HOLMLAND SECURITY (standard:Satire, 1052 words)
Author: Gavin J. Carr	Added: Feb 23 2005	Views/Reads: 3649/2260	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
It all started with Agnes Richmond. She was a nice old gal. One of the more sprightly residents, always ready to lend a hand. But one September morning, just before craft time, she was found in her apartment, beaten half to death, her room turned upsid

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She shook her finger at us, as though we were a bunch of naughty
children. “The Administrators want what's best for you, they've only 
got your interests in mind.  And I'll tell you something else.  There's 
going to be more changes around here. It would be best if you all 
co-operated instead of argued.  Think of the community, instead of 
yourselves for a change!” 

She stormed off leaving us hanging our heads, half in anger, half in
shame. 

MacClusky was right.  There were more changes.  First it was bars on the
windows.  Then, holes drilled in each of our doors.  It got so you 
couldn't walk in the complex without feeling that a dozen, washed-out, 
rheumy eyes were watching you from their peepholes. 

But that was all right.  It was all in the name of safety.  Of security.
It came to a head a few weeks later.  I was walking the corridor – the 
only exercise I got now that I couldn't go outside – when I heard 
crying coming from the day room. 

I went in and there was Hazel, sitting at the games table, her head on
her arms as she sobbed. 

“What's going on?” I asked.  The other residents' worried faces peered
back at me.  There was a growing tension in the room as though a storm 
were brewing. 

Hazel lifted her head.  A Scrabble piece – the letter ‘W' – was stuck to
her cheek.  “Oh, Mike.  They've changed the rules again,” she said.  
“They say that I can't get visitors anymore.  They won't allow my Tom 
or Linda to come and see me!” 

She brushed the Scrabble piece away and gave her nose a blow with a
crumpled hanky.  “Visitors are only allowed twice a year now.  And by 
appointment only!” 

I stood there and trembled with indignation.  “They've gone too far,” I
said.  “We've got to do something about this!  Who's with me?” I looked 
around the room and saw that the others were nodding in agreement. 

We took hold of one of the chairs that littered the day room.  It was
heavy and awkward, but there were plenty of people willing to lend a 
hand. 

“Come on,” I shouted. 

We half ran, half stumbled to the picture window, using the chair as a
battering ram. 

There was a crash as the glass caved in. 

Outside I could see a woman walking her dog.  She looked up at us, her
jaw slack with surprise as a dozen pensioners leaned through the bars 
and shouted at her. 

The monkeys were running the zoo. 

Too much Holmland security would do that to you. 

THE END. 


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