“Community” Fiction piece written by Mackenzie Gordon as published in Issue 2.

I wake up at 6:46 a.m. on October 19th, my blonde Scot- tish Terrier jumping and barking at my feet for his breakfast

and 7 a.m. walk. I get up with zero complaints and make my dog his breakfast before walking back to my bedroom to get ready. I pull on my standard teal tracksuit with my white Nike sneakers, putting my brown, normal-looking hair into a standard ponytail, washing my face and putting in eye contacts to cover my green eyes. They are now brown.

My dog comes running into the room, leash in his mouth, and sits on the floor. I hook the leash onto his collar and exit

the door, leaving it unlocked, at exactly 7:04. I watch my dog run around with his fluffy tail wagging cutely and aggressively.

I walk with him down the neighborhood. I see Jim and Riley, an old married couple, sitting on the porch of their painted yellow house, waving to people with a bright smile. I see my neighbor Harry, still in his plaid pajama pants and t-shirt and his similar plaid slippers, getting his mail. Children are running up and down the streets, their mothers walking side by side in similar long skirts and sweaters, holding “World’s Best Mom” coffee cups in hands.

“Good morning, Sarah, and hello to you, Mustache,” one of my community members, Susan, says to my dog and me. Mustache wags his tail aggressively at the attention, and I reach down and pet his neck.

“Good morning, Susan, lovely weather we are having today,” I say in passing, Mustache walking with me, already over his attention high.

“Yes, lovely weather indeed.”

Mustache and I continue our walk through the neighborhood until we end up at the cul-de-sac at the end, then walk back to our home.

My day after that moves on as normal, going to work at the local grocery store, getting off work at 6:24 p.m., getting home at 6:40, and feeding Mustache. I make my dinner of pasta and one Hawaiian roll. The food tastes delicious, as always. After my dinner it is 9 p.m., and I head to my bed. Mustache is asleep on his bed on the floor outside of my bedroom. I brush my teeth, take my hair out of its ponytail, take out my contacts, and go to sleep.

I wake up at 6:40 on October 20th with Mustache barking outside of my bedroom. I groan and get up out of bed with Mustache under my feet. I go to my closet and pull out a purple tracksuit and my white Nike sneakers. I pull on the outfit, leaving my hair down for the day.

Mustache is still under my feet, begging for food. I give him his normal dog food, and when he finishes, he grabs his leash and is ready to go.

We leave the house at 7:13, with Mustache pulling on the leash trying to run away. He makes morning walks so fucking difficult for me. Jim and Riley are on their front porch again, now sitting on their old porch swing and looking at me with this look on their face. They look confused, even if they still have their smiles on their faces and are waving. I wave back, pulling on Mustache’s leash to get him to stop running. Harry isn’t outside today. I am guessing he has already gotten his mail for the day.

The children aren’t running this morning, just walking next to their mothers, carrying empty “World’s Best Mom” mugs in their right hands. The mothers just stare at me, their kids not even noticing me walking next to them. They’re more focused on Mustache, who is still fucking pulling. I yank the leash and pull Mustache back to me, a sharp whine coming from the blonde scotty. The children back away and the mothers grab their hands and walk faster. I huff at them, confused, and continue walking.

“Sarah?” Susan asks from inside her yard, hose in hand, facing her tulips.

“Good morning, Susan, lovely weather we’re having.”

“Sarah? Your eyes, they’re not brown. And your hair, it’s down today,” Susan says, her voice losing its cheerfulness. I feel my body freeze at the mention. Mustache is sitting in front of Susan again and wagging his tail at the head pats he is getting.

“Oh, maybe it’s just the light. I am not really sure what color they could possibly be, Susan,” I tell her, pulling on Mustache’s leash again, making it known we were leaving. He gets up without complaint and walks right back next to me.

“And your hair?”

“Just wanted it down today.”

Susan stares at Mustache again, this cold look in her eyes before it changes back to her normal morning cheer.

“That’s okay Sarah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Susan says before slowly turning back to water her tulips. Now looking at them, they almost look fake. I brush the thought off and continue my walk.

Mustache, thank God, is staying by my side and not pulling on the leash at every damn second. We continue our walk, going down to the cul-de-sac and then walking back to the house again. Harry is outside his house on the way back, dressed busi- ness casual, most likely on his way to work.

“Harry, missed you this morning. How’ve you been?”

“Sarah, I’ve been well. I do apologize, but I am on my way to work. I am almost 30 seconds late to getting to work at my normal time because of this conversation! Don’t want to delay anymore, do we? We would make Susan very disappointed.”

We both laugh at his comment before he waves again and gets into a blue Toyota hybrid, driving off in the direction I am walking in.

My day is completely off. I get to work over an hour later than I normally do. The grocery store is empty today, which is unusual, and I get home at around 5:30 because of how slow it was. My dinner is early, the same pasta and Hawaiian roll that I eat every day. Today the food tastes bland on my tastebuds. After dinner it’s only 8 p.m. Mustache is still wide awake, running around the house like a maniac.

I move to sit by the window, something I don’t normally do, but my day has already been thrown off, so why not? I open the window and notice that Susan is standing in my yard.

“What the hell?” I whisper, Mustache still zooming around the house without a care in the world. Susan stands just outside of my front lawn, facing my front door. I freeze, just staring at the door for what feels like hours before she finally walks away. How long had she been there? Why was she there? Did Susan think that I don’t believe in the community? No, no, no, no. I am in the community, I am. I believe in our community. I do. I do. I do. I can’t go through the conditioning again. I can’t!

My alarm rings out, right at 9 p.m. Mustache is asleep on the floor outside of my bedroom door again. I walk stiffly to my bed, change into my pajamas, and lie down. The routine will go back to normal tomorrow. It must.

I wake up at 5 a.m., my dog barking at me for some god-damn reason. Mustache is barking non-stop and it’s pissing me off.

“Shut up! Shut up, you stupid dog!”

I change into a green tracksuit with rage and irritation burning underneath my skin. I can feel my ears and face burning. My tennis shoes are pulled on, even if I’m not leaving yet. A headache is forming from all the fucking noise.

Mustache keeps barking. He refuses to stop. He’s not even barking at anything important; he just wants to make noise. “Shut the fuck up! You stupid mutt.” The dog keeps barking and barking and barking and I can’t fucking take it anymore.

I kick the dog into the wall, sharp whines escaping his throat. I hear the cracking of bones as my kicking gets harder and his breaths get shallower. I keep kicking and kicking until he stops making noises. I take heaving breaths in, my anger dying down, and a feeling of calm passes through me. It’s finally quiet. The corpse of Mustache just lays in the corner of the room, my eyes never leaving him. My clothes are splattered in blood and my shoes are covered in fur and dark red. I’ll clean it up before my walk. I stay awake until the clock hits 7 a.m. I walk out of the house, not changing my clothes like I said I would. Jim and Riley are on their porch again, staring in horror at my blood soaked clothing. I just smile and wave, continuing my routine as normal. Harry runs inside when he sees me, not even getting his mail. I smile at the children. Their mothers shoo the children away with their hands covering their eyes.

“Sarah, is everything alright?”

“Ah, good morning Susan. How are you doing today?”

“Sarah, sweetheart, why are you covered in blood?” Susan is soft in her words, nothing cheerful or concerned in her expression.

“Nothing to worry about Susan. Now have a wonderful day. I am running late on my schedule,” I say with a smile, the calmness all-encompassing.

I continue my normal routine for the day. I go to work at the grocery store, people just staring at me with confusion and fear, noting the flecks of dried blood on my cheeks and forehead. When I make it home, I make my classic dinner of pasta and rolls, the food tasting like ash on my tongue. By the time it is 9 p.m., the living room is starting to smell.

Someone knocks at the door at 9:03 p.m., breaking the strict routine in place. I open the door to see Susan and Harry outside my door with blank looks on their faces.

“Sarah, can we come in? We need to have a chat about your recent behavior,” Susan asks.

“Of course, Susan, is something the matter? Have I done something wrong?”

“Yes, Sarah, it seems that there is a problem.” Susan grabs my hands, holding them tightly in hers.

“Sarah, honey, you know that your behavior has violated the rules. Remember, we must keep our roles up. We must reform society into perfect uniformity. We must be perfect, and then they will follow our example.”

“Yes! Of course, Susan! I will continue to be perfect like you said I was, like I was taught and meant to be!” I try to keep my composure. I just can’t go back there, I can’t do it again.

“Sarah, it seems that the community has found that you have been disobeying your role. By order of the community, you must be reconditioned to your role.”

“Susan, please, please, Susan, I can’t do this again. I am in my role; I believe in the community. Please, Susan, I can’t. I can’t, I can’t.” I’m pleading to Susan; I can’t go back to the room.

I can’t.

“Sarah, you must. It is your duty as someone who is such a valuable member of this community. You must go back into your role. I am very sorry Sarah, but the conditioning needs to happen in order for you to thrive in this community.”

“SUSAN! HARRY! PLEASE!”

I continue to scream. I scratch at the arms that grab at me, try to claw out the faceless people dragging me away to my little personal hell. The conditioning is awful. They first start off with five days of complete and utter isolation, with only a monotone voice of a man repeating my role.

I work at the community grocery store.

My name is Sarah, and I have a dog named Mustache.

I live alone in my house with my dog Mustache.

I wake up at 6:40 every day, wear a teal tracksuit, and put

my hair into a ponytail.

I have brown eyes; I don’t have green eyes. Only brown.

I walk Mustache down the neighborhood at 7:04 a.m. every day.

Jim and Riley live across the street. I smile and wave at them when I go on walks.

I see Harry leave his house, pajamas on, and get his mail. I talk to Susan every morning, say good morning, and talk about the weather while Susan pets Mustache, then be on my way.

They repeat this to me over and over for five days, and then come the tests. Every day, for another five days, they test

me on my role. They strap me to an electric chair with different levels of voltage. Answer a question wrong, then I get shocked, hesitate, I get shocked, and show defiance, high voltage shocks.

It is continuous over the five days; I never leave the chair.

The first days I am resisting. I don’t want to be in the chair, I don’t want to be in the community, or do I? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what is going on anymore. I pass out only a couple hours into the testing.

The second and third days there is hesitation. I don’t pass out, but they are painful, painful days. The tests go on for hours, there is never a time to rest. Sleep isn’t granted those two days. The practitioners switch out every few hours. I’m never able to tell who is asking the questions or what time it is. Everything is blurred, and my confusion is growing.

The fourth and fifth days go by in a blur. My mind is like mush, and my body is done. There isn’t any hesitation at this point, and I have given up any hope of getting out of the community. There are no more ways out.

I wake up at 6:46 a.m. on November 10th, my golden retriever jumping and barking on my feet for his breakfast and

7 a.m. walk. I get up with zero complaints and make my dog his breakfast before walking back to my bedroom to get ready. I pull on my standard teal tracksuit with my white Nike sneakers, putting my brown, normal-looking hair into a standard ponytail, washing my face and putting in eye contacts to cover my green eyes. They are now brown.

My dog comes running into the room, leash in his mouth, and sits on the floor. I hook the leash onto his collar and exit

the door, leaving it unlocked, at exactly 7:04. I watch my dog run around with his fluffy tail wagging cutely and aggressively.

I walk with him down the neighborhood. I see Jim and Riley, an old married couple, sitting on the porch of their painted yellow house, waving to people with a bright smile. I see my neighbor Harry, still in his plaid pajama pants and t-shirt and his similar plaid slippers, getting his mail. Children are running up and down the streets, their mothers walking side by side in similar long skirts and sweaters, holding “World’s Best Mom” coffee cups in hands.

“Good morning, Sarah, and hello to you, Mustache,” Susan says to my dog and me. Mustache wags his tail aggressively at the attention, and I reach down and pet his neck.

“How are you feeling today, Sarah?” Susan asks, her voice calm.

“Good morning, Susan, lovely weather we are having today.”