George Orwell, 1984: “There was the most terrible oppression, injustice, poverty worse than anything we can imagine … the great mass of the people never had enough to eat from birth to death. Half of them hadn’t even boots on their feet. They worked twelve hours a day … they slept ten in a room. And at the same time, there were a very few people, only a few thousands … who were rich and powerful. They owned everything that there was to own. They lived in great gorgeous houses with thirty servants, they rode about in motor-cars and four-horse carriages, they drank champagne, they wore top hats——”
“If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever.”
Donald J. Trump: “I am the BEST builder, just look at what I’ve built.”
305 Years Ago, 360 Post Bellum. (2425 by the ancient calendar):
Next to a tranquil body of water, an eighty-foot cliff rose from a narrow, silty beach. A disk-shaped platform sped fifty feet above the shoreline. Two humans stood on the heliocruiser. The one in front, dressed in a silver, skin-tight, bodysuit, grasped a golden crossbar connected to the platform. The other stood behind him with her hands on a gray crossbar, her tattered dress flapping behind her.
The cruiser dipped toward the beach, swung left over the water, and turned sharply right before climbing toward the cliff top. When impact seemed imminent, it lurched up and over the rim.
The August setting sun reflected off the pilot’s black helmet but burned the woman’s exposed skin. The outside edges of her lips drew downward, and the wind fluttered her dirty, tangled hair.
The treetops shot past beneath them as the heliocruiser gained height. A distant village leaped into view. On approach, a multitude of run-down shanties appeared encircling a group of official-looking buildings in the village square. A hexagonal, six-story mansion dominated the center.
They climbed higher, revealing woods beyond the village to the west. On the right, a single-story textile mill extended three hundred yards. A perimeter fence stretched from either end and surrounded the village like a snake encircling its prey. More woods spread north of the mill.
Slowing, the cruiser descended toward a courtyard. A six-story mansion surrounded by six, spiral towers dominated its center. When the cruiser landed, three gray-helmeted militiamen in yellow, skin-tight bodysuits rushed toward it with batons at the ready.
After speaking with the pilot, two of them grasped the woman’s arms and escorted her toward the mansion. She broke free and bolted. One militiaman sprinted after her and jabbed his prodding wand against her back. A flash of sizzling light enveloped her, and she fell to the ground.
They grabbed her arms and dragged the unconscious woman toward the mansion entrance.