Genre: Dystopian Fiction short story
Omar Kan was a pious old man. Every day he got out of bed, said his prayers, wore his hat and his worn shoes, and headed to the mines of Ayat. Great riches the Grand Jabis had promised the people of Ayat, and though three generations had endlessly toiled to no avail, surviving on bread crumbs and words of a glorious future, the Grand Jabis kept being reelected, like his forefathers before him.
When starvation and disease hit the lands, youngsters gathered in the streets in protest. “Foolish ingrates,” Omar muttered, watching them on his little screen, his anger rising, for none was more worthy than the Grand Jabis. The ruler carried the will of the people, and without him, Ayat could not be.
Omar shuddered at the threat in the streets. Could they really topple his great beloved ruler? A thought more painful and dreadful than famine and death. He squirmed in his seat, his muscles tensed. Change was unbearable, the future, unconceivable. His mind could not fathom such blasphemy, and his body ached with a crippling fear.
But to Omar’s relief, the protests dwindled and dimmed. The words of the Grand Jabis came soothing and appeasing. Bodies were dumped, prayers were cast, and memories of turmoil withered with the flash of new hope. Tomorrow was just another good day, serving the Grand Jabis in the mines as it should be.
“Long live the Grand Jabis,” Omar bowed before the shrine, the morning sun casting its warmth upon his face. The world he knew would continue to be. The pain in his stomach whether hunger or disease, he grew accustomed to. He wore his hat and his worn shoes, and walked to the mines, his heart warm and his mind at ease.