Bren’s writing and movies blog

Because I have an opinion about creativity and know how to use it


Posted by brenatevi on August 5, 2008

Bob was an average guy, with an ex-wife and two kids, paying out the nose for child support. He was a plumber, and a decent one at that, but he could never keep his business out of the red. When the crash happened, he wasn’t really affected, already out of work. When they took over, it was one set of politicians traded for another, and he wasn’t sorry when the old regime was arrested and thrown in prison. They were just a bunch of crooks any ways.

So there was Bob, out of work, and apathetic about the changes in politics. Sure the new regime made a lot of promises, but they meant nothing unless they could pay Bob’s child support. That was until he saw an ad:

“Looking for a few good motivated men, no questions asked. Must be loyal, and willing to follow all orders in service to the Great Leader.”

It could have said:




It didn’t matter what it said, because Bob was thinking only two things: 1) Oh my God, I can get a paycheck again and 2) Oh my God, I can afford beer again. Number two was actually his first thought, because when you have an ex-wife and are paying child support, getting drunk was the only thing to look forward to. Something that never crossed his mind was that if he had said those thoughts out loud around the wrong person, he would have been arrested for saying “God” out loud. God was no longer welcomed in those parts.

It didn’t matter because Bob walked down to the recruitment office, and was immediately whisked off to the special boot camp. Paris Island could not hold a candle to the brutality the drill instructors inflicted on these “trainees.” If Bob had read the contract more closely instead of thinking about being able to buy his first beer in months, he would have noticed that he had literally signed his life over to the Nation. There were two dead trainees the first day, one of them shot dead for refusing to follow an order.

For all of Bob’s incompetence of getting through life before joining the Nation, he seemed to have a knack for surviving in this hellish environment. He didn’t blink an eye when he reported that one of his fellow recruits had “subversive” materials in his foot locker, and even basked in the adulation as they shot said recruit. Bob liked beer, but discovered that power was better. Bob got through boot camp at the top of his class. Bob was thinking about taking care of another problem.

After boot camp, Bob joined his unit, which was coincidentally stationed in the same town his ex-wife lived in. At zero three hundred hours, not a week after Bob graduated, his squad bust down his ex’s door, shot her and her new boyfriend dead, and bundled the kids off to a Nation orphanage. Bob no longer needed to worry about child support, because the Nation was going to take care of them, making sure they were being taught the right things all members of the Nation need to know.

Bob was successful, rising through the ranks quickly, and was even promoted to the rank of officer, after going through an even more brutal, if less deadly, training. Only the most competent and cruel men became officers, and Bob was both.

Bob had found his niche in the world. Bob was happy, and became ecstatic when war was declared on the Nation’s neighbors. Bob knew that he was going to get to share his special skills with other people. Bob liked sharing.

Bob quickly discovered that war was even more vicious that his training. Not that it bothered him, because he liked torturing and killing people. No, what bothered him was that they shot back, and rounding the people up had its own dangers, as the supposed victims were just an ambush waiting to happen. Bob got angry when he lost men to these ambushes, and took out his anger on those that led the trap. Bob got much, much, much worse. If he had been a savage animal before this, he was an outright monster now.

Everyone in the invaded country knew Bob, speaking his name with the tone normally reserved for the Devil that was illegal in the Nation. He received award after award for his service to the Nation, but Bob didn’t care about those. He just wanted to kill.

Bob was beyond thinking, except how to make people suffer. If he had thought about it, he would have known that being infamous like that made him an inviting, if not downright important, target. He would have realized that everyone wanted to kill him at this point. He would have shrugged if anyone had mentioned this to him, which no one was going to; everyone, including his own men, feared him at this point.

Bob had captured another female, and was interrogating her when he noticed that she had been operated on, and rather recently too. Bob would not have hesitated to run out the door if he had known that she had volunteered to be operated on, and had been just as eager as he was to invade her nation. Running wouldn’t have helped Bob though, because he was doomed the moment she was captured and brought to him.

A moment later the bomb exploded, ripping the woman apart, disintegrated Bob, taking away his services from the Nation. The State Funeral is being held in City Hall, at fifteen hundred hours, after which the entire town will be razed to the ground, and the inhabitants for fifty miles around will be put to the sword in Bob’s memory.


2 Responses to “Bob”

  1. brenatevi said

    And yes, I stole the ending from Dark Knight. I might go back and change it if enough people complain.

  2. […] Tagged dystopia “Why have you been so dystopic lately?” – Kalis, on reading “Bob.” […]

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