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Mark woke up to the familiar noise of the morning bell. It never failed. Every morning at precisely 7 ‘o clock the animalistic screech sawed through his ears. He hated it, yet he loved it. He was not quite sure which one was his true feeling, but he never bothered to focus his mind on it. His mind was always drifting these mornings. He just continued his mechanical movements.
He went to the closet and took out his clothes. Always the same, a grey suite, a white shirt and a black tie, with the President’s emblem on them. He was very proud to wear them. They showed everyone that he was one of the President’s trusted men, a true patriot. But they all were, were they not?
A melancholic thought rushed through Mark’s head. What was he thinking? What was this nonsense all about? Suddenly, he just wanted to go back to bed and fall asleep, sleep through the whole day. He was walking towards the bed, when the alarm struck. A small table ejected out of the wall, and a little glass with white fluid was placed neatly on it. Mark could not help it. He reached for the glass, and swallowed the fluid in one draught. He felt a familiar sense of strength and hapiness flowing through hs body, and he walked off to work.
It was a beatiful morning in downtown Los Angeles. Birds were twittering, while the constant humming of a million electric engines dominated the background. Mark’s eyes were focused on the large building in front of him, which he was heading for. The eyes of the President were painted on the wall, and “WATCHING YOU” was written underneath in large, friendly letters. It was called “The Building of Truth”, and it was where Mark carried out his duties to the nation and the President every day. Mark loved the President. He did not exactly know whether it was a man or a woman, but this immortal figure would live in his heart forever.
Fifteen hours later, he was heading back home. From the bus, he was watching the sky. Thousands of stars shone down upon him, blinking and glittering. They were beatiful, thought Mark. He used to look at the stars, and imagine himself far away. He used to wonder what might lay beyond the boundaries of the United States of America, which fantastic places that might be out there, somewhere. He guessed he would never know, as he sat there, humming the old tune “When you wish upon a star…”
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