TIME TO SUFFER
There’s a logic and cunning to the actions of the Anticlock leaders. Take the latest crackpot scheme that they’ve devised to entertain their citizens: Killer Ball. These Killer Ball `games’ are now part of our daily life. The Globopolis authorities seem to have become obsessed recently by the gladiatorial killings of the Roman Empire. I’m beginning to think that they see themselves as the heirs to the emperors Caligula and Nero. They like the idea of appealing to our base instincts and keeping us entertained by bloody circuses. That’s why they’ve invented the populist slogan `Time to Suffer, Time to Die’.
As part of our civic duties we’re expected to show willing. Even though we’re only obliged to attend these barbarous events in person once per year, we’re actively encouraged to watch them on TV. They’re broadcast live every Saturday and are replayed endlessly on all the state TV channels throughout the following week.
Twenty purpose-built colosseums have sprung up inside the city, each holding about 100,000 spectators. Killer Ball matches take place at night and are preceded by spectacular firework and laser-music displays. 
All the action is projected on to gigantic screens both inside and outside the stadium. So even casual passers-by cannot fail to see exactly what’s going on in the arena. The matches are even shown on the TV screens in the reception area of Infinity. So there’s no way of avoiding them. I have to admit that I was shocked the first time I saw them.
Like most games the rules are banal. The only objective is to finish up with winners and losers. The ritual never varies. There’s a chilling predictability about the whole affair. Two teams, each consisting of ten players, strain every muscle to win the game. Their lives depend on it. Since the Anticlocks believe in equality of opportunity, both men and women are eligible to play. To differentiate them, the teams wear red and blue shirts clearly marked with numbers 1-10. And there is one luminous green ball – the killer ball.
The blue team comprises ten convicted prisoners all sentenced to life imprisonment for anti-state activities. The charges against them are almost certainly trumped up but that is of little consequence for the purpose of the game. The red team in contrast is composed of professional athletes, all fervent supporters of the Anticlock regime.
Killer Ball games last 60 minutes – 30 minutes each way with a 15 minute intermission at half-time. The aim is to drive the killer ball as many times as possible into the net of the opposing team. The team with the most killer goals at the end of the match is declared the winner. Simple, wouldn’t you think?
But that’s not the end of the affair. As soon as the game is concluded with an inevitable win for the red team of fervent Anticlocks, the crowd starts chanting in frenetic unison: `Time to Suffer! Time to Suffer! Time to Suffer!’
In front of the spectators’ seats there are electronic voting machines: each spectator must select three of the losing 
players to be punished as a retribution for losing the game. The results are quickly flashed up on the screens to roars of approval. Last night players 5, 6 and 10 of the blue team were publicly punished for their shortcomings.
The punishments are of course highly symbolic. One player had his tongue cut out to stop him speaking ill of the Empire. Another had her eyes gouged out to stop her casting suspicious looks at the Snoops. The third had both his hands lopped off to stop him writing seditious leaflets about Anticlockwise. The crowd went wild at the sight of blood.
But all this was still only a prelude to the main event. Barely had the broken bodies of the blue team players been dragged from the arena than the crowd began baying again, only this time more insistently and with much more purpose: `Die! Die! Die!’
High up above the crowd a dozen booming loudspeakers announced to terrifying effect that this was the moment they’d all been waiting for: `Time To Die! Time To Die!’
A huge flashing wire-mesh ball descended from the roof of the stadium to the sound of reverberating drum rolls. Inside the ball were 100 red cubes with white numbers inscribed on them: 10 for each player of the winning team. The wire-mesh ball gyrated for several minutes and eventually spewed out one red cube. Last night’s lucky number was 7.
Player number 7 had been selected for star status. The reward for being selected was to be sacrificed to the Spirit of Anticlockwise. She showed no fear or trepidation when her number was announced. She’d volunteered for this task. She saw no greater honour than to be sacrificed for her unswerving belief in the Anticlockwise Empire.
Within a matter of seconds, she was beheaded. Her heart was cut out and displayed to the Spirit as the ultimate sacrifice. The spectators were sent into a paroxysm of sadistic joy at the sight of this courageous warrior making the ultimate sacrifice for what she believed in.
What kind of a mad-house have I ended up in where ordinary citizens are unjustly imprisoned, where they’re forced to perform mindless games before being tortured in front of a howling mob? What perverted society am I imprisoned in where the brainwashed zealots of a fanatical regime can see no greater honour than to surrender their lives in a brutal and public display of allegiance and self-annihilation?
I must escape from this lunatic asylum before it destroys my soul.
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