All in Moderation by Angela R. Hunt

All in Moderation 

By Angela R. Hunt

“Remember, all things in moderation. You know the penalties if you keep screwing up!” The doctor scowled at me over his small wire framed glasses. I felt resentment and anger boil up. His eyebrows raised, he must have noticed the twisted look on my face. “Do I need to send you for surgery or will start taking your medication? If I write you up one more time, the county will automatically send you for surgery. There is no appeals. I really would hate to write you up again.” I sighed. He wanted more money. My budget was beyond stretched but I reached in my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I gave him all the cash I had. He would not write me now. He would not expose what I had done. He would not report what I was doing. 

I was strength training. I put myself on a disciplined regime of studying and exercise. My body was in peak shape. My mind sharpened by books, art, music and arguments. I was working to see if I could break records on human achievement. This might sound like a small thing except  for the Moderation laws. About a hundred years ago as we were reaching a point where technology looked like magic and seemed to be almost omnipotent there was a catastrophic event. Two actually, that wound into one terrible mess. An unusual flu strain took many lives and brought chaos and destruction while anti-technology extremists took over the government. 

They were irrational, they were dangerous. They were powerful. From their point of view anyone varying from the norm was a threat to society and the cause of wars. Uniformity prevented conflict. Many people died in their genocidal thirst; anyone who stood out, stood up, danced, laughed out of turn, asked the wrong question, or tuned them out. Anyone who excelled, anyone too smart, anyone too slow or too weak, they all met their end. The Moderation laws were put into effect. No one was to try to exceed anyone else at any skill or task, everyone could politely agree to do things in a slow, mediocre way. Not too enthusiastic, not too intense, slightly detached and slightly off as if working while taking a nap. 

That extremist group had lost power, but the people had grown so accustomed to the brutal laws that they felt kept them at peace, that they voted to keep the Moderation laws! 

The very laws that kept them from striving and dreaming, fearing failure or death-- and they had chosen to continue living under that rule. Many decided it was really working to keep the country from war or from civil disputes. 

A small minority of us realized our neighbors had been twisted, were afraid of living freely after being restricted for so long. We decided to work toward a social revolution. It had to be done slowly, with care or we would be caught too soon. We did not want our deaths to be meaningless. 

One winter’s night, one of our members crept out and made a huge elaborate snow sculpture of a dragon sleeping around the base of a castle. We all silently helped, following his directions while two of our number kept an eye out for potential watchers. We all went unseen. In the morning, the sun rose a golden flower over the pale crystal ice walls of the castle. People gathered, shuddering and remarking. Stirred up, half fearing and half wondering. They were casting their eyes about as they searched for more amazing sculptures. 

We knew that we had exceeded anything in history with the size and detail of the carving. We cracked the wall supporting the irrational belief in the need for Moderation. We let people wonder about the sculpture. Several people drew or painted it, uncaring if any saw them focus on exceeding their dreams on canvas and in sketchbook. They were arrested. Public outcry had them released. No war followed the ice sculpture’s creation. No terrible backlash made for disquiet and minds to start waking and questioning. 

We wrote several songs, slipped them as tips to musicians we found who were looking for just such songs. They sang of freedom, of striving and struggles, they crooned about the value of love. The songs were subtle but the messages were simple. A few heart felt singles questioned why someone who could run fast should have to undergo surgery so the best they could do was to walk very slow? Why shouldn’t one express their feelings loudly and what is wrong with indulgence now and then? What is wrong with being oneself? Don’t we deserve each other’s best? 

Within a year conflicts broke out between law enforcement and citizens. Word spread like wildfire. Everyone wanted to be treated like they were the best, rather than just like some average Joe. Everyone wanted top service, some were even willing to risk offering the best! 

Today it was my turn. I would go to my every day job as a public servant. I would move numbers around and slide words back and forth to confound. I would take money from government bank accounts and transfer the money to an offshore account. I had done it several times already. I used the money to purchase stock in the government. With this last transfer, I would have enough to finish the day owning majority stockholder status with the government handed neatly to my group. The companies were all owned by rebels who wanted the Moderation laws gone. 

If it all goes right today, it will be the first revolution without bloodshed. It will be the quiet sound of a signature being scratched onto a document.