Aug 092019
Mind control in the 21st century

Mind control is real and still very much done today, however we have been programmed not to recognise it. Today it’s called something very socially acceptable …

As I walk into the factory the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. I feel apprehension, rebellion and disbelief. How is this still possible in the time we live in? Why aren’t people picketing around the front doors, protesting the creation of these robots? Do they actually agree, or have they been made into robots themselves, unable to see what is happening right in front of their eyes?

The smell of fresh paint tingles in my nose, my shoes squeaking on the floor as I walk through the corridors, peeking into the different rooms. My mission; Search and rescue. The picture is the same everywhere I look. Robots neatly lined up in rows inside or marching in rank, one not pushing the other. All of them perfectly in place and under complete control. Unbelievable. I’m shocked, angry and sad. After all these years nothing has changed!

I see the mind programming room ahead and reach for the cold steel handle, yanking the door open. Twenty robots noiselessly move their heads in unison, staring at me through unquestioning eyes. Mindless eyes. There they are! My kids! My head is spinning as I run through the ranks and grab the two of them from the chairs where they were being programmed only moments before. As I turn to make our escape, my adrenaline high perception takes in all the details of the room. Two dozen flower crafts line the window, each practically identical to the one next to it. Colourful pencil cases lay on tables. A lone fly buzzes through the air in slow-motion and I hear the blood roaring in my ears. The programmer is frozen in shock, but she will react at any moment. I have to get them out, now!

With a small hand in each of mine I fly out of the room, two pairs of short legs pumping hard to keep up with my longer ones. We don’t look back, we can’t afford to! I hear indignant shouts behind me. The programmers are not happy, but we keep running. Finally we reach the doors and stumble through them to our freedom. A few more steps and we stop to breathe, doubling over and gulping in air. We’re safe! We made it! Together we turn around and look back at the big, formidable building. I look up for the last time and read the writing above the front doors: Public Elementary School.

Tears roll across my cheeks as I walk away with my precious children. Tears of joy but also tears of loss. I couldn’t save anyone else! But I can help them. And I will. Mark my words. I will …

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