While writing this I’m rapidly approaching a point when I’ll start rapidly approaching “rapidly approaching” thirty…I mean I’m nearly 29. I’ve taken satisfaction recently in noticing that a lot of actors, artists and writers I’m passionate about didn’t really get the wind in their sails until they were about my age.
It makes me feel better about myself, and about how long overdue I originally thought that sensation of everything coming together was. But still.. thirty years. Thirty years. It seems a lot of time to spend waiting for your real life to begin, eating nachos, alphabetising wishlists and staffing mindless call centre jobs.
That’s why I’m proposing… LOGAN’S INVERSE RUN.
In the truly fantastic Logan’s Run, you get to play, work, dance and fuck the days away until you hit thirty, at which point you either join carousel (a sort of Britain’s Got Talent but without the singing and with everyone being executed at the end) or you run, and the Sandmen are sent to retire you.
In the world of Logan’s Inverse Run, I propose that as soon as you can run, you must run. For the first thirty years of your life, you are hunted.
It’s not Battle Royale because it happens to everyone and won’t be televised, and it’s not The Hunger Games because the battle isn’t for resources but for the right to survive, and that should be enough.
People under thirty would develop fantastic people skills, since they’d be heavily reliant on each other, but also looking to exploit each other for any advantage and constantly wary of others doing the same.
It would develop worldwide good cardio. It would solve over-population and unemployment problems (and be a depressing but effective end to problems in the third world).
Stories would be told in the classic folk tradition, fireside tellings of survivalism and battle-heroics, of lessons learned and legends forged. There wouldn’t be any “Awwwwhh mate, Bwubsy was so wasted that she threw up all over Mimsy’s back at Womrren’s champagne social, it was well hashtag-awkward-lol!” We’d only have stories to tell that were worth telling.
When you reach thirty, you’re allowed to live in the “real” world. You can get a job, socialise without fear of being stabbed in the back for a tin of beans, and get yourself a nice little house with a nice big sofa, happy in the knowledge that the true value of life and the importance of perseverance has been instilled in you.
Until that day, from the moment you’re able to… you run. RUN!!