Blurring the lines between fiction and fact

I wrote a very odd short story today. It is really a series of short stories interconnected by the fact that the individual characters make up a society but also a collective in their shared experiences and community. It is also a highly experimental story in that I am doing things with it that might strike some as lazy writing but in fact, every part of it has a purpose. I use a few strategically placed sentence fragments to convey the splintered emotionality/rationality of individuals subsumed into a National identity forced to equate a single man as "The Leader"
with the Nation, the military, war, and even religion as One. Then I pull all of this apart to explore the facade around the leader (who is really just a scared and scarred little boy trying to impress his father) and the myth of power and power is weilded in this fictitious society. I know this may sound like a social criticism of a certain society but that is also something I am careful not to do. I wanted to build upon what I was reading in Adorno/Horkheimer and my earlier post by blurring the obvious fascism of Nazi Germany with the not so obvious forms in which it manifests still. So, I'm purposefully trying to keep the story non-linear and unrooted in a specific time or even one nation's history. Here's an excerpt from the story.

The Artist
Scott pulls the light until the chord would stretch no further. His images stare back at him, waiting for definition. Waiting for ink to bleed color into their black and white outlines. "Frames," he thought. "Frames are the new prisons. Words form cages of thought." He smudged the last image before signing his name and placing it gently into the editor's box. "Can we speak?" Scott jumped at the sight of his boss, Frank Barnes. "Yeah." Scott smiled. "I was just dropping tomorrow's strip for you." "That's what we need to speak about." Frank said, solemnly. "Come into my office please."

The coldness of the office interior sent chills up Scott's spine. He stared at the press awards Frank had lining his office walls, the pictures, the handshakes, the gold plaques, the memories. All of them felt heavy to his tired eyes. Threatening. Frank sat in a chair opposite Scott and folding his hands, one in the other, as if in prayer. "So is it that bad?" Scott laughed, to break up the silence. "It is probably worse than you think." Frank replied. He drew a long breath in and sighed it out slow, before continuing. "We can't run your strip anymore. Maybe after the election but not right now. Not...right now." Scott sat back in the chair. A thousand thoughts went through his mind at once and he could only catch pieces of them. "Am I being fired?" he asked quietly. "No." reassured Frank. "No, they just don't want political comic strips. They feel yours are too partisan for our paper." "Too partisan or too honest?" Scott asked, anger choked in his throat. "I'm just telling you what they said." "Who's they?" "The board."
"The corporation." Scott sneered. "The very corporation that writes your paycheck." Frank remanded. "So what did they say? I can draw, but only if I draw what they want me to?" "You can draw comics that will unite the Nation. Draw images that will bring joy to the readers and support for the troops. Your personal political beliefs are not to be published by this paper." "Unless they coincide with the official party line, right?" Scott growled. He stood up and pressed his hands against the desk that separated them. "You don't have to fire me, Frank, I quit." "Well, I'm afraid you can't do that either." "What?" "The intelligence agency has a file on you. If you quit, they will come for you and charge you with fraud." "Fraud?" Scott sank down in the chair hard. "Tax evasion, I believe, was one of the charges." "How can they charge me with something I have never done?" Frank sighed again. "You see, it has nothing to do with you as a person. You only matter to the extent that you are and remain, a celebrated cartoonist. People love your comics but this is not the time to be critical, Scott. This is not a time for dissent. We must stand beside our Leader and his party. Otherwise...well...we threaten the very way of life that we enjoy."

Scott left the office numb. He felt as though someone had just pushed him off a cliff and he was still waiting to hit bottom. It wasn't until he got home and saw Elise reading to their daughter Amber, that the weight of Frank's warning hit him. He brushed away angry tears and walked in the door, smiling. Nothing was wrong, he told his wife. Today was a great day at work. Of course, he would check on Amber's present tomorrow. Of course, he remembered they were throwing a pizza party for her third birthday. His daughter came up to him. Her huge blue eyes reminded him of the sky without clouds, without even a chance of rain. This was the first time today he had noticed her shirt, though stained from lunch, had a huge flag on it and pretty sequins spelled out the words "God Bless the Nation." He held her tight, burying his face in her shoulder length red curls, as his sobs were muffled by the local news.


It's not perfect but it's mine. :) If you want to read the rest, email me and I'll send it to you.
As I said, this is really my way of trying to play with the boundaries of fact and fiction and to engage my recent studies in a creative/contemplative way.

peace!