"Evening, Morgan," I grunted as I sipped my lukewarm coffee. The liquid bitterness felt like a kickstart to my soul as I steeled myself for another evening patrolling the streets of Plasticville.
"Have a good night, Officer Jon," she said, flashing me a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The Plastic Ones always had that dead-eyed look—like they'd seen too much but couldn't remember any of it. Well, I suppose that's one more law-abiding citizen in this godforsaken town.
"Right." I pushed open the door with a jingle and stepped into the orange-tinged twilight. My boots crunched on the gravel as I walked towards the cluster of Plastic Ones huddled by the street corner. My grip tightened on the cup as I approached them, ready to enforce the town's ridiculous rules.
"Good afternoon, Officer Jon," they chimed in unison, their voices void of genuine warmth.
"Smiles up, folks," I grunted, pretending to care about codes and norms. Being adjacent to power came with this burden. "You know the drill."
They stretched their lips into unnatural grins, each one more disturbing than the last. I nodded in approval, though my stomach churned at the sight. I wished things were different, but that was Plasticville for you – a town of absurdity.
"Keep it up," I said, forcing a smile of my own. "And remember, no unauthorized gatherings. The mayor's orders."
"Of course, Officer Jon," they replied, their voices blending into a single monotonous hum. My coffee tasted even more bitter now.
My uniform felt heavy on my shoulders, a testament to the weight of responsibility and power I held. The mayor trusted me, needed me. Yet, with every rule enforced, every laughable demand followed, a nagging voice whispered in the back of my mind: Is this really what you want?
The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across Plasticville. A perfect time for a little rule recitation, I thought, strolling down the street with my trusty rulebook in hand. The words echoed in my head – annoying, yet necessary.
"Rule One," I muttered under my breath, "Recreational shopping choices are restricted to approved clothing, decor, electronics, and toiletries from city-licensed vendors to prevent uneven accumulation. There is a wide selection available, actually, but custom outfits or will result in fines."
"Rule Two," I continued, smirking at the sheer absurdity of it all, "Music played or performed in Plasticville must strictly adhere to inoffensive synthesized instruments and pre-approved lyrical themes promoting harmony. i.e. They must be qualified as Plastic Pop."
"Rule Three," I sighed, feeling a pinch of annoyance as I recalled how many times I'd enforced this one, "The language spoken must strictly adhere to terms in the official Plasticville dictionary. Slang, expletives, sarcasm and euphemisms introduce linguistic chaos."
"Rule Four," I said, swallowing a chuckle, "The visual arts are restricted to still-life displays or landscape depictions of Plasticville. Creative interpretations risk violating community standards and distorting reality."
"Rule Five," I mumbled, shaking my head, "Approved fiction focuses on tidy resolutions teaching citizens proper behavior. Creative works exploring fear, misery or open-ended outcomes are expressly forbidden."
"Rule Six," I whispered, the familiar sense of unease stirring within me, "All Plasticville homes and yards must exhibit ideal model aesthetic with properly manicured flora following strict horticultural bylaws."
"Rule Seven," I muttered, "Travel to and from Plasticville is highly restricted, with residents rarely receiving permission to enter or leave. National security concerns necessitate isolation." Actually, that’s the rule, but I can’t remember a single time anybody besides the mayor has ever been allowed to leave town.
"Rule Eight," I snorted, catching sight of a Plastic One up ahead, "Speaking ill of or questioning any Plasticville policies and procedures is prohibited, especially regarding the town’s origin and governance. Only positive, pleasant interpersonal interactions are allowed in public. Criticism and strong opinions may qualify as distressing disruption."
"Rule Nine," I murmured, a heavy weight settling in my chest, " Any indication a citizen may be experiencing atypical emotions, manic states, or depression warrants notification of health authorities for mood stabilization. Citizens feeling unwell physically or emotionally must report to a Community Wellness Center. Undisclosed issues and self-treatment could spread anomalies."
"Rule Ten," I exhaled, the last words barely audible, "Public gatherings like concerts, rallies and exhibitions require approval to dictate attendee rosters, themes, and content avoiding unrest or signals of nonconformity."
Right as I finished, the mayor's voice crackled through my walkie-talkie like nails on a chalkboard. "Officer Jon, we need to discuss the upcoming Celebration."
"Of course, Mayor Gleam," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. You'd think the man had better things to do than micromanage me. No such luck.
"Meet me in front of City Hall. We must ensure that everything runs smoothly this weekend." The radio went silent, and I knew he was waiting for me.
"Copy that, on my way." I sighed.
I arrived at City Hall, and there stood Mayor Gleam, all shiny and silver-haired. He looked like a living statue, his expression frozen into the perfect Plasticville smile.
"Ah, Officer Jon! Let's get straight to the point: The Celebration this weekend is very important. We want to commemorate our town and promote a sense of unity. It’s your job to make sure we don’t have any dissenting behavior during the talent show," he began, looking me dead in the eyes. "I'm sure you understand the importance of maintaining order."
“And remember, it’s incredibly important to keep a keen eye out for any sign of Glitches,” he commanded unnervingly.
Oh yeah, Glitches. Mayor Gleam’s words snapped me back to reality and reminded me of my purpose here.
Glitches are the real threat to our town. And the one rule we don’t talk about.
It’s a bit hard to explain what a Glitch IS, actually. But you know one when you see one. They just…don’t fit in. They stand out. You notice them. They seem to question everything just by their mere existence.
The truth is, nobody knows where the Glitches come from, but for as long as this town’s been around, we’ve been trying to keep them out.
A long time ago, our world was full of all different types of people. Different thoughts, perspectives, and opinions. And it created chaos. It created dissent. Everyone started to hate each other. All of these different opinions started to go to war with each other. And eventually, the whole world was at war with each other. We’ve come to call them the Great Divisive Wars, and they became catastrophic. All of these different views and opinions solidified and things became violent. So violent that society began to eat itself alive.
But the great founders of Plasticville had the foresight to see that the world was heading for impending doom, and escaped—here to Plasticville. They established this town as a refuge, a sanctuary from infighting and dissenting opinions.
That was 100 years ago. That’s what we’re commemorating this week—the founding of this great town, and our founder’s insights have allowed us to live in perfect harmony for the last century.
Well, almost perfect harmony. All except for the Glitches.
And I guess that’s my real job. All the seemingly arbitrary rules can drag me down sometimes, but they serve to keep our town harmonious. Peaceful.
So I’ll be vigilant, just like Mayor Gleam demands. Glitches are rare, and we normally catch them very quickly, but if one goes unnoticed for too long, they can cause quite a stir.
