Red Light Green Light
It was a hot, humid day in August, but I was suddenly cold. The proof was in my hand, straight out of my mailbox.
They knew that I knew.
With shaking hands, I opened the envelope. What I saw terrified me. There were four small, incredibly detailed pictures of my car driving through a local intersection. The driver wasn’t visible, but I knew it was me. One of the pictures was a close-up of the license plate, clearly showing the number and the expiration date, and even the small scratches inflicted by my bike carrier.
The message was clear: we know who you are, where you live and what you drive. We know where you have been and where you are going. Do not risk our anger, for you cannot hide. We are everywhere.
I showed the letter to my friends. Some laughed, finding my anger humorous. Others sympathized over the amount of the fine.
“That’s too bad, John,” they’d say. “I can’t believe that they charge $75 for running a red light.”
I tried to explain it to them. I tried to explain that the fine is just a cover up, a way of justifying the cameras. They say that the high fines will make the city streets safer, cut down on accidents. Oh, and they’ll add a little bit to the city’s bottom line, too. More money from traffic tickets means less money from taxpayers. How could that be wrong?
But now they are everywhere. All of the major intersections are covered with cameras. I’ve tried changing the route I take to work – to no avail. The streets are sprouting metal flowers with glass-eyed blossoms, always watching, always tracking. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They never sleep and they never rest.
And neither do I.
The letter was a warning to keep quiet, to quit “making waves.” But I won’t – no, can’t – stop. I am the only thing that stands between them and total control of the population.
So I work all day, like a good little drone. I drive my car slowly home, carefully stopping for every yellow light and dutifully waiting through each red one. I eat my dinner and wait for darkness to fall.
Then I draw the darkness around me and start my silent struggle. With every wire I cut, I think of a friend, a neighbor, a relative, an unknown stranger. Each with a private life worth protecting, each of whom deserves their right to “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
But they’re getting smarter. They’ve started setting traps for me, hiding policeman at the intersections, trying to catch me. But I’m onto them. Without their mechanical eyes they are blind, helpless. And the police can’t be everywhere. That’s why they need the cameras, right?
I am getting tired, so tired. But I must fight on. If I don’t, who will? By the time the others wake, it will be too late. It may be too late already.
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