Descriptive Essay: Ethan Harwood's Journey Home

The dense, thick smog enveloped every living thing, turning them into thoughtless creatures. The grey, rectangular structures extended into the atmosphere, blocking out the sun to create eternal darkness. Invisible eyes stalked them from the shadows, the Health Agents, listening to every word just like living security cameras. The threat of contamination haunted every mind scaring them into devastation, the virus controlled every thought except those of the unique.

Ethan Harwood stood in his business suit with brown hair, greying at the temples and his blue eyes, dulled with despair. The circle of metallic and shiny scanners marked the centre of the city, where Ethan travelled every morning. The red and green lights perched atop the scanners determined your life; as usual Ethan placed his nicotine-stained finger onto the small black square to have his skin checked for contamination, the light was green. However, Ethan’s
heart always raced and his palms sweated, hoping he wouldn’t get a red light and see the men in a black van take him away as had happened to two of his friends after they rudely talked about the Health Organisation.

As soon as he entered his office cubicle, he was bombarded with noise from all sides, from the televisions which lined every wall. Ethan never listened to the propaganda, which was to influence the opinions of the mindless creatures in favour of the Health Organisation. His work colleagues were constantly changing as they were always being taken away. Ethan had never thought too much into it, but now the picture was suddenly becoming clearer.

As Ethan started his journey home through the polluted and rotting streets, he heard the weekly announcement, “Remember your compulsory psychiatric appointments tomorrow.” Ethan’s face fell; the unqualified, unintelligent psychiatrists always had the same two minute conversation with him.
Now that he had suspicions about the Health Organisation, he knew that tomorrow’s appointment was not going to go well.

After an exhausting day at work, the blue sheets on Ethan’s bed, which took up most of the room in his tiny apartment, looked inviting. “Psychiatric appointment,” repeatedly echoed in his head, preventing him from the blissful sleep he yearned for. As morning broke, he lay motionless on his bed, thinking about the conversation, that would happen later on that day.

He sat nervously in the waiting room. “Ethan Harwood, room twelve,” the speakers called in a monotonous tone. The sparse meeting room, had Health Organisation posters hung up on the walls. Ethan’s heart started to race faster and his knuckles were becoming whiter every
second.

Ethan tried to answer all of the question with his usual flourish, but he knew that the psychiatrist thought something was different. He asked more questions trying to force Ethan to break his secret, but he didn’t. Ethan however, felt as if he was in danger and answered the question incorrectly. The weight was finally lifted off his shoulders after all the questions had been asked. As Ethan was leaving the room, he saw the psychiatrist surreptitiously do something they had never done before. This quickly went to the back of his mind has he had to now go and focus on work. As he placed his finger on the black square, like usual. He saw the black van waiting, in the reflection of the arch.

The light was red.