The Colony of Infinite Battery

One will notice a few important details when one receives ones invitation to the Colony of Infinite Battery. These details are conveyed in what may seem like the vaguest manner possible and it is indeed the case that some important details are left out altogether. I don't think that this is necessarily a case of the government obscuring the truth or misleading the general populace. Allow me to explain why. The general populace is largely aware of the nature of proceedings that take place on the colony. There is however an element of rumour or myth surrounding the facts. Therefore should one be unfortunate enough to receive an invitation, the lack of specific information on the invitation can assist the recipient in achieving a state of suspended disbelief or cognitive dissonance. Surely the stories of perpetual physical violence, malnourishment and general torture are exaggerations he will tell himself, grinning sadly.

I received my invitation in January, shortly after my 31st birthday. My family were all of the opinion that I should pass the invitation on to my father and he agreed with this although rather reluctantly it seemed to me. Rejecting an invitation was permissible provided a replacement attendee was sought. Attendance was otherwise compulsory. This often led to intimidation, threats and enforced attendance for weaker and more vulnerable members of society who were passed invitations by ruthless bullies. This kind of behaviour was not discouraged by the government.

My invitation was given to me by my mother when I was out visiting her, my father and my sister on the occasion of my 31st birthday. The invitation had been sent to my parents home as this was still my registered address, having moved out only a few years earlier without taking the time to update my official documentation.
“There's mail for you, Jock” mother announced with her characteristic nonchalance. Which, in hindsight, was unusual, as the invitations are immediately recognisable for their anachronistic yellow wax seal. Had she not noticed this? Or was she pretending naivety in the face of a situation too terrible to acknowledge? Dear reader we sadly may never know the truth. Upon seeing the immediately recognisable violet envelope with anachronistic yellow wax seal, I experienced a vertiginous sensation of unreality. I dry retched and then opened the envelope quickly, standing in the kitchen with mother standing behind me, a gruesome spectator. I moved to the window and leaned heavily on the windowsill, dizzy, gazing out at the white sky. I could hear my father and sister descending the staircase.

We all stood in the kitchen, my assembled nuclear family.
“Jock got a letter,” mother announced solemnly. It sounded like an indictment on my character, as I was somehow guilty. My father and sister remained silent, expectant yet at the same time knowing. I remained at the window, my family behind me, awaiting some kind of speech. I clutched the letter and could not face them. My face contorted in an insane tic and I barely managed to stifle an hysteric squeal. I heard the dog plodding down the stairs, arriving behind me with its paws clicking on the tiled floor and I imagined it swishing its tail with vague enthusiasm.

“It's an invitation,” I murmured. We sat in the living room with glasses of sparkling wine. I had diluted mine with orange juice as I was wont to do in those days. Mother was kindling the wood burning stove that had been installed in the old fireplace. My father and sister were checking their smartphones. Come to think of it, so was mother, with on hand tapping the screen, the other stoking the embers. Come to think of it, so was I, frantically searching for information on the Colony of Infinite Battery. We sipped our wine and checked our phones and outside the sky was still white, what a terrible blindingly overcast day in January it was.

I can't remember who suggested that my father accept the invitation on my behalf. Quite probably it was my mother. I suspect she uttered the suggestion and we remained silent for a moment. I suspect father then murmured his assent in his usual half-hearted, feckless manner. I suspect no eye-contact was offered during this exchange. Forgive me if it is difficult to recollect events which took place over 17 years ago.

It has been over 16 years since my father took up permanent residence on the Colony of Infinite Battery. He is, of course, presumed dead at this point. I still recall the day we accompanied him to the airport to see him off. He was dressed in jogging bottoms, worn out moccasins, a hi-visibility orange jacket and a sweater the same faded grey hue as the jogging bottoms. He took one paltry suitcase with a few meagre belongings – there were heavily monitored restrictions on the luggage one could bring to the colony. My skin felt like it was hiving over my bones as we bid him farewell with sad, stoic grins. He seemed flustered, quietly terrified even. His hair was growing out in thick curls and his beard was untrimmed.

The Colony of Infinite Battery is a barren, windswept island located somewhere in Scandanavia. The island is devoid of architecture apart from dozens of tall factory structures. These buildings represent offices which have been gutted and vandalised, looming structures which look like monuments to despair. These are used for refuge by the inhabitants of the island but they are of course frequently invaded by patrolling Battery Squads. Inhabitants vigilantly listen out for the sound of footfall echoing on the vertiginous spiral staircases which characterise the buildings.

In the years that followed my father's departure to the colony, my mother quickly succumbed to senile dementia whilst my sister's schizoaffective disorder symptoms have worsened considerably. I have been afflicted by recurring bouts of depression that render me lethargic and tearful for days on end. I had hoped that one day I might find a woman who would birth me a child and that that child might receive an invitation to the colony which I could accept on his behalf. The reasons for this are selfish more than anything, a desperately selfish need to alleviate my own deep-seated guilt.