"The Choice": A short story for the gov't shut-down

Dear readers,
     I am dusting off this blog after many months of neglect to share with you a short story I'm working on that was inspired by last year's threat of government shut-down. This is not a final version, but because it seems so timely I don't want to wait until I have time to revise it before sharing it.
     This is a story about choices. About false dichotomies. About the ever-increasing gap between our nation's leaders and its citizens.
     I welcome your thoughts and comments about the story itself or about ways in which we might move forward as a country.
Warmest regards,
S. H. Aeschliman

The Choice
by S. H. Aeschliman

“An increasing percentage of Americans are becoming alarmed at the aggressive posture taken by the members of government toward the very people who not only elected them into their respective positions, but also grant the members of government the required privileges to carry out their constitutional duties.”
—Orion M. Martin in a letter to the editor of newsreview.com

The room was not large. Maybe six by eight feet, no more. The fluorescent lighting made the white linoleum floor gleam and turned her skin a sickly gray-green. The walls were cement blocks painted gray. And there were two doors.

Both doors were set in the same wall, and they were identical: polished wood with a brass handle. They looked like the front doors to suburban houses, not the kind of doors you’d find in a cement-block room with linoleum flooring.
 
Though Sara could not remember how she’d come to be here, she was sure she had not entered through either of those doors. One moment she’d been lying in bed under her down comforter, thinking she should get up, gray winter light coming in through the window…the next moment she was sitting on a metal chair in her pajamas, facing two doors.
 
The only sounds were Sara’s breathing, her heartbeat, and the occasional click and whirr as the ventilation system pushed fresh air into the room. Because, after all, they were not cruel, she thought bitterly. They may have taken her from her bed—chosen her of all people for some unfathomable reason—kidnapped her and brought her to this tiny room, told her she had just twelve hours to choose the fate of her people…but they were not cruel, and they proved it by pumping in fresh air.
 
That, and by showing her what was behind the doors. They wanted her to make “an informed decision.”
 
“You must choose one,” he’d said. “But we are not cruel. We don’t expect you to choose blindly.” Then he’d shown her what was behind each of the doors. She’d had a good, long look. Long enough to understand the consequences of each choice. And then he’d shut both doors again and given her twelve hours to make her decision. Just twelve hours! How could she be expected to decide the fate of so many in so little time?
 
An unseen clock chimed ten. Only two hours left.
 
Sara sighed, got up, and started pacing again. If only there was another way, she thought for the hundredth time. Because the truth was that she didn’t like either of the options.

 
When he’d opened Door Number One, it had been a surreal experience. It had opened into thin air, high above cities. As she watched, a scene unfolded beyond the doorway. Like a movie.
 
She saw her country. Saw the people looking to the government for solutions to their problems, and she saw the members of the government unable to agree. They fought endlessly about money. Dug in their heels just to prevent the other side from getting their way.
 
She saw the people look away from the center of government. They began looking to each other. While the government wasted time squabbling, the people began to come up with their own solutions at the local level. Little by little they made progress by pooling their resources and working together. They created programs to deal with homelessness. They fed and clothed each other. They cleaned up their own water and found ways to make sure everyone had access to medical care. They funded their children’s educations. When there was a flood, earthquake or hurricane, while the government wasted time arguing over the best way to deal with the situation and where the money should come from, people from all over the country banded together to help.
 
The members of the national government didn’t notice. Years later, they were still fighting about the best way to cut expenses. Their advisers tried to warn them, but they were too caught up in their own battles to see what was coming until it was too late.
 
The people gave up on the government. Since it didn’t seem to matter much whom they voted for—no one was able to get anything done—they stopped voting. And then a few people began urging their fellow citizens to stop paying taxes. What’s the point in paying taxes, they said, when the government can’t agree on how to spend the money? When the services our tax money is supposed to pay for don’t happen? Why should we continue to pay the government for a job they don’t do? We could put that money to better use here in our state, city, and neighborhood. We could use that money to solve our own problems instead of having to pay twice.
 
At first only a few thousand were brave enough to try it. But as word spread through blogs and Internet videos, the movement grew. Hundreds of thousands stopped paying their taxes. Then millions. The people redirected the money they would have paid to the national government to local governments—for police, firefighters and welfare programs in their own communities. Each community decided what they needed most, and they made it happen. And it happened much more quickly than it would have otherwise. They built and repaired schools. They cultivated community gardens and fed people from them. They cared for their sick and elderly.
 
Finally the members of the government took note, and they were not happy. No taxes meant no money coming in to fight about. Nothing to pay themselves with. They declared a state of emergency. They declared marshall law. They called in all the military personnel they could to sweep from coast to coast, bringing the population back under control by any means necessary. People fled the country in droves. Others took a stand and fought. Hundreds of thousands died. Still others shrank and cowered in the shadows of the soldiers; most of these survived.
 
In the end, the national government prevailed. They seized property to house their newly recruited Peacekeepers in every community. In the name of peace, they limited citizens’ movement. Revoked their right to assembly. Restricted media to government-owned channels and censored the Internet. Limited freedom of speech and citizens’ ability to defend themselves. Only government officials were allowed to carry weapons.
 
After the national government had regained control of the states, it made some concessions to the people. It passed laws that put time limits on government deliberation. It closed schools and opened community health clinics and soup kitchens instead. It set up a process—a lengthy process involving many forms, but a process—by which any citizen could petition the national government to step in should the local leaders not be doing their jobs. (No one dared point out that it hadn’t been the local leaders who hadn’t been doing their jobs.) They reorganized elections so that the people could only vote for individuals whom the government chose to put up for election, and the government only chose to put people up for election who had a stake in maintaining the system. They raised taxes to pay for the Peacekeepers and the petition forms, so fewer people could afford to house and feed themselves. More and more people became dependent on the government to provide food and housing. Taxes rose again to pay for these programs. In some places, people worked for room and board alone, because there was nothing else to be had.
 
The national government ruled as a military state. The people lost their education, but they were mostly fed and housed. They had medical care, but they lost many of their freedoms and their sense of empowerment. It went on like this for a very long time.

At first, the movie that unfolded behind Door Number Two looked very much the same—the people giving up on a government out of touch with the needs of its citizens and instead creating their own solutions. The people refusing to pay taxes and the government finally taking note. But instead of the government overthrowing the people, the President declared that he would not condone violence against his own citizens. Instead, the national government gave up most of its powers. It retained its control over the military, but the sentiment about local government was so pervasive that everyone knew that even members of the military would never act against the people. The government requested donations from citizens to maintain the army. It made an argument that they still needed to be able to protect national borders. When that failed to raise the necessary funds, it held bake sales and auctions.
 
The local governments grew in strength. They erected clear boundaries between communities to better control their resources and began to speak of themselves as tribes. The cultural differences between communities became more pronounced. Eventually they became so distinct that they acted as their own sovereign states, and not even the state governments could hold them together. The country broke apart. Conflicts between tribes became more frequent and serious. One group dammed off the river, and the communities living downstream went without sufficient water for crops or drinking. Sometimes a tribe invaded another tribe’s territory and stole all their animals and everything they wanted from the houses. The national government did not interfere; it was charged only with protecting national borders.
 
No longer were the states united. Some communities voluntarily joined or were claimed by Mexico and Canada. In some places the people worked together for the common good, and in other places it was everyone for themselves. Corruption and greed abounded. In some regions a few “leaders” hoarded the resources, leaving the majority of people incredibly poor and barely surviving.
 
Some tribes thrived, while others petered out. You couldn’t just go anywhere you wanted to anymore. Not only did some tribes require passers-by to pay a tithe, but in places the roads decayed and became impassible because a tribe didn’t repair it or because the road went unclaimed by any tribe. Worst was when the road was ruined AND you had to pay to pass through the tribe’s land. And there was no guarantee you’d get there in one piece; robbers roamed freely. Unlike in some places where you paid for protection, in these places you paid you take your chances.
 
There were loners, too. Drifters. Mercenaries who felt no connection to any tribe and wandered between states, doing just about any kind of work anyone would pay them for. In food, shelter and liquor—no one used the old currency anymore for anything besides decoration. It was worthless.
 
There were also people who still swore allegiance to the national government, who planned for a day when the feds would restore order and justice in all the lands. That day never came, but there were some crazies who killed people in the name of the national government. People desperate to reclaim the familiar, people desperate to hold onto values and traditions gone by.
 
But in other places the people were making it work. In some areas, tribes co-existed peacefully despite cultural differences. They consulted each other before making decisions that would affect their neighbors. They found solutions that worked well enough for everyone. They helped each other when they could. There was freedom of movement between territories. They traded and bartered. They dealt fairly with one another.
 
It was all so uneven. While the people in some communities thrived, the people in others were subjugated to poverty, hunger and other abuses too horrible to name. And as the disparity between communities grew, as the tyrant leaders began to band together, it could only be heading in one direction: war.


The clock struck eleven. One hour left.
 
Sara couldn’t decide. Didn’t want to decide. Which future was worse? Which the lesser evil? For there was no doubt in her mind that neither was desirable. Was a uniform, locked-down society where people, for the most part, had food and medical care better than a society characterized by enormous diversity, one that held both paradise and hell?
 
The longer she’d thought about it, the more her innards squirmed. The more certain she became that neither option was right. She didn’t want either one! “Not cruel,” indeed. This was the worst kind of cruelty. If she’d been asked to choose blindly, as least she could have pleaded ignorance. At least then she wouldn’t have had to face her future knowing exactly what was going to happen and how awful it would get.
 
If only there was another way, she thought for the thousandth time. If only there was another way. Her head throbbed.
 
She’d been pacing intermittently about the room, but rather than studying her surroundings, her vision had been turned inward, remembering the scenes as they’d unfolded and chasing her own logic like a dog chasing its tail. For the first time since those first five minutes of her residency she looked around.  All blank gray cement block, except for the vent down by the floor in the right-hand wall. It was one of those rectangular metal vents about three by three feet. It was also painted gray. The air clicked on again and blew at her ankles.
 
She got down on her hands and knees and peered through the slits in the ventilation cover. Was that a glimmer of light in the darkness beyond? Or just a reflection of the fluorescent lights bouncing off the linoleum?
 
Hope began to blossom within her. She had to get this cover off. But how?
 
She touched the metal face. It wiggled. She examined the edges and saw that the screws were a little loose at the top. She used a fingernail to loosen them more. But when she tried to do the same on the bottom screws, her nail broke off, sending blinding pain shooting up her arm. She swore and sucked on her finger.
 
Bong.
 
The first chime of the twelfth hour. Sara broke out into a cold sweat and took her finger out of her mouth.
 
Bong.
 
Gritting her teeth against the pain, she worked the fingers of both hands into the gap between the cover and the wall.
 
Bong.
 
She pulled. The cover creaked and came away a little more. She pulled harder, the muscles in her arms cording. The cover didn’t budge.
 
Bong.
 
She firmly planted her feet on the wall to either side of the grate.
 
Bong.
 
Pushed with her legs at the same time she pulled on the cover.
 
Bong.
 
The metal edges bit into her hands. The muscles in her shoulders strained to the point of burning.
 
Bong.
 
With a loud bang, the cover snapped free of the wall, sending Sara sprawling onto her back. Her head hit the floor with a crack and stars danced in front of her eyes.
 
Bong.
 
As quickly as she could, she got up and stuck her head into the opening. It was dark, but she could see that the shaft only went back about a foot before heading straight down.
 
Bong.
 
A ghostly white light seemed to be shining up from down there, intermittent and uneven. It reminded her of early morning sunlight on her bedroom wall, interrupted by the shadows of a tree branch swaying in the wind. A trickle of air wafted toward her, bringing with it the scents of roses, cloves, and salt.
 
Bong.
 
Was this the third option she’d been wishing for? And if it was, was it better to leap into the unknown rather than choose one of the doors? Could she really decide the fate of so many people on so little information?
 
Bong.
 
Sweat soaked her t-shirt and trickled down her back. Her head felt like it was splitting in two. But it was now. She had to decide now.
 
She looked over her shoulder at the two doors on the far wall—patient, silent, seemingly innocent. Remembering what she’d seen behind them, she felt her resolve strengthen.
 
As the twelfth chime rang out, Sara sucked in a breath and dove head-first down the hole.