The Cancelling

The TV hummed slowly, filling the room with a soothing sound. Almost acting like a form of white noise.
The ceiling fan rolled slowly, emitting this tiny squeak that acted almost as another note to fit this mini orchestra.
Suddenly, the generic ad with its peaceful jingle playing disappeared from the screen, replaced by just two words.
BREAKING NEWS.
A newsreader came on screen, stacks of paper in hand, tacky montage background behind them.
“On today’s evening news, we uncover the latest series of notable “cancellings’ that have happened in just the last 24 hours. Just earlier this morning, the most prominent figure to be cancelled was Dr Mohiuddin Mahmud. A notable neurosurgeon, who once even served as the country’s chief medical adviser, was cancelled for his controversial comments regarding Sheikh Mujibur Rahman.
Famously, Dr Mahmud praised the former president for his mic skills. Unfortunately, the Cancelling Council yesterday deemed the words as inflammatory and dalali. Now, Dr Mahmud has been cancelled posthumously. We shall never speak his name again.”
And with that, there was a small click and the lights from each corner of the TV met in the middle and it turned off.
The remote fell off the couch as Sameer rolled onto the floor, yawning. He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision. Groaning, he finally got to his feet.
He stretched, too tired from awkwardly sleeping on the couch. Sameer pulled his phone out of his pocket, and glanced at the notifications. Just an endless list of his friends he would never be able to talk to again.
That was the problem with the cancelling, Sameer thought, you never got to contact these people again. No phone calls, texts, chats, or even emails. They would also never be allowed outside of their houses.
It all made sense when this started. At first, it was great. You were getting rid of the worst people — perverts and musicians, sometimes both were the same. Predators and diabolical people were being removed. It was perfect.
But then, someone had to take it too far, and things just got out of contro—-
Ring RIng….Ring Ring
Sameer’s phone buzzed, he picked it up to see that it was his mother calling.
“Sameer, baba, they are taking us away,” his mom whispered, voice filled with panic from the other side.
“WHAT? What is happening mom?” he asked.
“They say it is because your father thanked Hasina for the metro rail and I apparently watched too many hours of Zee Bangla. Son, please, be safe. This might be the final time we hear your voice. I love you…,” she said, before the line went dead with a final click.
Sameer stood there, mouth open from the shock. He had never thought his parents would get cancelled. This was a whole other can of worms.
A siren blared through the street, the sound piercing the air all the way up to Sameer’s apartment on the 26th floor.
Utter chaos, Sameer thought. He at times felt like they were some part of a sad experiment gone wrong. Where the heroes lost and they got the worst timeline. Or something. How did it go from shunning creeps on the internet to your time is up if you ironically liked a post praising the Indian cricket team.
Sameer’s phone buzzed again, this time it showed an incoming video call from his friend Sayeed.
“Dude, it’s done. I am barricaded in my house. They are coming for me,” Sayeed said frantically.
“No, what happened?”
“They found out that I once commented that a young Sheikh Hasina was kinda cute,” he replied.
“Wait, didn’t I heart react to that comment back then,” Sameer asked, suddenly even more panicked.
Three loud knocks came from Sameer’s door.
“Open up, this is the Thought Police,” a voice yelled.