1968

A story for no-one:

"The heat inside the tiny apartment was oppressive, as always. Ken was sprawled out on the tiny couch. It had been four days since he had left the room, and there seemed to be no end in sight. He wanted so desperately to get back to his work. Sure, being a lowly lab technician was not a coveted or particularly interesting position, but there were other reasons to go to work. But that was impossible now. He would have to wait out the current trouble. His neigbour had agreed ot bring him supplies as he needed."

"Why was Ken hiding in an oppressive sweat-block? Well, it was 1968 in Guangzhou. Gangs of unruly youths dressed indentically and carrying before them the Oriental equivalent of the Ark of the Covenant were roaming the streets, flollowing directives that shifted and changed like the weather. They were just as predictable. So, it was inevitable that those with foreign features were to be singled out as scapegoats for the stagnating ecenomy, for the natural disaster, for the crimes and the human stupidity and human failure, for oppressive geopolitics and restrictive social mores. Ken's father had been a Japanese national when he had been conceived. He had never had trouble for his difference before (save in the countryside, but he did not veture out there often--he had no reason to)."

"His savings would weather this storm. There was enough food and water. His neighbours were kind people. It was a close-knit community that had survived earlier riots and displacements. Ken had never been antsy; he had taken what he needed to take, whichever burdens life threw in front of him. He had made it through the cutthroat university and the vocational training, the loyalty training, and the doctrinal training. What bothered him now, what made his skin feel lumpy and driven to move was, predictably, her."

Reader participation survey: will Ken a) get up and brew some tea on his makeshift samovar, b) take a nap, since there is nothing better to do, c) get up nad look out the window, or d) memorize some poetry (in Chinese, of course)?

Consider: "why do you insist that the genetic code is "sacred" or "taboo"? It is a chemical process, and nothing more. For that matter, we are chemical processes, and nothing more. If you deprive yourself of a useful tool simply because it reminds you uncomfortably of your mortality, then you have needlessly and pointlessly crippled yourself."