Groovyland > by MC Duende

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Groovyland
photograph by Ben Mastwyk

by MC DUENDE duende_23 alquimista_24@hotmail.com Her story "Like almost every other family, we were trying to escape the ravages of war. For others the war was just an excuse to do that which they wanted to do a long time ago. But it took us all by surprise nonetheless. The unthinkable had happened. After all, our colony was founded by hippies who themselves were trying to escape Earth's bitter conflicts. They wanted a place where peace could blossom and where they could live a simple natural life- or at least as natural as it gets in a colony that is barely the size of two football fields and is thousand of miles away from Earth. "The dream appeared to be coming true in those early days. They worked hard and with time they were able to afford more tools and materials. The colony became much bigger. It was such a wonderful place. Mountains, lakes, oh I still remember the misty fields. There was even a marijuana forest in one of the eco-spheres. My friends and I used to spend many weekends camping there, frolicking amidst the sweet smelling trees and bathing in their clear honey. "The new generations, you know, they didn't understand what our great grandparents had gone through. They didn't understand the sacrifices, the suffering, and the fear that drove our ancestors from Earth. They wanted change, they said. More of this or less of that. Some wanted to worship old gods or whatever ideal was in fashion at the time. The outcome was inevitable. "After the war broke out, we knew that we had to escape GroovyLand, but we didn't where to go. We had heard of a distant colony on the outer reaches of the belt...La Aurora...no war, no conflicts...just harmony and peace. Sounded perfect. Too perfect, right? Look at us. We live wonderfully squared lives. Everything is predictable. They are symmetrical in every way and very little is left to chance. Chaos is a crime. "Well, it's too late for my loved ones to come along for the ride. But they made me promise I would go on. As they took him away, my father made me swear that I was not going to put my head down without a fight. 'Don't let the bastards beat you down' were his exact words. As you can imagine, he wasn't a peacenik. "So, here I am, repeating the same tale of yore. I won't fight them, however. It's not in my nature. I'm a peace addict. Sorry dad. I think I take after my mother. I don't care for fighting, all I want is to be left alone to do my thing. I want a place where I can build a nest and raise my pups safely. Won't settle for anything less. I will escape the clutches of the Starbucks Socialist Union and its precious Aurora. There's no question about that. "The only question is: are you coming or what?"