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Ayn Rand, Jack London, Owen Gregory, Hugh Benson, H. G. Wells, Ignatius Donnelly, Ernest Bramah, Milo Hastings, Arthur Dudley Vinton, Francis Stevens, Anthony Trollope, E. M. Forster, Fritz Leiber, Richard Stockham, Irving E. Cox, Samuel Butler
The Darkest Hours - 18 Chilling Dystopias in One Edition
Iron Heel, Meccania the Super-State, Lord of the World, The Time Machine, City of Endless Night...
Published by
Books
- Advanced Digital Solutions & High-Quality eBook Formatting -
2017 OK Publishing
ISBN 978-80-272-2501-9
Table of Contents
Meccania the Super-State (Owen Gregory)
Lord of the World (Hugh Benson)
When The Sleeper Wakes (H. G. Wells)
The Time Machine (H. G. Wells)
The First Men in the Moon (H. G. Wells)
Caesar's Column (Ignatius Donnelly)
The Secret of the League (Ernest Bramah)
City of Endless Night (Milo Hastings)
Looking Further Backward (Arthur Dudley Vinton)
The Heads of Cerberus (Francis Stevens)
The Fixed Period (Anthony Trollope)
The Machine Stops (E. M. Forster)
The Night of the Long Knives (Fritz Leiber)
Perchance to Dream (Richard Stockham)
Anthem
(Ayn Rand)
Part One
It is a sin to write this. It is a sin to think words no others think and to put them down upon a paper no others are to see. It is base and evil. It is as if we were speaking alone to no ears but our own. And we know well that there is no transgression blacker than to do or think alone. We have broken the laws. The laws say that men may not write unless the Council of Vocations bid them so. May we be forgiven!
But this is not the only sin upon us. We have committed a greater crime, and for this crime there is no name. What punishment awaits us if it be discovered we know not, for no such crime has come in the memory of men and there are no laws to provide for it.
It is dark here. The flame of the candle stands still in the air. Nothing moves in this tunnel save our hand on the paper. We are alone here under the earth. It is a fearful word, alone. The laws say that none among men may be alone, ever and at any time, for this is the great transgression and the root of all evil. But we have broken many laws. And now there is nothing here save our one body, and it is strange to see only two legs stretched on the ground, and on the wall before us the shadow of our one head.
The walls are cracked and water runs upon them in thin threads without sound, black and glistening as blood. We stole the candle from the larder of the Home of the Street Sweepers. We shall be sentenced to ten years in the Palace of Corrective Detention if it be discovered. But this matters not. It matters only that the light is precious and we should not waste it to write when we need it for that work which is our crime. Nothing matters save the work, our secret, our evil, our precious work. Still, we must also write, for—may the Council have mercy upon us!—we wish to speak for once to no ears but our own.
Our name is Equality 7-2521, as it is written on the iron bracelet which all men wear on their left wrists with their names upon it. We are twenty-one years old. We are six feet tall, and this is a burden, for there are not many men who are six feet tall. Ever have the Teachers and the Leaders pointed to us and frowned and said:
"There is evil in your bones, Equality 7-2521, for your body has grown beyond the bodies of your brothers." But we cannot change our bones nor our body.
We were born with a curse. It has always driven us to thoughts which are forbidden. It has always given us wishes which men may not wish. We know that we are evil, but there is no will in us and no power to