The Letter from Project D

“Project D” has been active for the last 150 years. Of course, this measurement of time references when this letter was written. Keep in mind, it could be many years before this writing is ever found. After three failed attempts at configuring a device which would keep the sun shining twenty four hours a day, 365 days a year, the science finally got it right. When I was younger, my classmates would joke stating the reason the government named the operation “Project D,” was to make sure we were all getting enough vitamin D in our lives, which I guess was partially true. The government would prefer this story over the truth: three successful revolutions on behalf of the populace can really put a damper on a government takeover. 

As opposed to the entire population falling victim to a power hungry political scheme, the “very smart” government of Tirabulta figured a smaller sample size would be easier to manipulate. If you’ve pieced two and two together, you would know two things: I was a part of this experiment, and I was none the wiser. Here’s the short history for those who are still “living in the sun”: before “Project A” was ever even thought of, many scientists came out with many studies stating that happiness was healthy. Happiness can make you a more proactive citizen, a better husband, a nicer dinner guest, a more friendly neighbor…you get the picture. I can only imagine that at his time the government ran some numbers on their “scientific calculators” and equated happiness to mean production and value i.e. more money and less questions. 

This was when the “Projects” began, and it wasn’t until “Project D” that the government finally incorporated all of their policies. While in Tirabulta there was no sadness, no frowning, no night time, no complaining, no negativity, no fighting, and the list goes on and on. Happiness was expected all day everyday, and was recorded and interpreted by “lead government officials” via high tech cameras within households, neighborhoods, private rooms, and anywhere else they could jam a recording device. 

If you’re reading this and expecting the spite and sarcasm in my tone to dwindle, you’re in luck. To the best of my ability I’ll attempt to tell you the day the time capsule was opened and my life changed completely. This was when I realized everything was crafted and manipulated to create a perfect world: a utopia of happiness. If my mission succeeded, the person reading this story will know what the word “night” refers to, and what it means to go “stargazing.” If not, I pray that the person reading this lives in “Project D,” wants to learn the truth, and is as crazy as I am. 

It was the day of my sixteenth birthday and I woke up with a smile on my face, as was custom. I remember sitting up in my bed to see a plate full of pancakes with bacon smiling faces staring at me from a breakfast-in-bed dinner tray. My mother and two sisters looked at me with beaming faces as they sang happy birthday. As they left I still remember my mother speaking in the joyful tone we were all so very used to as the three of them left my bedroom:

“The city gets to open the time capsule today too! What a birthday gift for you!”

I got up from my bed and opened my closet. Looking back at it now the bright colors enveloping every stitch of every piece of fabric I owned gives me nausea. I put on my clothes being sure to nod with approval at each camera I knew was in my room just to let the authorities know I was enjoying every moment of my life. 

I could go on and on about my house, my family members, and the city where I lived. In my house brightly lit walls and many TVs flashed with ugly brilliance and only told happy stories filled with positive resolutions. There were my two sisters who were just as happy as my mother and I. Above all else there was the sun, which was easily seen through our grand living room window. 

The sun. The remarkable, happy, bright, terrible sun. A circular conglomeration of light hanging in the bright blue sky of our perfect little town. How had I not noticed earlier? How had I not been aware of the false reality which permeated every fiber of my known truth? The damn sun. A symbol of our own happiness, just as fake as every smile which hung on the faces of every citizen in Tirabulta. But I digress. 

The morning of the day Tirabulta was to open their time capsule, I had just finished eating breakfast in my room and walked steadily down our spiral staircase. As usual the sun inserted its rays deep within our lives through the freshly cleaned window in our living room. I remember making it downstairs just in time to catch the end of the morning broadcast and the Triabulta motto: 

“I’m happy to say I’m happy today!” 

  On the outside I was happy, and so were my family members. We couldn’t be anything else. We didn’t know anything else and because of that we were as happy as we knew how to be. 

“What do you think you’re going to grab from the time capsule?” my youngest sister asked, staring at me with her brilliant blue eyes.

“You weren’t supposed to tell him!” my other sister exclaimed with a big grin.

“What do you mean?” I asked, laughing. 

“Each family is getting the chance to choose something from the time capsule. What would be a better birthday gift than for you to choose your favorite item!” my mother said in that same joyful tone. 

I hardly knew what to say and for the first time on that day, my smile felt real. I didn’t know it at the time, but now given the chance to frown, I know the difference. I was truly excited at this proposition and began to imagine what could be in the time capsule from so many years ago. 

As we gathered together in the town square later that day I could see all the citizens of Tirabulta smiling, giggling, laughing, and looking generally happy. We all gathered together in front of our governor who stood behind a tall podium with a large microphone. Her skin was glowing in the spotlight of the sun and I still remember her small speech, or at least some of it:

“Today marks the 150th anniversary of when Tirabulta was first founded! I thank you all for bringing such joyful and smiling faces to such a monumental and exciting day. Remember, you are only as happy as you show on the outside! (at this point a loud and timed laugh erupted across the audience).

“As you can see, next to me, the happy construction workers of Tirabulta have dug up a time capsule which has not been opened in over a century. Inside we have gifts, trinkets, and spectacular memories from the past. There should be enough gifts to give to one per family!”

A large applause erupted once again. Many families began jumping with joy, hugging, and laughing with one another. Even my mother and two sisters shoved me towards the front of the line cheering me on as I stepped closer and closer to the time capsule next to the large podium. I remember looking back at my family, their faces contorted in a smile only years of practice could produce. Upon writing this, and now knowing what it is like to sense what sadness is, I realize that my youngest sister desperately wanted to choose from the time capsule herself. 

I still remember looking inside the metal cylindric time capsule which stored countless old antiques, toys, and mysteries of the past. I now know that all of these “trinkets,” were planted by the government 150 years ago. Why the toy robot caught my eye, I have no idea. It sat in the time capsule uncomfortably against a metallic wall, being suffocated by what looked to be a hand knit sweater. I reached for it almost immediately. Its bright orange body reflected off the inside of the time capsule and its wide eyes stared deep into mine. I remember walking back towards my family, winding the gear which was connected to its back, and watching its arms and legs move at my command. 

“It’s perfect!” my mom lied with a smile on her face as I showed her and my sisters my new prize. I can tell now they were all disappointed in my selection. Why would I grab a toy robot? I had many toys back at home. Maybe, deep down, I related to the robot. Maybe I knew what it was like to be treated as a toy, programmed to act and perform in a certain way. Maybe I knew this then, and maybe I did not. All I know is my selection made all the difference. 

This is where the story, and my life, changes. As cliche as it may sound, I would never be the same after what happened in my room hours after choosing the robot from the time capsule. 

Back at home, I began to play with the robot. I poked and prodded its exterior seeing what each of the buttons on its chest would do and how the robot would respond. I held it high in the air in front of the cameras throughout my room. The cameras responded with their blinking red lights letting me know everything was being taped. Then, the blinking stopped. I did not realize it then, but this was the first time I was not being recorded in my entire life. 

The robot’s eyes lit with the same red intensity as the formerly blinking cameras in my room. A contraption on the back of the robot opened like a drawbridge and a pair of translucent ear pieces fell to the floor. I quickly reached for them, picked them up, and began to study them. I had never seen ear pieces like this before. 

I had used ear pieces before, but only those given to us by the government of Tirabulta, where we listened to programmed music and talk shows. These from the robot were different. They were almost entirely invisible and I was lucky to have found them after they had fallen to the ground. 

I quickly placed them in my ears. That is when the cameras in my room turned back on. I waited for something to happen. Had the authorities known the recording was interrupted? I stood still for what felt like hours, but nothing happened. Finally, I heard the voice of a young person speaking to me with a child’s confidence: 

“Testing, testing,” the voice rang out. “This is Millie and I am in the process of testing out my grandpa’s new voice recording system.” 

The audio faded for a moment but my desire to learn more only grew. Moments later, the voice was back at its former quality:

“I’m here with grandpa again watching the sunset together. We can already see some stars in the sky and the moon is poking its head out already! Isn’t that right grandpa?” The sound faded once again and was replaced with white noise. 

There were many words that I didn’t understand, words with which I had no idea how to define. “Stars,” “moon,” “sunset.” At that moment, all I knew was that I craved more. After more sounds of static, the voice returned. This time, she sounded older:

“They have begun to limit our exposure to the outdoors at night time. I figured it would be best to record a diary of our daily struggles as we resist whatever it is the government is planning.” Once again, white noise. 

Within these few moments, nothing else seemed to matter on the outside. I kept a smile on my face, unsure of what I was hearing. I regret to say, I cannot write everything that the recording told me. What I can tell you is that the recordings from Millie guided me outside of Tirabulta to a willow tree where she had buried a written diary from years and years ago. I can only hope that the person reading this letter has been able to find the robot beneath the Willow Tree five hundred miles East of Tirabulta.

It was on this journey to the willow tree, with the accompaniment of Millie’s recordings, that I learned everything that was hidden from me in the world of “Project D.” I saw my first starry sky, my first crescent moon, and experienced for the first time what it meant to be cold.

I still remember the first time I learned to frown. I touched my face and felt deep lines etched into my cheeks from years of smiling. I remember the first time I cried and how this made me feel more happy and complete than I had my entire life. I remember listening to the last of Millie’s recordings, and feeling what I can only describe as love for the woman on the other side of the ear pieces. 

The diary beneath the willow tree details the resistance movement to the government’s original “Project A.” It also lists a dictionary indicating each of the words the government was attempting to ban from its citizens' vocabulary. I am leaving this letter behind in hopes that one day another brave individual will find it and join Millie and I in learning the truth. I also leave this letter behind in the hope that someone who has experienced “happiness” their entire life can finally feel “sad,” “angry,” “heart broken,” and “lost.” 

As I recruit more help to resist the government behind “Project D,” I intend to fully enjoy all the emotions of life. I plan on journeying past the willow tree to find a world truly filled with happiness. This is all I can write for now because the stars are out, the sky is black, and I wish to enjoy the night. 

-Signed: Subject 707-A42