October 31st, 2046

Openpage Status:
Anonymous says: From the beginning of the Dictator, the government has been denying the citizens of America privacy by consciously stalking us through the means of Openpage and Holo-Chat. Its time we put a stop to it.

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January 21st, 2044


“And I swear, I will protect, serve and unite this Country. I will turn the United States into what it once was-a republic. Nothing will bring us down. Not famine, war or economic depression. While the United States may suffer with these tragedies right now, I promise to change that. I will be your leader and your commander,” the man speaking suddenly smiles, but it is evil-twisted-not at all like it was before, “I will be your dictator.”

The crowd gasps, the news reporters click their cameras, and the politicians take a step back. This is definitely unexpected.
What happened to the man who only promoted good? The man who promised to fix their country and unite it? They didn’t vote for a dictatorship, they voted for America.
And while most would back track on what they said, or at least justify it, the new President just chuckles softly at the crowds’ reaction. They would come around, he believed, they had to. They had no other option. America was falling apart before their very eyes and without a leader it would crumble into to a pile of dust.

The guards usher the new President away from the mob and lead him to the waiting room. He sits down on the sofa gingerly, waiting for the storm that was sure to hit.

“What was that about?”
The President laughs and rolls his eyes at his Vice Presidents greeting. He didn’t understand how he didn’t see this coming, with all of his talk about really changing the country and making a mark. Of course he would be more than just a President. He had ambitions. He wanted to be the next Napoleon…without the failure, of course.

“Oh, Charles,” The President says, “Did you really believe that it would take just a simple Presidency to clean up this mess of a country? America needs a dictator, someone to get these people into shape! Don’t you see that this a good thing?

“A good thing?” Charles snaps, “I thought we were on the same page here! You said that we had the same vision to make the country into something special and to pick up the pieces of the Depression and War though unity. A Dictatorship is not unity.”
The President scoffs.

“Unity isn’t what will help this country. We can’t just hold hands and sing songs until all of our problems magically disappear. We need to take action. And if you want to stay on this team, then you better agree with me.” He slams his hand on the side table next to the couch, sending shock waves through his hand. He ignores them, smiling when Charles jumps back in surprise.

“Look here, Mr. President,” Charles says, stalking toward him, “I don’t care how much power you have, you will not destroy this country under my watch. I will fight back.”
The President smiles again, that evil, twisted smile that is sure to send even a Roman Ligonier running.

“Charles, I don’t think you understand how much thought I have put into the dictatorship. I have an army. And-what do you have? Hopes? Dreams? Ideas? You are no match for me.”
Charles eyes flame with hatred, making the President shrink back for a moment.
But only a moment.
Charles turns to walk out the door, but after a moments hesitation, turns back around.

“You will not win,” he says, before walking out the door with one final slam.
The President lets him go, for he is not worried. He has been planning this for years and no ex-Vice President will get in his way. Especially Charles. He can only get so far, he has dreams but he doesn’t seek them. All talk, no action.
The President leans back into the couch, satisfied with his decision. Charles is no threat. All is going according to plan.

It is only two months later when he hears about the rebel forces in Connecticut that he regrets not shooting him then and there.

September 5th, 2046

BANG

The sound shakes through the town, sending a vibration through its core.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

It goes off again and again, not pausing for a single breath. Eyes fly open, doors are locked, and in the cases of many, guns are grabbed.

One girl, on the outskirts of the town, stares out the window of her bedroom. Her face is pressed up against the cold glass, her breath causing it to smudge. She rubs her blue eyes free of exhaustion, stifling the yawn that tries to break.
The sight she sees through the window almost sends her flying off her bed. She manages to grab the edge of her side table and pulls her self back up.

“What the hell?” she mumbles to herself. She peers through the window again, rubbing her eyes again, this time in disbelief.
She ignores the pounding of her heart.
She ignores panic that runs through her bones.
And most importantly, she ignores the urge to run out the door and toward the nearest airport.
There is no way in hell she is getting in the middle of whatever this is.

The girl climbs down from her bed, tiptoeing toward her parent’s room. She opens the door a crack, only to find it empty. A chill runs down her spine.
Where are they?
She slams the door shut and the next thing she knows she is flying down the stairs faster than she knew possible.

“Mom?” She calls out desperately, “Dad?”
No one answers.
She takes in a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
You’re ok.
You’re ok.
Calm down.
Everything is ok.

She creeps into the living room, grabbing her brother’s baseball bat that is sitting up against the wall. She holds it up in defense, knowing deep down that whatever is happening outside isn’t going to fall due to a metal bat, no matter how good her swing is.

Click

She tenses up, breathing heavily. What was that?
She creeps towards the end of the living room, being careful not to make too much noise. Because, lets be honest, she’s not the bravest person in the world and she’s most definitely not ready for whatever is going on here.
She hears it again.

Click
Click
Click.


“Hello?” she calls out. It’s stupid to talk, she knows it, but this is becoming more and more like a horror movie and talking is usually what the dumb girl running upstairs instead of out the door does in the opening scene. And, lets be honest, she’s pretty sure that’s the character she embodies most.

“Grace?”
Her ears perk up at the sound of her dad’s voice. She drops the baseball bat to the ground with a loud clatter and comes out from behind the wall. She flicks on the light.
The people in the living, she notices, look like her parents, they talk like her parents, but they are definitely not her parents. Well, at least not like she’s ever seen them before. Her dad is holding a gun in his hand, loading the bullets, producing the clicking sound she heard before. Her mom has knife clutched to chest, worry lines sketched across her forehead. Her hand makes its way to her mouth, trying to hold back the scream that is burning in her chest.

“Dad,” She gasps, “Wha-what is going on?”

“Honey…” Her mom drops the knife and walks towards her, enveloping her in a hug. “Please go back to sleep. You shouldn’t have to see this.”
She pulls away from her mom, crossing her arms across her chest.

“See what? Tell me what is going on! I’m not ten anymore, I’m fifteen. I can handle it.”
Her mother sighs in defeat, knowing that she’s right. Grace knows bits and details about what is going on, but not enough. Most people under the age of eighteen don’t. Because they don’t have to fight. And it’s not like she can find information on the news channels and the newspapers anymore. Anything that will insult the government in any way, shape or form has been outlawed.

“It’s the rebels,” her father speaks up, “they’re fighting back again. And…I’ve been called to fight with them.”
For the first time since she’s been down here, Grace finally notices the cardboard taped over their windows, the multiple locks chaining the door shut, and emptiness that has completely taken over her mother and father.
Because…because he’s leaving…
He’s fighting.
No.
This can’t be happening.
Not now, not today, not ever.
Her heart crumbles into a thousand pieces and it’s like someone ripped her arm right off.
Her ears start ringing and its like the world is suddenly moving in slow motion.
He can’t leave her now.

“Daddy,” she says, her voice breaking with every letter. A sob erupts from her mouth and she races toward him, clinging on to him with every fiber in her being. Maybe if she told hold tight enough, he won’t go.

“Gracie, I have to do this. For you and your brother. So you can be free again. Don’t you want to be free? You need to know that this life you live now… This isn’t really living.”
It hits her hard and she knows he’s right. She remembers when she was eight and there weren’t any ‘government officials’ stalking her schools. And when her parents could express their thoughts about the country without going into the bathroom and turning on all of the faucets so they wouldn’t be overheard by the cameras and sound monitors hidden in the walls. Life, she remembers, was so much more free.
She slowly pulls away from her dad, clenching her fists in her hands to keep herself from breaking down-again.

“I guess you’re going to go no matter what I say,” she sighs, tears threatening to spill out from her eyes. Her father pulls her into him again, hugging her tightly.

“I’m so sorry, Gracie.”
She nods against his chest. She knows he’s sorry, she knows that he means well, she knows that he’s doing this for her, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s leaving.

And it doesn’t change the fact that he probably won’t come back.

September 7th, 2046

The United States White House had lost its symbolic meaning as the years went by. It had soon gone from a sign of strength and unity to an image of disaster and discord. As the dictatorship built itself up, the White House slowly fell down. And soon it was nothing more than a distant memory.
Of course, it was still a standing structure, but it was now home to the dictator, who changed the buildings name and its meaning. So the White House was really only a shadow to its successor, the Imperium Building. And although ones shadow is always there, sometimes it is hidden by the sun.



“You might want to see this sir.”
The dictator turned his head at the voice of his secretary. He had been bothering him a lot lately, always barging in unannounced to have him sign this and that contract. And while usually he would have slammed the door and sent the poor kid away, today something seemed different about him. Maybe there were more than just papers to sign.

“What is it, Roy?” the dictator drawled.
Roy fidgeted in the doorframe, clasping his fingers behind his back.

“It’s the riots, sir,” he said, “they’ve gotten worse.”
The Dictators head snapped up and glanced at Roy.

“Show me,” he said.
He stood up from his seat and trudged across the room that was once known as the Oval Office. Roy led him to his own office and turned on the T.V hanging against the wall.

The Dictators draw dropped at what he saw.

“I don’t know how they did it sir,” Roy explained, “They’re not even supposed to have access to the news reports but somehow they hacked it.”

Instead of the usual weather report or sports broadcast, a video airing live footage of riots throughout the country flashed across the screen.
Images of the American Flag appeared along with pictures of the dictator with large X’s across his face.
And the on the bottom flashed the words,
Dictator Richard Bohdan for dead, time to cut off his-

Richard Bohdan turned off the television and marched out of the room.



September 26th, 2046


“Wait, you’re telling me you don’t have an Openpage?”
Grace laughs, as Kyra, who was probably the technology inclined person Grace had ever met, looks at her in absolute utter shock at the revelation. Grace knew that she was probably the only one at school (wait, world) who didn’t have an Openpage, but to be honest she didn’t see the point in having one. With everything going on with the Dictator, she didn’t see how anyone could waste their time posting mindless statuses and flipping through pictures. Grace was more concerned with the rebel effort, especially with her dad fighting.

“Honey,” Kyra says, “I’m calling an intervention. You are so completely withdrawn from technology that sometimes it actually hurts.”
Grace shrugs.

“I don’t really see the point in it. And, isn’t kind of creepy, you know with everyone seeing what you’re doing 24/7.”

“That’s the point!” Kyra exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air, “it’s like the ultimate stalking machine! There’s even a setting that lets Openpage post status for you. So you don’t even have to write anything!”
Grace quirks an eyebrow, laughing at her friend.

“And that’s not creepy and pointless…how?”
Kyra sighs and shakes her head solemnly.

“You just don’t understand, Grace. I will find a way to help you, I promise. You might have hope yet.”

“I don’t want you to waster your energy,” Grace says, “And anyway, I have a Holo-Chat, so I’m not totally behind the times.”
To prove her point, Grace pointed towards the projector in the corner of her room, which could project her image in the form of a holograph to any location she wanted.

“True,” Kyra says, “now that I think about, I think this is the first time I’ve talked to someone in person in like weeks. I’ve only talked to people through Holograph. Ever since the schools were cancelled, there hasn’t really been a point since there’s no drama.”
Grace smirked.

“You are an interesting case, Kyra.”

“I try,” Kyra says. Her face suddenly turns serious, “But really, Grace…have you talked to anyone since school was canceled?”
Grace’s face fell. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t. Actually, she hadn’t talked to any of her friends, besides Kyra, ever since her Dad left. The schools were canceled after the Rebels aired the Television Broadcast. The Dictator thought it would be a bright idea to punish the children of the Rebel forces by taking away education. If the next generation wasn’t educated, he had probably thought, how could they fight back?

“I haven’t,” Grace admits to Kyra, “You know, with my Dad and everything, it’s been hard.”

“I get it,” Kyra says, “But, you need a distraction. Honestly? If you keep worrying so much, you’re going to go bald.”
Grace cracks a smile.

“And what is this distraction? Don’t say a boyfriend.”

“Nope, not a boyfriend, although that is plan B. I’m making you an Openpage.”
Grace groaned. This was going to be a long day.

October 6th, 2046

Journal,

I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve been trying to help the rebel effort as much as I can by sending food and participating in marches, but I now I don’t even know what the point is. The entire reason I am even fighting is gone. My dad was killed. It was a week ago today and I have finally gathered the courage to write about it. My mom is devastated, my brother is crushed, and I am numb. I denied it for about 3 days and when it finally hit me that he was really gone…I just lost all will to live. I didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone, or even leave my room. It was my brother who actually helped me move on. My little brother. He’s so much stronger than I am. He told me that Dad wouldn’t want to see us like this. He would want us to continue what he started and fight. He was right. I have to fight, now more than ever. I’ve decided to put my Openpage account to good use and am starting a page about the rebellion. Maybe it will get more people to take part in the cause. Its worth a shot, and I really don’t know how else I would be able to contribute.. That’s it for now. I will try to update whenever I can.

Grace

October 28th, 2046


“Sir, it’s happening again.”
Richard Bohdan spins around in his chair, to see Roy standing in the doorframe with a worried look on his face. A look, Richard thinks, he has seen 1 too many times.

“What is it this time?” Richard asks with a sigh. He starts to get up, expecting to see another riot on the TV but is surprised when Roy walks into the room and makes a beeline towards the computer.

“What is it?” the Dictator asks, walking towards the computer.

“This.”
Roy types in a URL to reveal a screen portraying an Openpage wall. The Wall is covered with statuses and comments and videos and pictures are posted in every every open spot. Every few seconds, someone new likes the page, adding to the ever-rising number. Roy scrolls down to the bottom of the page to reveal the first status.

“Read this,” he said.

October 7th, 246

Openpage Status:
Anonymous says: Hello, I have created this page in response to father’s death, who was a soldier in the Rebel Forces. It has come to my attention that although we have an army and are fighting, the teenagers like me don’t seem to be doing much. We sit in our bedrooms and pray for liberty, when really, we should be fighting. This is our freedom. Our life. And we need to take charge of it. So, maybe we can’t go out and physically fight, but we have other ways. This page will be the start. I am dedicating it to the rebellion. Ideas, videos, speeches, anything you have, can be posted on this wall. We need to build a silent army. And this is where we will start.

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“Who is this?” The dictator chokes out.
Roy shrugs.

“I don’t know, sir. It was anonymous. Just some teenager. I wouldn’t have been concerned, but the page is getting very popular, and….I just have a bad feeling.”
Richard nods, his face unreadable. He paces the floor, his hands clasps behind his back, before turning back to Roy.

“I want it bugged. Actually, I want all of this Openpage crap bugged. I want to know everything everyone says at any time. Especially this teenage rebellion going on. Nothing will be hidden from me. Nothing will be anonymous.”

November 2nd, 2046


“How did you get my number?”
She sent the message quickly, her heart pounding as she waits for the response on her phone. Grace knew that this could happen, she knew that he could find her, but…she just wasn’t ready for it.
She didn’t expect it to happen this soon.

“Its not that hard to track down anyone if you know the right people. Just a little computer hacking, bugging, you know the drill. Actually, you should know better than anyone, considering your most recent post…Grace…”
She receives another message a second later, but this time it’s her writing, her post…
Openpage Status:
Anonymous says: From the beginning of the Dictator, the government has been denying-
She stops reading, her head starting to ache with pain. This can’t be happening.
He knows who I am.
He knows my name.
He knows my phone number.

“Stop texting me.”
Grace sends the message, her palms starting to sweat. Why did she ever do this? Is it really worth it? A page dedicated for revolutionaries? What is the point if this man has so much control?

“You know I can’t do that, Grace. It’s not that easy. I need to keep my eyes on you. I can’t let you ruin this dictatorship. America doesn’t exist anymore and you just need to except it.”

“And what if I don’t?”
A moment passes before the Dictator responds again.

“Then I will find you. I will find you and kill what is left you your family. You know what Grace, just saying you ‘anonymous’ doesn’t actually make you disappear. Not with this government. What is in a word? Anonymous means nothing anymore. I know everything.”

She doesn’t write back. She knows it would be useless if she did. If he doesn’t want her to be anonymous anymore, Grace thinks to herself, then she won’t be.
He just got himself a war.
A real, physical, war.

Nothing will be anonymous.

November 10th, 20146

Openpage Status:
Grace Luther says: Drop your keyboards. We’re going old school. This is war.

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