Ian Gibson Mod 1 3-26-2007 Guilty of Thought The light bulb was blinding. Cold in its embrace, staring at me with the burn of a million chemical reactions. Swinging from the ceiling in a nervous oscillation, it cast long, shifting shadows. The room was dark and bare, its only occupants a metal table, a pair of chairs, and an enormous mirror. I was alone. My trembling hands pried at each other, looking for something to pass away the darkened time. My body was numb from hours of sitting in the rigid metal furniture. Had it been hours? It seemed like days since my front door had been kicked in and cuffs slammed against my wrists. I had been sped to the local Department of Compliance and tossed with rough hands through a darkened door, ordered with a stern voice to remain there until I was attended to. Now it was an indefinite time later – my mind struggling to gain some kind of foothold in the room sterile of time or sound. The deafening silence seemed only to build in the hollow space. Gradually a crescendo of white noise built, forcing tons of pressure onto my fragile head. I wanted to scream, to yell, to be heard – but I knew it wouldn’t help. Just as I felt I would break, the doorknob clicked. My eyes whirled to the murky metal object protruding from the door. Had it really moved, or was that just my imagination? Maybe somebody was trying to come inside - maybe the black suits had finally arrived to poke and prod at me. Why would they turn the knob, enough for it to make an audible noise, but then back away? Was this a test, a trial, something from which they could study me? My eyes shifted to the mirror on the wall to my right. It reflected the man faithfully – slouched in the chair, his hair disheveled, the light glaring off his harsh appearance. His face looked calm with a hidden touch of panic. Was there someone on the other side of the mirror, staring back at me? They would study every minute detail, trying to gain some understanding of who I am and how to break me. They would undoubtedly use whatever they could to gain an edge in the interrogations. An echoing series of metallic clicks let me know someone was coming through the door, taking care to enter in a menacing manner. I tried to stare at my own reflection as long as possible. I’d make him wait at least a few more seconds – it was the least I could do after my countless minutes trapped alone. “Mr. Peterson,” the arrival grumbled. I finally turned my gaze to bear upon the six foot two behemoth that I had come to affectionately call “Big Bear”. I had never seen this man before, but I thought Big Bear was appropriate nomenclature for such a grizzly man dressed in a ridiculously elaborate monkey suit. “Mr. Peterson,” Big Bear grumbled again, but this time with an overemphasized but ineffective undertone of authority. “Do you know why you’re here?” I smiled, trying to conceal my panic. “Oh officer, I’m innocent,” I said in a cooing voice. “What could I have possible done wrong?” Big Bear didn’t like that. His eyes squinted, his jaw tightened, and he grew visibly angry. I knew his mind was turning with the possibilities of what to do next – he was used to the usual criminal that begged and pleaded for their life. “Mr. Peterson,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “You are being charged with conspiracy to rebel, unlawful criticism of the administration, illegal protesting, disturbing the peace, noncompliance, and disruption of the American work ethic.” I laughed. “I’m assuming that all of this is under the Patriotic Reform act of 2025?” I inquired. “Or is this part of the Revised Alien and Sedition Act of 2028? Maybe the Citizenry Compliance Act of 2031? I get them all mixed up – there all just pieces of tyrannical doctrine to me.” Big Bear slammed his fist onto the table, causing the grin to drop from my lips. “Mr. Peterson, did you or did you not operate a website under the title of,” Big Bear paused, glancing to the paper crumbled in his gigantic hand. “ ‘Revolution Network’ ?” “Yes, that is my site.” I stared into Big Bear’s eyes. “Catchy title ain’t it?” Big Bear didn’t flinch. “Mr. Peterson, where was this website located?” he inquired. This was just procedure to him. He knew the answers, I knew the answers – Big Bear just had to get my “official” confession just to make it look like due process. “ ‘Revolution Network’, or RevNet, as I like to call it,” I replied with a Cheshire smirk, “is located in the only place it could exist – masked behind a proxy far from the national firewall.” “Mr. Peterson, are you admitting that your website violated the Internet Security Protocol Act of 2033?” “Yes, yes I am,” I replied. “Or as I like to call it, the Great HTTP Wall of America.” Big Bear didn’t find my remark to be humorous. There was no point in me trying to persuade my innocence, for I was as guilty as could be. It was the price that every free- thinker and philosopher had to pay under the new United States of America, it’s democracy a relic of a bygone era. Ever since the bombing of Disney World in 2013 and the chemical attacks on L.A. in 2016, the government had gained more and more power in order to maintain “national security”. Unfortunately, the government also felt the need to seize the rights of the citizens, subsequently abolishing the first, second, fourth, ninth and countless other amendments. What followed was a period of massive political reform with the unassuming public following their mischievous leaders without question. The great American democracy was eventually replaced by an overbearing, Orwellian oligarchy. Freedom fighters were all that remained of the forgotten America. College professors, environmentalists, political reactionaries, and other radical outcasts were what formed the movement to restore a true democracy. Unfortunately, it’s getting tougher and tougher each day to fight the man when the government has unprecedented access to your personal records and the ability to convict without a judge or jury. I am a revolutionary, one of very few that stands before the rushing wall of oppression that is the United States government. Standing up for what is right is hard to do, but it has to be done. I’m lucky that I got my opinions out for so long before getting caught. “Mr. Peterson, you are well aware of the criminal charges against you?” Big Bear asked. “Yes, but the only thing I’m really guilty of is wanting a free America,” I replied with a persevering tone. Big Bear let out a long sigh and stared at the table. A few silent seconds passed before he brought his eyes to look into mine. Simply his piercing stare sent shivers down my spine. “Mr. Peterson, you are hereby convicted of the previously stated charges,” he said in a monotone voice. “As an officer of United States law, I sentence you to immediate death.” I lost sensation. I knew it was coming, it was what all persecuted radicals got, but I had never realized the finality of the consequence. My life was done. Two guards entered the room, rushing towards my slumped body. Each grabbed an arm and a leg and pried me from the chair using force only applied to a useless object. I didn’t care anymore. My mind tried to grasp the fact that I would be dead in a few minutes. As I was carried down the darkened hall and through another door, only one thought lingered on my mind – would I be remembered? I was restrained in a wooden chair, the only entity in a barren room. The guards left and locked the door behind them, leaving me to ponder my ending. Everything was a blur. Nothing mattered to me anymore, not even the moldy blood stains spattered across the walls. A wide slot opened up on the wall across from me and I stared into it. I could just barely make out the shapes of men walking in the room next to mine. “Ready men,” ordered a voice. The barrels of countless guns slid through the slot, each pointing directly at me. It would all be over soon. “Aim,” a pause, too long – will I live? “Fire!” Deafening explosions tore through the small room just as I felt a mass of objects bury into me. As I lay there dying, all I could hope for was that I had made a difference and that in the future it would be better.