Catalogue Dystopia
nothing to hide officer, here are the receipts.
Nobody told us when the rules changed. There was no announcement. No siren. Just a quiet shift in what was allowed.
One day you speak freely. The next, you learn to pause — not because you’re afraid, but because the room feels like it’s listening.
Compliance didn’t arrive with force. It arrived with convenience.
Everyone is polite now. Excessively polite.
Politeness has become a survival strategy. A way of signalling that you understand the arrangement.
The angriest people don’t shout. They whisper. They archive. They wait.
It isn’t violence that defines this era. It’s administration.
Forms. Metrics. Scores. Invisible tallies kept somewhere you will never access.
You don’t know what you’re accused of — only that appeal is no longer part of the process.
I stopped asking who was watching.
The more important question became: What version of me are they recording?
A person can live many lives — but the archive only keeps one.
Written by Commander Noor, reviewed by Footnotes