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    Equal Part 1: The Confrontation
    Equal Part 1: The Confrontation
    Equal Part 1: The Confrontation
    Ebook103 pages1 hour

    Equal Part 1: The Confrontation

    By W.J. Costello

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    About this ebook

    Janus is a lawman who enforces society's sacred law that every citizen must be Equal in every way. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. But when Janus falls in love with a woman who broke that law he begins a transformative journey of self-discovery that makes him question the society in which he lives. Now he must choose between love and duty. Will he bring the woman to justice? Or will he join her and become a lawbreaker himself?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherW.J. Costello
    Release dateMay 17, 2014
    ISBN9781311744432
    Equal Part 1: The Confrontation
    Author

    W.J. Costello

    W.J. Costello is a former journalist who now writes thrillers. He lives in Maryland.Learn more about W.J. Costello: wjcostello.comJoin W.J. Costello's newsletter to keep up to date with new releases: wjcostello.com/newsletter

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      Book preview

      Equal Part 1 - W.J. Costello

      EQUAL

      Part 1

      W.J. COSTELLO

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

      EQUAL

      Smashwords Edition

      All rights reserved.

      Copyright © 2014 by W.J. Costello.

      This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. For information address: wjcostello.com

      CONTENTS

      PROLOGUE

      CHAPTER 1

      CHAPTER 2

      CHAPTER 3

      CHAPTER 4

      CHAPTER 5

      CHAPTER 6

      CHAPTER 7

      CHAPTER 8

      AUTHOR INFO

      PROLOGUE

      DEATH. IT WAS on his mind. All day, every day. Mors knew the others were thinking about it too. Distant look in their eyes. Muffled sobs.

      He sat watching them now. One after another they shuffled past in their brown tunics. Brown—the color of earth, of soil, where their cremated ashes would soon be sprinkled.

      Today was their last day on earth. December 31. Tomorrow every single one of them would turn fifty. They’d spend their last birthday burning in the crematorium, exiting this world in the form of rising black smoke. Including Mors.

      He looked down at his brown tunic and shook his head. He’d known this day was coming. But so soon? Now? Where’d the time go? It seemed like only yesterday he was celebrating his tenth birthday, skipping stones across the water, running and playing in the warmth of the sun.

      He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the numbers branded there, the date of his birth. It was almost fifty years ago. A lifetime. He sighed. Oh, to do it all over again.

      Mors was sitting on the ground with his arms wrapped around his knees and his back pressed against the flagpole. Just above him flew the national flag of Equal. It was already at half-mast. He listened to it snapping in the wind as he watched the aimless wandering of brown tunics.

      There were maybe six hundred of them here. On this island crematorium. An island located at the mouth of a harbor on the East Coast of Equal. There used to be a fortress here. Mors had heard all about from the guards. They’d told him it was a pentagon-shaped fortress of concrete and brick. You could still see its crumbling ruins on the outer edges of the Crematorium Building.

      There were similar crematoriums located throughout the country of Equal. Crematoriums large enough to serve entire regions. They were used only two months out of the year. Whereas the smaller crematoriums were used all year round. For local purposes. Things like the cremation of lawbreakers. Or murder victims. Or those who died early of natural causes, or from accidental deaths.

      The large regional crematoriums were designed for the single purpose of euthanizing every citizen who reached the age of fifty. It happened every year. Always on January 1. But the process would always begin on December 1. On that day every forty-nine-year-old Teacher in Equal would enter a regional crematorium.

      Mors remembered going through the experience just thirty days ago. He remembered the guard’s instructions. Take off the gold tunic. Put on the brown one. Now you’re no longer a Teacher. You’re a Guest. Walk this way. This is your roommate. These are your temporary quarters. Rules. No leaving the crematorium grounds. No suicide attempts. No fighting. The month of December—your last month—is to be spent reflecting on your life.

      Now Mors shook his head at the memory. Afternoon sun on his face. Flag billowing overhead. Brown tunics trudging past.

      After a while he saw a group of guards taking a break. They reminded him of his youth, his time as a Sheriff, back when he was working guard duty at a crematorium not unlike this one. It was a miserable part of the job, but you had to do it. He figured he must have euthanized and cremated over five thousand citizens. Some at the small local crematorium, some at the large regional one. Five thousand citizens. Up in smoke. Gone.

      Mors hugged his knees tighter now. He sat watching the group of guards for a little longer. He felt sorry for them, the poor things, stuck here. He thought about their schedule. December 1 through December 31: guard the Guests. January 1: euthanize and cremate the Guests. January 2 through January 15: clean up the crematorium. January 16 through January 26: deliver the cremated ashes to Farmers. The schedule was depressing enough to make you want to climb into the ovens yourself.

      Mors remembered the hot working conditions. Standing close to ovens. Pushing dead bodies in. Sweat pouring off your face.

      Looking up now, squinting into the sun glare, he saw the tall crematorium chimneys. Three of them. Vertical structures that appeared monstrous where they rose against the sky. Their long shadows fell over the crematorium grounds like the iron bars of a jail cell. The sight brought back memories for him. Difficult memories. Ugly memories.

      He looked away.

      A few moments later he reached down and picked up a clod of dirt. He held it tight in his fist. Then he let it sift between his fingers as he thought about his time as a Farmer. He remembered having to sprinkle cremated ashes over the fields, having to fertilize the soil with the remains of citizens he’d never even met, their entire existence passing through his fingers. Now Mors felt sorry for the Farmers. Soon every single one of them would have countless ashes to spread.

      Some of the Guests started to chant now. Guests would do that every now and then. It helped to pass the time. Mors sat listening to them as they kept whispering, Individuals are nothing. Society is everything. Then a different chant. Every citizen exists for every other citizen. Then another chant. You are us. We are you.

      Mors wiped his soiled hand on his brown tunic. He wrapped his arms around his knees again. Then he sat looking past the guards, past the Guests, past the edge of the island. Staring out at the sparkling sea, he said to himself, Mors, old boy, not a day in your adult life has passed without your thinking about your last dying day. Well, now that day has finally arrived. And you’re still thinking about it.

      He thought, You know, it wasn’t a bad life. Could have been better. But not too bad. Wouldn’t mind doing it all over again. He thought, To be alive. What an experience. You show up. You do stuff. You leave forever. That was your life. Those who are never born don’t know what they’re missing.

      A good-looking woman walked past Mors now. His eyes followed her. Nice breasts. Good hips. Maybe he should try to get some of that. Not a bad way to spend your last day.

      Mors had

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