“It appeared that there had even been demonstrations to thank Big Brother for raising the chocolate ration to twenty grams a week. And only yesterday, he reflected, it had been announced that the ration was to be reduced to twenty grams a week. Was it possible that they could swallow that, after only twenty-four hours? Yes, they swallowed it. Parsons swallowed it easily, with the stupidity of an animal. The eyeless creature at the other table swallowed it fanatically, passionately, with a furious desire to track down, denounce, and vaporize anyone who should suggest that last week the ration had been thirty grams. Some, too-in some more complex way, involving double-think-Syne swallowed it. Was he, then, alone in the possession of a memory?” George Orwell
He walked down the rainbow in a trail of blood, approaching the laughing bunnies spread all across the land. A memory enters his head of his father building him a radio controlled helicopter. Smiling as it wouldn’t lift off the ground. Trying to take the Ken doll from the cockpit, hoping that was the only thing weighing it down as they both laugh when the helicopter smashes the Ken doll below it. Screams from a distant land he has never known pulse through his veins. The little girl covered in filth and blood and shadows reaches her arms up to the sun as she ducks from the shadows humming overhead. The humming that never stopped. The humming she could hear in her dreams. The humming that took her family away from her. The tracks of her feet on her way to work screamed up from the earth. The shadows which took all she is continued to float overhead, their electric eyes piercing through her. This rushed through The Detective’s blood, flooding all of his perceptions until he was looking out of her eyes. In a rush of pain she continued work, the same thing over and over, filling the bunnies with stuffing, she had to play a game in her head as she did this. She was giving them life. Not a life like her own, but a real life, with a purpose, they were going to save her, save all of them but they needed that life that the humming took away so long ago. It was the humming they hid from. Some sort of memory from the distant past programmed them to fear this sound. One of them wasn’t scared and she saw life in this one like she’s never seen before. She watched the light flowing from his now beating heart. When she took him home, he hid in a corner away from the light, shaking in fear when the humming returned. And once he began talking it never stopped. You need to know how to communicate with them…I do-They don’t understand…how can they not understand-you’re not real to them…how do I become real-by being what they think is real…what they think is real…really…isn’t real-that’s where you begin. She held up a cracked mirror to Bunny as he continued speaking, they just need to know who made me, where I came from, oh, do you know I’m really a bear, not a bunny? She shook her head as Bunny jumped under the bed at the sound of the humming. You can’t hide any more, you can’t be scared of that. That will never be normal. As Bunny looked through the mirror he saw a rainbow bleeding to the ground in the darkness as all of the colors washed across the bunnies lying on the ground laughing. The Detective tips his hat as the bunnies rise from the ground. The Colonel clutches his burning book as he hurriedly enters his helicopter quickly floating away into the air. The Detective is silent as the bunnies wait for his words. As she begins to feel her new skin she touches her heart trying to hold in the shooting stars from leaving her as the stars light a path for the bunnies to follow.
The censorship we’re not paying attention to:
“The administrations of social media websites have been pursuing, targeting, and restricting the publishing and access of Palestinian pages and accounts, and in full coordination with the Israeli occupation government,” the Initiative said in a statement. “As a result, Palestinian media have been restricted, and were unable to convey their national message.” The Palestinian Content Protection Initiative From an article by Jessica Buxbaum on Mint Press News