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RP Time: OST
Population: XX Nations Technology: Post/Modern
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| Perspectives; Daily Life of the Falsean people | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 5 2013, 12:33 AM (104 Views) | |
| Falsea | Jul 5 2013, 12:33 AM Post #1 |
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Comrade-Chairwoman of the World Revolution
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Hello folks, your local state socialist, authoritarian, tax-vampire Falsea here. This thread will be my collection of short stories portraying daily life in Falsea, a sort of opposite to my more aristocratic counterpart who I ripped this idea from. I feel this will be key in helping molding Falsea and giving you all a view on the running of things in this country. If you have suggestions for short stories, feel free to drop me a PM or hit me up in chat. I'm gonna start first with my most basic character; the bureaucrats. Daily Life of the General Secretary The Red Manor, Belgrade, Falsea 6:10 AM, August 16 2014 General Secretary Louise Rourke It's another day in the motherland. Even though I've been serving as President of Falsea, General Secretary of the Falsean People's Party, and technically Falsea's dictator for over a year and a half, I still can't familiarize myself with the many things that this "ceremonial" position of mine does. One of the most annoying of course, is this time schedule and the busy day that awaits me once more. After all, who's gonna keep the Politburo in line, the bureaucracy doing its job, and Stephens from declaring war on every single capitalist country if I'm not up and running before eight. Finishing my simple breakfast of rice, sausages, a single waffle, and a steaming cup of coffee in less than thirty minutes, I immediately stood up from the long table that encompassed the dining hall. As I stood up, the portraits of Falsea's founding fathers that hung in the west wall imposed upon me. Their contributions to the establishment of this socialist utopia (at least, I like to think so) burden me day-in and day-out with responsibility. This duty to care for the well being of my countrymen being aroused as I take a long, hard stare into the faces of Thomas Heydrich, William Spencer, and Anatoly Gradenko. These moments make me evaluate my presidency, what have I done for my countrymen through my position. As I arrive at these thoughts almost everyday, my chief of staff comes up to me and ushers me in back to my self, both his hands holding a list of activities that I had to do for today. He makes me sit back down for a few minutes, as one of the aides of the Manor arrives to scoop up the plate I just ate from. I, and most of the country, prefer to call household helps and generally other assistants as aides instead, perhaps because of our commitment to egalitarianism. The discussion is brief, and as my chief of staff arranges his wide-rimmed glasses and leaves the room, I head towards the manor's spacious lobby, the grandeur of the Red Manor never ceasing to amaze me. My wife, Hailey, is awaiting me near the entrance to the manor. She gives me a quick peck on the lips and a tight hug, before I climb down the stairs of the manor towards the convoy of vehicles already awaiting me there. Despite my office being located at my residence as well, my job as the head of that rubberstamp organ of hardline communists known as the Central Committee demanded my presence at the national headquarters of the vanguard party. Driving through the capital was fairly pleasant all in all, lasting only fifteen to twenty minutes to reach party headquarters depending on the traffic. Even that was fairly pleasant in this densely-packed city as, despite having the largest population of any city in the People's Republic, Belgrade also had one of the most efficient public transportation systems. Alongside my black sedan, numerous taxis and buses plus a few privately-owned automobiles probably dating back to the year 2000-2005 were traversing the roads. Passing the State Plaza, I noticed that members of the party youth wing were holding another mass demonstration in the heart of this metropolis. The banners of the People's Republic and the vanguard party hanging in almost every streetlight we passed in the downtown flapped against the continuous gusts of wind. Looking above, one could notice a fighter jet or two of the Falsean People's Air Force patrolling the smog-filled skies. Aside from being the home of the government, Belgrade also played host to the the headquarters of the armed forces and quite a lot of production plants (what we like to call "factories") that formed the country's strong industrial base. National Party Headquarters, Belgrade, Falsea 7:08 AM I exited the presidential sedan as the convoy stopped and we arrived at the underground parking lot of the national party headquarters, otherwise known as the "black eagle's nest". The palace of power where all political actions were decided, hammered, revised, discussed, or scrapped. Straightening my red tie and putting on my party armband, I began to walk briskly towards the elevator that would bring me to the ominous lobby of this building. Reaching the first floor, I find myself at once being greeted by either elderly statesmen part of the "old guard" and the more youthful members who reek of reform, both factions snaking their way to my favor for their own benefits, it is quite sickening sometimes that this party is divided into old radicals and newer players despite all our shows of solidarity in the international community. Managing to make my way past these cheats, backstabbers, and political foxes, I enter the massive, circular chamber to the north known as the chambers of the 300-man Central Committee. As usual, someone was taking the podium and rambling something incoherent enough for me to hear, from my distance, though I can guess the person speaking was going on about either two things; DU/Lanlanian/Pacium imperialism or the need to crack down on subversives. These topics seem to be the most common things being discussed here recently. The central committee chambers was impressive. Located in the first floor, it was nonetheless wide and could accommodate up to one thousand people. There was the iconic dome which displayed a golden hammer and sickle above, which then formed an electronic globe used by the International Liaison Office in the second floor. As I make my way down through the area where the 289 present members were discussing stuff, my mind once again lingers on the purpose of this organ. I take my seat in the frontmost of the podium, beside the committee member tasked with recording the proceedings of today and what's supposed to be Stephens' seat; the Premier's probably back in the Manor anyways, with the meetings of the State Council taking precedence over party meetings. Three hours pass and the chamber ends its first round of discussion. I let out a yawn as I follow the other committee members out through the double doors. The party central committee always seems to be the most ideologically diverse organ of the party anyways, containing folks ranging from democratic socialists to libertarian socialists to reformist neoliberals. But at the end of the day, it was systematic for everyone to bend to the will of the Politburo despite the lively debates taking place here. I quickly make my way to the second floor, where the chambers of the Central Military Committee, the party organ that holds hegemony over the armed forces. Today's meeting was stereotypical; updates on the international security atmosphere, reports from the State Strategic Intelligence Service detailing high-profile targets for detainment, readings of latest military equipment, and general discussion of defense policy. Two hours after, I head downstairs to grab a quick lunch from the cafeteria. Joining the more moderate voices of the party in the lunch table has been quite a habit for me, it was certainly better than sitting in isolation in my office while downing my food. My lunch, consisting of the country's staple food rice, a chicken breast, a small cup of salad, is gone within twenty minutes. I dab my mouth with my silk handkerchief, wave good bye to the juniors I was sitting with, and briskly head on over to the topmost floor. My next appointment would take up the bulk of my day, and as I climbed the stairs, flanked by two agents of the secret police no less, I can already feel pressure mounting on me. Being the first-ranked member of the Politburo Standing Committee, the most powerful organ of the party and the de facto collective heads of state and government of Falsea, was something not to be taken lightly. I push open the door and see that most of my colleagues are already there, leaning comfortably in the velvet chairs they were designated to. I give a nod towards each of them and they reciprocate either a smile or a nod as well as we acknowledge one another's presence. As the last PSC takes their seat, Premier Stephens (who probably just arrived) opens the discussion. The talks, ranging from proposed changes to the economic systems by vocal members of the National Economic Planning Commission to the reevaluation of the country's foreign interests to how to widen transport and energy infrastructure in the country's more unnoticed areas, last from noon to evening. The discussions eventually end at eight, and we come to a consensus on various issues that required our attention. Standing up, I don't even bother to say a good bye to my fellow leaders as I walk quickly towards the elevator, then to the ground floor. The Red Manor 8:56 PM I come home, mentally exhausted, and find hobble on over to the dining hall. As I reach it, I find that my wife and two children are already there, partaking in what I'm smelling as fried beef? with a smile on my face, I walk on over to the head of the table and join them at once. I put on a handful of food on my plate and without saying a word to my wife, who has been with me for twenty years I think, and my two children, my eldest daughter working as a political commissar and my younger son working in the field of healthcare, I join them in enjoying the food on the table. It's always moments like these where, despite all the massive pressure the party and the Falsean people exude on me, the hardships of making decisions that might turn out for better or for worse, where I seem to stand in between the clashing forces of the old and the young leaders of this country, I maintain the strength to carry on and do what is asked of me. Quite interesting really, how the foundations of the family are some of the most important in Falsea. The state doesn't seem to endorse putting its interests above that of the family (or at least, it doesn't do so in such a large scale as to make our society very individualistic), and this is the sole reason why I still have these people, my family, behind my back in everything I do. |
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8:24 PM Jul 11
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8:24 PM Jul 11