Ignorance is Bliss

“Good gorning folks!” the radio began in its impersonal buzz. “Today is October

8th, 2050. It’s 6 o’clock on the hour, a beautiful Friday morning, and I’ll turn it over to

Johnson for scheduling announcements.”

“Well good morning everyone. For those of you who, for some reason, didn’t

receive your monthly schedule, I’m going to read it off by city division number.” The

announcer’s voice was monotone and droning. Isabelle already knew her schedule by

heart: Grocery shopping at 1:00, doctor’s appointment at 3:30, and she’d go in for the

weekly surveying at 6:00. She tuned out the announcement for what seemed like the

thousandth time.

She reached over to her bedside table and turned the radio down to a quiet static.

She turned over to look at his sleeping figure, careful not to shift the warmth of the

blankets. Gently she touched her numbed fingertips to his dark curls. Something about

him sleeping there fueled the anger she felt towards the government. If only the people

had risen up sooner to end the seemingly growing scheme of monitoring everyday life, of

ordinary people, like her and Jeremy, things would have been different. Their life would

have been something more along the lines of a fairytale rather than a fight for survival.

Nothing about this life seemed fair or right in any sense to Isabelle. Even in the early

hours of the morning, her head ached as her rage awoke with a burning passion.

Slowly, and without a noise, Isabelle slid off the bed and crept into the living

room in what seemed like one fluid movement. Her feet felt strange on the cold cement

of the apartment floor. They shuffled behind her as she entered the kitchen and began
throwing together a simple breakfast. When she finally finished, she had their small table

set with two plates of steaming eggs and greasy sausages, the savory smell filling the

small apartment. She heard Jeremy get up before she saw him enter the room. His feet hit

the floor with an almost painful sounding thud. He slumped through the bedroom door

with a look that clearly suggested a consistent lack of sleep.

“Good morning babe,” he mumbled, his words half concealed by an impatient

grumble of his stomach. They smiled at each other and sat to eat their breakfast in

silence, something they’d become accustomed to when the cameras had been installed.

Isabelle hated her privacy invaded like that; especially being in the compromising

position she was in. Apart from the obvious hatred she held for the men in power, she

also helped to lead an underground rebellion known as the Anti-Ignorance League or

AIL. Their purpose was to inform the public on important global issues as well as the

goings on in their own country, and eventually if all went well, to reintroduce democracy

in a country where the government had grown corrupt. They’d encountered a definite

setback when the government-monitored cameras were set up in every home and store in

San Francisco, along with every street corner, train station; basically anywhere where any

number of people could gather. Luckily, however, AIL had been ahead of the game in the

creation of an underground hideout as a place to head up the long-awaited rebellion.

After the satisfying breakfast, Jeremy dressed casually for work. He and Isabelle

walked to the door leading to the steep stairs down to the busy street. They looked into

each other’s eyes—his, the blue-grey of an overcast San Francisco sky, and hers, a

vibrant green—with an unspoken tension. Ever since the beginning of the struggle, it

seemed to be an unsaid truth that any moment might be their last together. Jeremy raised

his trembling hand to the flushed skin of Isabelle’s normally colorless cheek. He leaned
in to give her a kiss. His lips pressed against hers, and she could feel only her desperate

longing to leave the confusion of this life behind, to start over, somewhere where their

happily ever after would be just beginning. In the place of this fantasy world, the dark

cement of the city jutted up against the pale morning sky, and the distracted people

displayed their ignorance with every misinformed decision. In this city, Love was set

aside, as fear settled in the hearts of the inhabitants. Disappearances were as normal a

thing as the bitter fog. Far too normal. And mysterious deaths were ignored by the radio

and newspapers, only whispered about beneath the city as a silent panic broke out among

the rebels.

They broke apart after a long moment. And he rushed sadly out the door. She

watched him walk down the hall than closed the door. She went to the bathroom to

shower before she too, left to start her day. The water in the shower took a few minutes to

heat up, and she spent close to 30 minutes under the hot water, her skin tingling as it

warmed. Once out of the shower she got dressed in an unnecessarily short time and

returned to the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair. She ran the brush through the

flaming red-orange of her hair. It fell to her waist in relaxed waves. The intensity of the

color looked out of place in the pale slate color of the bathroom. She would have liked to

paint the walls in some bright happy color, but color had been almost removed from

society. If not removed, it had been greatly diminished. Color was now frowned upon.

Isabelle was dressed and ready in a mere hour, although it seemed like a lot longer

to her. She took one last look around the empty apartment and stepped out the door into

the carpeted hallway. The carpet was a dull brown, dirty and torn from years of neglect.

She stepped quickly over it, through the hall and down the dark staircase. The bite of the

chilly wind hit her as she pushed the door open to the busy street. A few stray fall leaves
scuttled across the ground in front of her, blown from the small maple trees planted along

the sidewalk every twenty feet. Isabelle looked at the trees with interest, and saw with

disgust that brand new cameras were hidden there, among the colored leaves. She turned

and walked in the opposite direction.

The street was filled with early-morning shoppers and hungry children, as Isabelle

made her way, quickly, towards the local supermarket. She reached the glass door and

hesitated for the smallest second before pushing opening it open, and she entered. She

went directly to the small deli and ordered coffee. The man at the counter wore a friendly

smile and handed her a steaming cup.

“Be careful,” he said. “That there coffee is fresh outta the pot.” His slurred

western drawl became apparent when he continued, and Isabelle grinned and thanked

him. The line in the market was shorter than usual, and she only had to wait for a few

short minutes. As she reached the register, she held her hand automatically. The checker

took it and placed it on an electronic screen and she could hear the whir of the little

computer processing her handprint. She used the split second to wonder what else the

government was using her print for, but pushed that out of her mind as the man released

her hand. She walked distractedly from the small shop and back onto the street.

The entrance to the AIL headquarters was hidden in an abandoned train station;

one that the government had felt didn’t need surveillance. Isabelle found her way there

without any trouble. She let herself in and the dingy, low-ceilinged room erupted in

noise. The chatter of hundreds of people penetrated her ears all at once, and her head

throbbed for a split second. She pushed and shoved her way through the crowd of people,

towards the one person she needed to see. She saw the top of Nelson’s head amidst the
strangers, and rushed toward it. Aaron Nelson was the head of AIL, and a long-time

friend of Isabelle and Jeremy. She reached him in a matter of seconds and grabbed his

arm. He whipped his head around to look at her, his expression a mixture of relief and

something else. What was it? Was it happiness? Surely not. His next words made it

apparent what the faint smile meant.

“Isabelle, we’re ready.” It was hope.

Her face lost all color, but her voice expressed the same feeling she saw in the old

man’s face.

“They’re here? They’ve agreed to help?”

“Yes,” the man spoke in a whisper barely audible above the hum of voices. “Go

home, gather what you need, we’re leaving. Tell Jeremy. We’re meeting back here at

2:00. Don’t be late, we need to hurry. They’ve agreed to help us to move out of the city,

but only as far as Berkley, after that we’re on our own. Once we get out of the city, we

can begin to plan the overthrowing of all the political buildings and outposts, and work

from there. We’ll have a fighting chance once we’re outside of their vision.”

Isabelle listened intently to Nelson’s hurried instructions. “I can’t believe it,” she

said quietly. “I’ll be back.”

She swept from the room and walked determinately home. She reached the door

that led to the apartment, but something was wrong. The door was open and rattling on its

hinges. Isabelle ran up the stairs to their door that she had slammed as she left only 20

minutes ago. It was closed as she had left it, but the uncomfortable feeling in her gut

didn’t fade. She opened it cautiously and looked into the previously empty living room.
The room was in ruins. Tables overturned, chairs smashed, not a single piece of the

antique furniture left unharmed or standing. Eyes filled with tears she allowed herself to

enter the room. She didn’t even have go any further to know what had happened but she

made her way to the bedroom, her legs shaking. The body on the bed was propped up

against the headboard, and she stared into his beautiful face.

“Jeremy…” His name came out as a choking whimper. His head bent awkwardly,

and she looked away. The sick feeling in her gut from earlier convulsed violently and she

puked, her eyes streaming with tears. Wiping her mouth she stepped closer to his lifeless

body and she could see now a thin wire around his neck. She grabbed the wire and pulled

it away from him. A small camera was attached to the end. How sick, she thought. A

piece of lined paper was folded and shoved into the broken lens of the useless spying

device. Isabelle’s fingers closed tightly around the paper. Unfolding it, she noticed a note

in neat handwriting scrawled across the top of the paper.

Remember, Ignorance is Bliss.

She turned the paper over in her hands, but that was all that was written on it. She

threw the paper down and ran from the apartment, not caring where her feet decided to

carry her. The rebellion could wait. Her breaking heart couldn’t. And all she could do

was keep running.