A scrap of paper blows lazily on the breeze.
Jikka stairs are the yellow stained sheet, which flies closer to him. Every so often it would stop moving, only to be blown even further. Coming ever closer, it fell at his feet.
The noise of digging, churning, and the hammering of steel on stone continued to distract him. The labour guards shouted occasionally, forcing everyone to maintain their work.
Jikka stared at the paper and decided to ignore it.
Concealing any type of material is a punishable offence. He thought, as he continued to break rocks.
Jikka could remember when one of the workers was checked on their way to the bed sheds. The feeble old man was caught with some pebbles in his pockets. Broken pieces of stone; tiny worthless shards.
He was beaten within an inch of life, and was tossed into "The Pit."
Jikka looked to where the paper was, and there it was, still resting, still there. The curiosity got the better of him and he slowly reached down to it. He heard footsteps, and before looking around he scrunched it up and shoved it down his pants.
Night came, and his muscles ached the way they usually did. Guards kicked workers, some workers whispered curses among themselves. The most exciting thing to happen was when someone was taken away, kicking and screaming.
He finally lay back in his bed and heard a scrunch. He'd almost forgotten about the paper. Once the lights were out, he reached into his pants and took out a half soggy piece of paper, and uncurled it. Words. That's all it was. Just words.
"Our world is changing for the worse. Corruption lies in the hearts of anyone with power; corruption is the price of control. I never understood it more than I do now.
I decided to stop using any technology; they witness all, and nothing is hidden. They kind of find paper though, they can't monitor the words I write. My handwriting is awful though, had I known it would come to something like this, I may have worked hard at making it illegible.
My name is Sherum Sinders, I was once a man with a good job, a good home, a family, and a name to be proud of. I entered politics and did quite well for myself. "A trustworthy face," that's what the people said when I ran.
I rubbed shoulders with many different people, and as the years went by, I gained status, I climbed up the social ladder and started to learn things that chill me to my core.
This world is going to change very soon; we have been lied to. These coincidences have all been planned. Nothing is an accident. The moment I found out, it was too late to stop it. Many had spoken out, and many were silenced - permanently.
Trying to stop it, was like holding back a tide by staring at it. Impossible. When nobody listened to reason, I leaked things to the public, in the hopes that together we could try to undo the plans that were set in motion. This was traced back to me, and I lost everything; everything I cared about was taken from me; as punishment.
Alone, I'm about to board a ship and flee to Free Space. I may be able to warn them about what lies beyond their borders. Will they listen? Some Human, whose name is now mud? I hope so, for all our sakes.
I have scattered copies of this, and I hope the wind will carry it to the right person; the right set of eyes; the right mind. History has taught us that all it takes is one person, who says the right thing at the right time."
