Alienation

"I'm willing to forgive you for throwing a book at my head," Asako said, "if only you will listen to what I have to say. I am the president of the Moritomo High Communist Club. I seek an audience."

The students muttered nervously, wondering what it would take to defeat this girl for good.

"Leave us alone already!" one of them complained. You want us to take a knee or something? Get off your high horse!"

Asako laughed, loud and daring. "That is the complete opposite of what I want you to do. You have lived your lives on your knees, grovelling before those with more power. But, comrades: we are greater than them. Nothing can stop an army of workers determined to lose their chains. Together, we will pass this trial."

"I just want to pass my exams," a particularly sullen boy—sitting right in front of Asako—mumbled, looking down at a crinkled worksheet. "My grades have been dropping lately, and my father keeps shouting at me, and, and, and…" Fat, warm tears began to spill, splattering atop the paper.

"Oh, my poor, distraught boy," Asako crooned, kneeling down to pet him. She stroked his hair and wiped the tears as they slid down his cheeks. "My poor, distraught, hard-working, shortchanged comrade in arms. Oh, sweetheart." She smeared the saline fluid across her own face; it gushed between her wrinkles like a glistening river. "In this world so blind, your tears become mine."

"It's just… It's so hard, and if I don't get in the top 10%… I’ve never been any good at math…”

"I understand. I truly do. In our revolutionised world, you will not have to suffer in this way. You will be allowed to pursue what you truly enjoy, instead of being forced into something you hate.”

"R-Really?" the blubbering boy looked up, thankful for a loving touch. When he saw Asako's hideous, dripping face just inches from his own, he gave off a miserable yelp and cried harder.

"Oh, gorgeous. Oh, lovely. Oh, Shinji. You are so valid. Comrade Hitomi, please get him 'tissue,' if you could."

Hitomi stepped forward and handed him a pamphlet. He wiped his eyes and clutched the thing tightly, not realising what it was.

"What a sorry state of affairs this is," Asako sighed, returning to her feet. "You are all overworked. All, I'm sure, on the verge of tears. Let me ask you: what is to blame for your situation?"

"These damn exams," someone snapped. "Just let us study for them, please."

"No. You're wrong. The exams are not to blame. Think bigger. Use your brains!" She crossed her arms. "I'll wait."

"The school, then?" someone guessed, giving in to curiosity.

Asako shook her head. "Bigger still."

"It's the whole national curriculum," another said. "That's the reason we have to do these."

"You're getting closer," Asako said, "but no, the fundamental reason you are lodged in a deranged, feral, dehumanising dog-eat-dog academic cagefight is not due to the exams themselves, or even the curriculum that necessitates them. They are a product of something bigger. Something totalising. Comrades, this is all a product of capitalism."

Everyone groaned.

"It is true. No matter the problem, capitalism is to blame. It is not hyperbole, comrades. This is the reality we all bear on our shoulders."

Another book flew through the air. This time, Asako was nimble enough to dodge it.

"Oh, honestly, your anger is misplaced! Your books should be going through the window of a CEO, not my pretty face."

"We don't care about those people," came a response. "You're the problem! Go away!"

"I'm the problem? I am?" Asako chuckled as if she had caught them in her trap. "But you see, I am also a product of capitalism. We all are. The system has hijacked our minds, made us unhappy, stunted, eternally wanting, cogs in a factory… We are enslaved by our own creation."

She raised a finger. "There is a term for this process. Marx called it alienation. Though we are all autonomous, creative beings with infinite potential, we are enslaved by money, production, and competition. We are children, yes? We should be discovering ourselves, forming unforgettable friendships, living our best years, and yet—!"

Her voice quivered as she went on. Her extended finger folded into a fist. "And yet… our paradise has been tarnished by the powers at be. This is not a slice of life--this is a sliced-up life, and the wounds are deep. Comrades, the full and free development of every individual is something that can only be achieved through revolution. That is our only path to the ideal high school life."

The students were silent for a time. A few of them gripped textbooks. One girl seemed ready to lob her entire laptop at Asako's face—and it was a bulky one, so I was kind of concerned.

But then there came a cry. "The teachers are here!"

I turned to see a group of teachers approaching our table. Some of them were librarians. One of them looked like a security guard. They were moving with purpose, all angry and authoritarian, shouting things.

A chill ran down my spine. At this school, you see, teachers can be really extreme with their punishments. They go a long way to ensure obedience in us students. Standing there with a paper bag on my head and a stack of communist propaganda in my hands, I was more than a little concerned.

Sighting them, Asako hesitated. I could tell she wanted to keep speaking… Even so, she hopped down from the table. "Tch. They got here faster than I thought they would. Communist Club, we don't have the forces to resist right now. Tactical retreat! We head for the fire exit! Remember, they're old and slow!"

And just like that, she sprinted off.

The rest of the club members were running after her. Etsu was waving over her shoulder, gesturing for me to follow.

I stashed the pamphlets in my pocket, picked that god-forsaken box off the ground, and hurried after my club. I didn't want to get caught red-handed, if you'll pardon the pun.