Please critic and comment on this wacky idea!
"Stutopia"
Chapter One: Making Utopia
Had there ever been a line so long? Steven sighed, looking around the enormous lobby of the DMNC (Department of Martian Nation Creation.) It was a dreary place, the walls white and windowless, and the lights shinning brightly to add to the affect of bleakness. Of course, the people did not need to be entertained by much visually, for the DMNC possessed a television. It flashed brightly, spewing a rabble of propaganda; news, national, and otherwise.
“
Marsistan! The future! Live here and be happy!”the screen called. “
My name is Joe Snood, and I am glad I joined the Socialist State of Marsistan! It gives me great joy to be a part of the most powerful institution on the red planet!” A man on the screen said, giving the people around the room two huge thumbs up.
“Join us! We’ll conquer the world…with you!”
Steven reaffixed his gaze on the small counter. He groaned. Only two men manned the multiple stations, their voices droning and slow. The first man was caught in a heated argument with a certain individual “in-liner.” Though, you could not say that the man behind the counter was putting his all into the conflict. He leaned there, obviously bored with the conversation, while the man blasted away at him with harsh curses.
Why had he come again? Oh yes, to create his own country. Once more, his mind flooded with fantastic visions of the future. Freedom, equality, non-violence; it would be a perfect nation that he would create. He remembered so clearly when it had come to him. He glanced back up at the television. It had been during one of those commercials, those damned Marsistan commercials, that he had decided what the world needed. It needed a place of safety. He would be the first to create one. This was why he would call it Utopia.
“Hey, buddy, what are you waiting for? Get up here!” a heavily accented voice called.
Steven looked up with a start. Only moments before he could have sworn he was dozens of places behind in line. He rushed forwards, apologizing under his breath. The woman behind the counter shook her head slightly and stared at him. They both stood for a moment, eyeing each other silently.
“State your business…” she said.
“I’m h-here t’apply…f-for a nation,” Steven said. He cursed that disability, that inherent set-back. Steven could not speak in public without a stutter.
“Alright, that’s new,” the woman said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Have you identified a location?”
“Y-yes…grid twenty-three, seventeen contin-nent th-three,” he stammered.
The woman punched in several keys on a small board and nodded. “Island on the Martian Sea. Good choice, I suppose. What’ll the name be?”
He smiled. He had been prepared for weeks with the answer to that question. “St-utopia,” he said.
“Stutopia; interesting,” she said, adding the name to the system.
“No!” he roared, “Utopia!”
She frowned slightly. “Sorry kid, I already entered it into the system. No going back now.”
Steven shrugged. What could he do? It didn’t matter. The woman flipped around in her chair, reaching for the buzzing print machine. She took a small slip of paper from it and handed it to Steven.
“You are now an official World Leader. You have the power to create any and all laws in your nation, and the ability to join the national league in representation of your country. You have complete diplomatic immunity in all nations, but only once you have established a judiciary system in your own country,” the woman droned. She went on, but Steven ignored her. He was a world leader. He meant something.
He looked out over the room. Of course, most of these people would ‘mean something’ soon, but he would be different. His country would make a difference, and he would lead it to that position.
Stutopia. It would be a name that commanded respect in the future.
Snizzelbogg hummed serenely, petting mister Pigglesworth, his per pig. The pig oinked. Snizzelbogg nodded and purred, looking out on the television. The latest ad was the greatest lie he had ever crafted! It was perfect. He smiled, seeing his own face smiling back at him, pointing.
“Sir,” Neville said, barging into the room. Snizzelbogg leapt back, covering up his exposed chest with the sheets of his bed. “I’m sorry. I have some horrible news to report.”
“What is it, Mister Intruder-when-Snizzelbogg-is-enjoying-himself-in-bed-with-his-dog?” Snizzelbogg asked.
“Sir, we are in the middle of a major power crisis at the moment! People are getting more gas for less coin, and we are loosing money!”
“Raise the prices, raise taxes,” Snizzelbogg said idly. “Kill some important figure and blame it on the enemy.”
“Sir, the people no longer trust you. You became dictator on the principles of ‘no taxes’ and ‘no lies’. You simply cannot raise any kind of price,” the man said.
“So what are we looking at if I do?”
“Rebellion,” Neville said.
“I have plenty of biological weaponry that I don’t need,” Snizzelbogg said.
“Sir…”
“Convince me, aide!” Snizzelbogg cried. “What do you propose we do?”
“Well, there are only a few ways to escape such a debt. We have pretty much expended all the options. However, if there is one think about Marsistan that we all know, it’s that you have assembled the most powerful military in the world,” the man said. Snizzelbogg raised his eyebrows in interest. “Well sir, I think you know what I am getting at.”
“Yes, this is why I hired you. I like the idea.”
