
The entire IKEA Centre was indeed disturbing. On the outside laid machine gun nests with automated sensors that if detecting any sort of movement with warmth would automatically execute without question. Just earlier-- it detected a rabbit hopping around the desolate area and ended its misery without any questions asked. The inside I have seen just once. It was an odd puce hue. Disturbing and disgustingly-- blood could have been camouflaged through. Any rebels could have easily been beaten in this center-- without anyone knowing from the change of color. Walking more into the center of the centre-- the lights dimmed dark-- to a point where rumors say a hellish beast lurked awaiting for its next prey.
Luckily, Hall finally entered the room with his baby and came back to our rendezvous point. He gave the baby to me and I held him-- realizing that he is the future to all mankind. We laid low-- and stayed under Interstate 5 alongside the dirt and grime that riddled the floor. We sat at what was left of it and tried to figure out where to go next. Where can we go that will not result in all six of us executed for helping each other out? Where can we go that will promote equality and peace among all people. Something glowed in the corner of my eye and I looked down picking up another diary. I flipped through the pages-- noticing the city Los Angeles being highlighted religiously to a point that the paper was still moist from all the excessive highlighting. There was no where else for us to go. Los Angeles claimed it was run by the military and is open to all. Lebec claimed it was open to all-- and look where it has got us to. Could we really trust this city? Could we really trust the people that annihilated the entire country? I'll never know-- but this is the only chance we have left.
Los Angeles laid over seventy miles from where we stood. We could not make it there by foot. Many abandoned cars were not working-- but luckily while working on fixing cars with my father-- I picked up certain skills. We crept over slowly five miles south-- into the Grapevine Pass--to what seemed like a car with four doors. The Grapevine Pass-- or today known as Hell's Gate is told today that anyone who goes through it does not come back. Anyone who has entered has either come back in a pale state-- or died along the way. It did not matter to us. We were all dead either ways. We had to continue. We opened the door-- and laid in a woman decomposed with only the skull intact. We threw the skull out without hesitation and began to fix it-- fixing the rusted engine-- and finding oil. James and Hall both continued walking forwards in the blistering cold-- trying to find places with oil. They went into each vehicle trying to find this liquid gold but never came back.
"James! Hall! Where are you! You were supposed to be back thirty minutes ago," I cried out.
There was no answer. Could the rumors of Hell's Gate really be true? Did we just shorten our already miniscule lifespan drastically by attempting this pass. I do not know-- but we must continue. I finally finished fixing this dreary looking vehicle-- and I continue on this pass. We can not go too fast even in this shivering weather-- because the vehicle will still overheat. We were two miles ahead when we saw a bunch of vehicles lined up together-- as if it was a buffet for people to choose a car to drive. We got out-- and tried to search for oil. However, a group of bandits came out of no where and boy did we make a mistake on stopping.
"Do not make a single step. Any sudden movements we will kill you on the spot!"
"Please don't! I have children, and I am missing two of them."
"They are dead. I have killed them-- they tried running off."
"Why did you kill them!"
"No one passes us without some sort of trade. You need to survive, we need to survive, what do you have to offer to us?"
"I do not have anything please let us go. We are headed towards Los Angeles for this haven claimed through a diary we found."
Roars of laughter went across the mountains.
"Los Angeles? That desolate area. Everyone is dead over there. There is no point. You have better chance trying to run from Eugene-- that crazy nutjob in Lebec. Go back and save yourself and your children," said the bandits.
"No can do, I will head on," I replied.
Hall in a weakened state-- suffering from a bullet wound to the lower abdomen-- emerged from the ground and grab ahold of one of the bandit's weapons. He pointed the weapon at one of the bandits and screamed, "Everyone get down or your friend will be killed!"
Guns were drawn at both Hall, the incapacitated bandit, and at the father with his two children.
"Come on now, there is no need to do this-- we can all make a deal," said the bandit.
"No can do-- let us leave-- and let us take this gun and we would let your friend go," replied Hall.
"Fine, you are free to leave," replied the bandit.
We jumped into the vehicle and began to head off. As an act of revenge-- Hall still murdered the bandit in cold blood-- and began shooting without aim towards the group. Many fell down-- but some still was able to escape from the gunfire. Without Hall's help we would have been dead. He told us that James suffered from a headshot-- and died instantly. Luckily when he was shot in the abdomen-- he faked his own death-- and hid under a car-- letting the coldness stop his rapid blood flow. Albeit the blood flowed slower-- it still flowed and there was no way to stop it. Hall began to cough out blood soon after.
"Father"
"Yes son"
"Let me out-- take them to Los Angeles. Let them find prosperity in this new area. Do not let people like Eugene take over rights that were granted to us from God."
"What do you mean?"
"I am coughing blood father. Anytime now I will succumb to the massive internal injury I received from this gunshot. It was perhaps through God's calling that I survived this long. I will watch you from up above. I love"
Hall fell asleep afterwards-- presumably dead. I began crying at the top of my lungs as my oldest son has died. What have I done. Have I sent my children and myself on a suicide mission? Perhaps I should have let myself died in the hands of Eugene so neither Hall nor James would have died. For them I must continue. I continued heading down the freeway mile after mile-- for over three hours long. We were only able to average twenty miles per hour on this vehicle-- and we were only able to drive this vehicle fifteen minutes at a time-- and needed to let it rest for another fifteen minutes. Three hours down the line, we are only thirty-five miles down our journey-- on something that feels like lasted over centuries.
A day has gone by and it seems as if the cold does not end. The vehicle froze up and my my three remaining children walk alongside I. I carry the rifle as a protector-- as something I have not been able to do my entire life. All I have been doing is having my children do everything and they have been burdened carrying this criminal-like atmosphere I have unknowingly created. Thankfully we have passed another city with no people-- however one with very high train tracks-- that seemed to loop in circles. Reaching the start of the next pass-- I began to sit-- looking into the sky-- wondering if it was all worth it. I will never know-- but I will complete my goal. There were just three more miles left to complete the pass-- and huge roars-- from another vehicle seem to come-- going straight towards us. It was the bandits. I got out of the vehicle and instructed my children to drive. I sat in the back seat and began firing the remaining ammunition I had in the rifle. They fired back-- injuring me in the shoulder. I persisted-- I continued. All that was going through my ears were the ringing of the bullets-- and the screams of the bandits. Knowing I can be a decoy-- I finally jumped out of the sedan and faced my last stand. I stood in the middle of the road and started shooting towards them. After a barrage of bullets going between each other-- I finally hit the driver-- and he drove the vehicle into the wall bursting it into flames.
I kneeled down-- knowing that I finally did something to save my children. I was able to be a hero-- not a pathetic person. I looked towards Los Angeles with the fatal injuries I sustained. Just over this mountain is Los Angeles. I crept towards the peak of the mountain with injuries similar to Hall-- coming out of me. I finally got to the peak and looked into Los Angeles.
"No!" I screamed.

January 8, 2015

1 Comment • Newest first

Vicariously

As a story, it's fine. A story about a dad trying to protect his kids, simple enough. It's very unclear how Hillary Clinton leads to militarism, and then eugenics, and then a utilitarian dictatorship with bandits who believe in bartering. Dystopian stories are suppose to make a commentary about modern society and the human condition. You're trying to do too much within 8 pages, which results in an unclear and murky theme. The only thing that sort of ties everything together is James' dying words that imply that the protagonists believe in natural rights, but it doesn't make much sense since the major antagonist of the story seem to be the bandits rather than Eugene who didn't do anything to the dad yet. And James' act of revenge falls more in line with the bandits' equal trade philosophy, that is "an eye for an eye".

I think from a grading standpoint, depending on what the criteria for the dystopian short story is, I'd give this a B because you technically did everything you're suppose to do in a dystopian story. If your teacher/professor is a harsh grader, you might get a lower grade for not being very clear about the main point of your story. My professors can be very strict about structure and not meandering from my main point.

This comes off as a joke, too. I thought Conrad Comrade is a hilariously tacky name. It was also pretty funny when the bandit said, "Yeah whatever, you can go now. Have a nice day, please come again!"

Reply January 9, 2015 - edited