Of Rings, Slings, and Handicapping Things
A/N: Okay so this really random piece of writing was my English assignment and I honestly worked so hard on it even though the teacher never looks at it == I'm quite satisfied with this, to be honest, but I thought I'd share this because any type of critique is always helpful and helps me learn :)
It's based on a short story we read in class, Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut, where every one of higher-than-average talent must be handicapped in this dystopian society. It's set in the year 2081, when the world finally becomes "equal". Hope I did okay~ <3
- - -
March of 2081 was the year mankind finally reached equality. Today - this fateful day - is the day that all those with superior abnormalities must bid farewell to the bright destinies that their futures withhold. After all, who needs special talent? Who needs art; creativity; imagination? Without differences, there is no jealousy. Without jealousy, there are no fights, no disagreements. Without fights… there will be no war. It is March 31st; today the Handicapper General will make her rounds at precisely 8am, assigning those over-achievers the exact items that will grant them the gift of uniformity.
One mustn’t have a reason to cry, should they? Isn’t this what the world has been trying to achieve all those years before? Legend has it that just 70 short years ago, such a thing as perfect and complete equity was not of existence. Oh, how life must have been like! The horrible, pain-filled days where people were actually… better than others? Many are content; this idea of “average is the norm” appeals to those who only know all too well of a normal, mediocre life. Is this disappointing? Perhaps to some. But to most, this was going to improve the world - one step at a time.
***
18 year-old Harmony huffed. This was not supposed to happen to her. She was born with the gift of a golden voice. She had mastered the English language at the young age of 5, singing with the power and vitality of a practiced opera singer throughout her life, and gaining world recognition before the age of 13. There was no way some measly Handicapper general was going to stop her from reaching for her dream; to pursue the life career she knew was at her fingertips. But she knew she had no choice.
Standing at the front porch, Harmony crossed her arms, lifting one to shield her eyes from the garish morning sun. She sighed, rolling her eyes and glaring at nothing in particular. Her parents were expectant and visibly nervous, as they waited continuously for the General to arrive. A microphone, she was told, was her handicap. Her voice was too good - it provoked envy in others, such that it had to be prevented. The tiny microphone, permanently attached to her clothing, would be rigged so that every time Harmony opened her mouth in an attempt to sing would screech and crackle, causing her voice to come out squeaky, off-balance, going flat or sharp in all sorts of directions.
***
“So, how bad is it?”
“Worse than you think. Yours?”
“Don’t get me started.”
It wasn’t until later that afternoon that Mona, Harmony’s best friend, called to inquire about the new handicaps they had received. Like Harmony, Mona was dazzlingly talented, only in the form of visual arts. She was a painter, and a very fine one at that. If one was to watch her at work, they would see her brush stroke after stroke of pure passion; on canvas, on paper, on sidewalk alike. They would be mesmerized by the mere agility of her movements; every flick of her wrist, every drip of paint meticulously placed on canvas. The world was her muse; she could take anything and everything, turning them into divine masterpieces. Butterflies and fairies danced and flew off the page, the raging winds howled, thunderstorms crashed, and the laughter of mirthful children could be heard in her every piece. Leonardo Da Vinci would have been jealous of her work - that is, if they even knew who he was.
“It’s like - it’s like being chained to a wall for a year or something,” Mona was sobbing. “It’s an arm sling; a heavy metal arm sling that prevents me from using my good hand. All I can do now is paint messy strokes not even worthy of being called art. Heck, it’s worse than Lisa’s work!” She was hysterical now, as all her previous ambitions had been so cruelly dashed. Lisa was Mona’s twin sister, but she was as normal as any of them came. She enjoyed drawing as well, but her average intelligence only got her so far as scraggly stick figures scratched on paper with lead.
“Hey, don’t cry… I’m sure yours can be fixed… or something. I’m just- I’m stuck like this,” Harmony whispers. She had been trying to console her best friend for the past hour, but all in vain. She wasn’t in the mood to talk anyways; and who was she to tell Mona not to worry when she couldn’t take her own advice? Just earlier on, they had heard from their younger friend, Jim, who was blessed with the natural gift of humour. He made people laugh and was extraordinary amiable; making friends wherever he went. People usually took a liking to him upon their first meeting. Apparently, he is now assigned to a ring to be worn on his finger at all times, sending bursts of electric shocks throughout his body whenever he felt the urge to laugh or crack a joke. Poor, poor Jim - he must now live a life of solitude, free of any form of happiness or amusement.
Reaching out, Harmony picks up a painting, a gift from Mona as well as her latest masterpiece, so appropriately named Starry Night by the two friends. A token of their friendship and a personal favourite, Harmony stares wistfully at the intricate strokes of the delicate trees and elegant hills that contrasted wonderfully with the twinkling stars hanging in the night sky; a symbol of their once-bright future, slowing beginning to fade into the background.
Mona is the first to break the silence, and suddenly there is the tiniest glimmer in Harmony’s dark brown orbs. “Do you think there’s hope for us?”
Harmony almost smiles, albeit sadly. It’s the slightest quirk from the bottom right corner of her lips, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Maybe there is after all. “I don’t know, Mona,” she murmurs, sighing. “But I sure hope so...”
-END-
A/N: it made sense right? .___.
It's based on a short story we read in class, Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut, where every one of higher-than-average talent must be handicapped in this dystopian society. It's set in the year 2081, when the world finally becomes "equal". Hope I did okay~ <3
- - -
March of 2081 was the year mankind finally reached equality. Today - this fateful day - is the day that all those with superior abnormalities must bid farewell to the bright destinies that their futures withhold. After all, who needs special talent? Who needs art; creativity; imagination? Without differences, there is no jealousy. Without jealousy, there are no fights, no disagreements. Without fights… there will be no war. It is March 31st; today the Handicapper General will make her rounds at precisely 8am, assigning those over-achievers the exact items that will grant them the gift of uniformity.
One mustn’t have a reason to cry, should they? Isn’t this what the world has been trying to achieve all those years before? Legend has it that just 70 short years ago, such a thing as perfect and complete equity was not of existence. Oh, how life must have been like! The horrible, pain-filled days where people were actually… better than others? Many are content; this idea of “average is the norm” appeals to those who only know all too well of a normal, mediocre life. Is this disappointing? Perhaps to some. But to most, this was going to improve the world - one step at a time.
***
18 year-old Harmony huffed. This was not supposed to happen to her. She was born with the gift of a golden voice. She had mastered the English language at the young age of 5, singing with the power and vitality of a practiced opera singer throughout her life, and gaining world recognition before the age of 13. There was no way some measly Handicapper general was going to stop her from reaching for her dream; to pursue the life career she knew was at her fingertips. But she knew she had no choice.
Standing at the front porch, Harmony crossed her arms, lifting one to shield her eyes from the garish morning sun. She sighed, rolling her eyes and glaring at nothing in particular. Her parents were expectant and visibly nervous, as they waited continuously for the General to arrive. A microphone, she was told, was her handicap. Her voice was too good - it provoked envy in others, such that it had to be prevented. The tiny microphone, permanently attached to her clothing, would be rigged so that every time Harmony opened her mouth in an attempt to sing would screech and crackle, causing her voice to come out squeaky, off-balance, going flat or sharp in all sorts of directions.
***
“So, how bad is it?”
“Worse than you think. Yours?”
“Don’t get me started.”
It wasn’t until later that afternoon that Mona, Harmony’s best friend, called to inquire about the new handicaps they had received. Like Harmony, Mona was dazzlingly talented, only in the form of visual arts. She was a painter, and a very fine one at that. If one was to watch her at work, they would see her brush stroke after stroke of pure passion; on canvas, on paper, on sidewalk alike. They would be mesmerized by the mere agility of her movements; every flick of her wrist, every drip of paint meticulously placed on canvas. The world was her muse; she could take anything and everything, turning them into divine masterpieces. Butterflies and fairies danced and flew off the page, the raging winds howled, thunderstorms crashed, and the laughter of mirthful children could be heard in her every piece. Leonardo Da Vinci would have been jealous of her work - that is, if they even knew who he was.
“It’s like - it’s like being chained to a wall for a year or something,” Mona was sobbing. “It’s an arm sling; a heavy metal arm sling that prevents me from using my good hand. All I can do now is paint messy strokes not even worthy of being called art. Heck, it’s worse than Lisa’s work!” She was hysterical now, as all her previous ambitions had been so cruelly dashed. Lisa was Mona’s twin sister, but she was as normal as any of them came. She enjoyed drawing as well, but her average intelligence only got her so far as scraggly stick figures scratched on paper with lead.
“Hey, don’t cry… I’m sure yours can be fixed… or something. I’m just- I’m stuck like this,” Harmony whispers. She had been trying to console her best friend for the past hour, but all in vain. She wasn’t in the mood to talk anyways; and who was she to tell Mona not to worry when she couldn’t take her own advice? Just earlier on, they had heard from their younger friend, Jim, who was blessed with the natural gift of humour. He made people laugh and was extraordinary amiable; making friends wherever he went. People usually took a liking to him upon their first meeting. Apparently, he is now assigned to a ring to be worn on his finger at all times, sending bursts of electric shocks throughout his body whenever he felt the urge to laugh or crack a joke. Poor, poor Jim - he must now live a life of solitude, free of any form of happiness or amusement.
Reaching out, Harmony picks up a painting, a gift from Mona as well as her latest masterpiece, so appropriately named Starry Night by the two friends. A token of their friendship and a personal favourite, Harmony stares wistfully at the intricate strokes of the delicate trees and elegant hills that contrasted wonderfully with the twinkling stars hanging in the night sky; a symbol of their once-bright future, slowing beginning to fade into the background.
Mona is the first to break the silence, and suddenly there is the tiniest glimmer in Harmony’s dark brown orbs. “Do you think there’s hope for us?”
Harmony almost smiles, albeit sadly. It’s the slightest quirk from the bottom right corner of her lips, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Maybe there is after all. “I don’t know, Mona,” she murmurs, sighing. “But I sure hope so...”
-END-
A/N: it made sense right? .___.