In Plain Sight

By TylerMarie Jenkins

This short story won 1st place, Best Short Story Eastern Division in the CCHA Literary Competition in 2025. It was published in Herkimer College’s Phaethon Magazine.

In Plain Sight is a story of complacency. A story of the horrors that we allow to occur when we become to comfortable in the face of fascism. A face, I fear, we are all becoming a bit too comfortable with.

The day began like any other. Office workers spilled coffee on their shirts in their haste to beat the rush of morning traffic. Mothers kissed their children goodbye, waving at them as the school bus pulls away. Meteorologists droned away the morning weather reports.

“A warm front coming in from the west,

so you’d better get out those swimsuits, families!

I’ll pass it off to Pat now, with sports. All hail!”

Clicking off the tv, Amal brought her cereal bowl to the sink, giving it a quick rinse before setting it down in the basin to wash later. No use wasting water rations now. Turning to head to her bedroom, her eyes darted to her bookshelf. The empty spaces where her copies of now-banned literature used to sit. She quickly removed her eyes. As she headed into her bedroom, her closet opened up, motion detecting doors sensing her presence. She stood for a moment, taking mental inventory of the uniforms she had left. It was getting close to laundry day, so the selections were limited.

“Wednesday, red.” She said to herself, selecting the scarlet uniform from its hanger.

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The uniforms had been mandated two years ago, when Chancellor Goren had implemented the Assimilation Ordinance. The idea was to eliminate the outside influences of appearance. Women were to wear a low, braided bun, no makeup, and pearl earrings. Men required a tight, combover appearance, and full beards, no shorter than a quarter of an inch, no longer than 4 inches. Amal felt grateful for the Ordinance. Eliminating the stress of years past, standing in front of the mirror, beautifying herself for the general public, deciding what new pair of pants was in or out. She ran her hands down the rough corduroy material of her uniform skirt, straightening, making it presentable for the day. Her hair still damp from her earlier shower, she began braiding her waist-length hair, wrapping it around into her daily low bun, and pinning it into place. She checked the mirror, smoothing down any fly-aways, or bumps into a coiffed, slick look. She decided she was presentable and began to gather her things.

Grabbing her red, canvas tote, and housekeys, she walked out the door.

Amal stood on her doorstep. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before beginning her walk. She didn’t miss driving. Ever since the Public Mobility Regulation took effect, women were no longer allowed to drive. Amal rather liked the exercise, and fresh air was afforded to her by her daily walks. Not to mention the interesting people she would pass along the way. She got to know her neighbors quite well since the change in law.

“Good morning, Amal! All hail!” The voice came from across the street. Amal turned to see the familiar face of her neighbor, David. He smiled and waved.

She waved back, with a smile equally as proper: “All hail!”

Amal kept walking, keeping her morning greetings brief. Lingering too long was considered improper, and could invite distain of the neighbors, and societal distaste. The familiar hum of

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public transportation whizzed by her. Losing herself in the complacency of it all. Her morning ritual.

She arrived at the market without incident. Greeting and nodding to the other patrons as she passed by. Slowly, she made her way down the aisles of product. Pre-packaged, freeze-dried goods strictly regulated of course. The Acceptable Consumption Regulation had passed by majority 5 years prior, ensuring that there was strict control on what was made, how it was made, and what could be eaten. Chancellor Goren had announced this in his third year. He had long advocated for control of the food to prevent overeating, and unhealthy choices. It was roast day. Amal looked down on the selection of meats. Beef, pork, no Chicken, only on holidays. She stared for a while before deciding on the Pork. She had some vegetables and applesauce at home to pair with it. She found her mouth watering in anticipation of the roast dinner.

Making her way up to the checkout counter, she passed more familiar faces.

“All hail.” They said, nodding respectfully.

“All hail”, Amal nodded in modest return.

As she waited in line, she saw a small group of neighbors gathered around the newsstand in the corner, only able to make out portions of the conversation.

“He should have known better…”

“What was he thinking?…”

“Probably some mental breakdown…”

“How ungrateful!…”

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“All Hail!” Amal jumped, startled as the woman at the checkout counter interrupted her eavesdropping.

“All, Hail. Just the roast please.” She managed.

“Ah, pork, a nice choice!”

Amal chuckled softly. “Yeah, I had beef twice this week, so it’s nice to have a change.”

The grocery clerk nodded, “That’ll be one meat ration.”

Amal handed over her ration stamp, and they nodded to each other.

“All hail!”

“All hail.”

By now it was 10:30. Amal thought she had better get a move on. It was almost time for the 11 o’clock gathering in the city square. She had just enough time to get back home, set up her meal, and be back in time for the gathering.

Her pace was brisk, the weight of her grocery basket increasing with gravity and time as she made her way back home. Before long, she was back through her door and into her kitchen. She decided to click on the TV for some background noise. Humming to herself as she unloaded her roast, and began preparing her vegetables. The news station droned on as she lost herself in the hum:

“The trial of a man convicted of treason will commence at 11:15 AM today. 35-year-old Charles McInty of Port Iver was found guilty of treason after video evidence surfaced of a well-known domestic terrorist group gathering after curfew. Upon investigation, authorities discovered the gathering was a part of a large-scale operation to illegally traffic young women out of the

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country. The nature of the trafficking remains unclear, but sources report McInty is quoted as declaring: “You can’t keep doing this! We’ve got to get them out!”

Upon arrest, McInty resisted police. His trial is expected to commence without issue. Back to you, Dawn….”

By 11, Amal was in the crowd. The air buzzed with anticipation of what Chancellor Goren had to announce today. Every gathering was the same. The same swell of energy from the crowd, the same buzz of whispers and chats from the neighbors around her, the sound of children’s laughter, as the little ones chased each other around, playing while the gathering began. No doubt bored by the goings on of the adult world. Amal looked over the crowd, a sea of scarlet uniforms, braided buns, and beards filled the square; a few paying rapt attention to the daily announcements from the government. Rations were increasing in response to the change of seasons, to the overall joy of the crowd. It was the same every year, around November, they would be given two extra meat and vegetable rations per week to account for families visiting for the holidays. This increase would last until February, when it would return to the regular amount until the arrival of the next holiday season.

At 11:15, Chancellor Goren took stage.

He spoke deeply into the microphone, the immediate change into solemnity palpable amongst the crowd.

“All hail!” The crowd declared a synchronistic response.

“We gather this morning, with sad news. Our neighbor, Charles McInty…”

“TRAITOR!” The crowd roared.

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Chancellor Goren put up a hand in a silencing gesture.

“Our neighbor is found guilty of treason. He seeks to steal our young girls from us. To betray the safety and security of our homeland. To betray the principles of our society!”

“TERRORIST!” The crowd screeched.

“Should we allow our principles and values to be stripped away? Where does it end if we allow such treachery to go unpunished? How long before there is chaos in the streets! How long before our wives and daughters are stolen away to another land? Before our society crumbles! Will we allow that?!”

“NO!”

“Authorities, bring forward the accused!”

From back of the stage, uniformed police had hold of either arm of Charles McInty, the betrayer.

“Charles McInty. You are found guilty and hereby sentenced to death. Do you have any last words?”

His face was defeated. The face of a broken man, Bruised and bloodied. He stayed silent for what felt like forever. No one dared look too long, and yet no-one dared look away. The air of the crowd is thick in anticipation, and fear. He began to speak:

“It’s too late…” He began. “They had you from the beginning. Don’t you see? Don’t you see what’s happening?! My god, you’re all people! You’re human beings! Don’t you see-“

BANG

The crowd cheered, and Amal went cold.