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Cult Story George sat in his cool, dark room, quietly reflecting on the events that brought him to where he was. He was a strong man of twenty years. His hair was gold as fields of wheat, and his skin was tanned. Everyone else in the commune shared these characteristics, yet he stood out. He always kept his back proudly erect, and maintained an air of self-confidence that was the envy of his peers, but looked down upon by his elders. His green eyes always shone with intelligence. Indeed, he was intelligent. He was the leader of a strong underground resistance whose plans were about to be brought to fruition. He knew that tomorrow would bring closure to years of struggle. It was hard to find a specific event that had started it all. George’s parents had explained to him that there are certain things people do and certain things they say, and that there was no other way to live. He had always questioned the dogmatic culture in which he lived. He found life dull and unhappy. Every person he met seemed the same as every other. By the time he was twelve or so, George had realized that things would never get any better. He decided that it was up to him to bring about the changes that would allow him and those he loved to live a proper, healthy, and happy existence. George had always been told that sacrificing his values for the benefit of the commune was what would bring him greatest happiness. This he had done for twenty years, and, in that time, found little enjoyment in life. What happiness he did achieve, he achieved through his own projects. One of his greatest joys was his writing. He devoted almost all of his free time to composing essays and short stories that reflected his ideals. Eventually he began to share these writings with a few of his closest friends. |
All original material © 2003 Erika Salomon.
