As I hurry home to catch the biggest breaking news story in modern day times, my heart, thumping ferociously, almost leaps out of my chest; my head is spinning and I can feel the perspiration turning to sweat as I peddle faster and harder, holding back the tears in the hope that what I’ve just been told is not true: I need to see this with my own eyes.
I jump off my bike, launching it onto the drive outside my house and fling the door open in heated anticipation. Grabbing the remote from the sofa I fumble to press the right buttons; politics channel, sport, music, National Geographic…..news! And there it is. Clear as day. Right before me: “Borders between UK and rest of the world to be closed. Permanently. No traffic is to move in or out of the UK for the forseeable future. No-one is allowed to leave. No-one is allowed to enter. More on this story to follow.” Silence. I can’t hear anything. The screen goes black. My mind spins. My head a blur. My vision shifts in and out of focus. My breathing fast and shallow. I collapse onto the sofa and stare wide-eyed at the screen. Nothing.
What seems like an eternity passes and as I slowly come round from the shock of what I’ve been presented with, I begin to weep. The tears fall like raindrops down a stained-glass window. How can this be? Why is this happening? Why are they trapping us? What’s the reason for this imprisonment? Questions fill my mind as I try to make sense of it all. I can’t understand it. I don’t want to believe it. And at the root of it all, at this very moment in time, all I want to do is run away.
Run away to where though? The borders have been closed and there’s no way off this island. I start to panic as a feeling of nausea and claustrophobia begins to engulf me. I take deep breaths. One. Two. Three. I flick the channel over, hoping to find other news programmes refuting this story. No luck. Every channel is covering this devastatingly shocking confinement. I feel incarcerated.
I back away from the TV and slowly step outside, breathing in the fresh air, trying to gather my thoughts, and then it dawns on me: I can never leave. If what is being said is true, then I am a prisoner; held captive for the government to do with as they please. My freedom has been cruelly snatched from beneath my feet. That liberating feeling of knowing I could jump on a plane, a boat, or a train, at any time, to go exploring, culture-searching or country-hopping has just evaporated in front of my very eyes. If the nomadic lifestyle was what I truly yearned for; if the travelling bug had genuinely invaded my body; if the desire to escape the mundane monotony of every day life was what I felt like doing, then I could no longer fulfill these dreams. I felt helpless.
A voice inside my head begins to whisper: What is the alternative? What is the solution? For the moment I cannot see past the end of my nose as I can envision no way out of this. I’m stuck here, on this island, albeit the place I call home, but I’m trapped. What if they tighten the control measures and pen people into cities? What if I’m never allowed to venture beyond the edge of town? I shake my head; they can’t do that, the economy would suffer, for one.
Is this what Orwell predicted when he wrote 1984? There had to be a way out.
Again, the voice in my head spoke up: Is this such a bad thing? Think of the possibilities? Think of the positives? I shake my head: What positives? A free spirit should be just that: free. A free spirit should be allowed to wander, to roam, to delve into the unknown. What use is there in this World we live in, if we are no longer able to see it, to feel it, to smell it, to embrace it, to get lost in it? And then it clicks. What if this is an experiment? What if this is a test, designed to make us open our eyes to what’s really important, what’s there in front of us, and what has been there all along?
I take another deep breath and look around. I see green hills on the horizon. I see flowers in the garden next door. I see rows, upon rows of red-bricked houses. In the distance I see once working cotton mills, converted now into office blocks and living spaces. I see people, people I pass every day but care to take no notice of. I see motorways, the infrastructure and backbone of this country. I see diversity and colours. I see creeds and religions. I smell fish and chips. I smell roses. I smell pollution from that bustling metropolis, a hum of activity, a thriving hot-bed of economical standing, of prospects, of hope, of desirability. I hear children playing. I hear church bells ringing. I hear couples rowing. I hear dogs barking and cats mewing in retaliation. I see it all. And I wonder; if the borders are closed, if I can never get out, if I have to remain here for the rest of my days, would it really be so bad?
Chasing Amy-Lou 