1. Flatland
Excerpts from : The Journal of Irestias of the Irregulars
13-4-2-5
It has been 13 years, 4 months, 2 weeks, 5 days, and about 13 hours since I was
separated from my family and the rest of my irregular brethren only to be sent to this
rotting pit of despair that is the Office of Measurement and Configuration. Day in and day
out I toil away through a copious amount of paperwork concerning the regular
composition of newborns as well as execution paperwork filed for the sole purpose of the
destruction of my kind. I wasn't brought up in an irregular family, I was merely born into
my irregularity. My father was a humble square whom practiced law and worked for the
Priests in one department or another, cannot remember which one to be precise, while
my mother was just as loving and attentive as a mother could be; what a wonderful
straight line she was. She was always pushing me to better myself and do well in school
despite my irregularity while my father was more of a realist and knew exactly what was
going to come to fruition over the coming years.
It was from my father how I came about the knowledge of the existence of the 3rd
dimension and the prophecy of the square who had visited Spaceland under the
guidance of the great Sphere. What became of the square is all I can recall is my father
telling me that he had been imprisoned indefinitely where he wrote his memoirs that
somehow made it out into the public of Flatland. This, of course, almost immediately
resulted in a revolt, relatively similar to the Colour Revolt, but this one was of an
intellectual nature. A great many of the Isosceles Infantry and the Square Battalion
revolted against the administration and many lives were lost. The revolution began with

2. simple demonstrations and lectures held in public spaces and escalated into bombings
of government facilities and full on frontal assaults by waves of infantrymen. In one
particular battle, my father told me, the rebel leader from the Isosceles Infantry, Izmino,
alongside the Square leader, Squixisan, valiantly led the charge in to battle at Trapazoia
against the conscripted irregulars, loyalist isosceles triangles, squares, and pentagons.
The rebels Upon the snuffing out of the revolution, the rebel leaders were all gathered in
Flatland's main plaza in front of the Council Chamber of Circles and executed in front of
a large audience. After putting an end to the rebellion, a new division of security
emerged in Flatland, the Office of Measurement and Configuration, my forsaken home.
I know not what is to become of me or if anything is ever to become of me and I
am damned to live out the rest of my days in this confined space pouring over
documents that I have absolutely no desire to quantify, file, stamp, or whatever it is that
they would have me do with them. I must find a way out, I must find a shred of light
amongst all of this darkness.
15-4-1-2
If it weren't for that damned clock on the wall counting every moment of time that
passes as I remain in my conscripted administrative servitude, I would not have the
slightest idea as to amount of time that I have been here. The days have indeed melted
together and the weeks appear as though they pass by in double time; I can only tell the
seasons by the fluctuation of the temperature. I had thought before the beginning of my
stay here that I would be imprisoned with my irregular brethren but that thought was only
a dream for I have not seen a single other irregular figure these 15 years. I fear that if I
were to even come into contact with another figure, be it regular or irregular, I would not

3. possess the capacity to see him. My entire stay here could be nothing but a vivid and
malevolent illusion.
I did, however, experience something the other day as I was filing measurements;
something that I had not heard before. Whilst completing a form, a rather faint and
rhythmic tapping began in the far corner of my bed chamber. I traversed the room to
inspect what could have been making the noise. When I got to the apparent source of
the sound, I spoke out “Hello?!” and the tapping immediately seized. I proceeded to tap
on the wall in a rhythm similar to the one that I had heard and there was no answer.
Could it be that I am losing my mind in here? I suppose that the only thing that is keeping
me relatively sane is this journal. Albeit extremely helpful for my mental health while I
remain here in seclusion, I long for the sight and embrace of another. The pathetic
excuse of a “vacation” is quite the opposite of that. Guards watching my every move and
not really allowing true freedom. This is not a way for any thing to live, whether or not he
is regular. Something must be done about this but, then again, what power do I have
behind these cursed walls?
16-1-1-4
Something amazing has happened! Over the course of the past year or so, I had
been hearing a rhythmic tapping that kept getting louder and louder as the days went on.
Last night, I awoke to a loud thud and the sight of an unfamiliar irregular figure. At first, I
was aghast and frightened for I had not seen another figure in its full form since before I
had been thrown in here. The only interaction with any other being was through the small

4. hole which they passed me food and drink on a daily basis. This figure that stood before
me was in full view and I could see every irregular aspect of his composition. The sum of
all his interior angles well exceeded 360 degrees and his lines appear to have been
drawn by an art revolutionist from the Colour Revolt. He was just like me, he was one of
my irregular brethren. He told me that his name was Gilineus and that he had been
tunneling his way from his cell to my cell. He further informed me that he had found a
way out of the office and that it was through the tunnel system that he had dug. We plan
on escaping next week after the guards make dinner rounds. I do not care how many
miles of waste we have to traverse, I will have my freedom.
What of my plans, then, after my escape? I do not have any specialized training or
education; the only thing I ever excelled at was geometry and numbers. Gil suggests that
I put my mathematical skills to use in helping him forge an alliance of the other irregular
figures that are in the process of escaping the office or had successfully escaped their
execution. What of the purpose of this particular alliance? That is not known at this time.
There is still some time to contemplate on what needs to be done, what we want to be
done, and what can be done. I do not believe that I have ever done anything so
dangerous in my entire existence but if I perish in the process, at least I had not died in
vain. I am putting all that I have left within me, all 570 degrees of me, into making this
work. This is the only chance that I have.
16-1-3-3
Gil and I have done it. We have reached the sewers and, subsequently, reached
the cells of our other irregular brethren. We have made camp in what appears to be a
massive waste filtration and treatment facility. To the horror of us all, we have also come

5. across an abundance of corpses of our fellow irregular figures. Why do the people of
Flatland despise us so? It is not our fault that we were not born with geometric and
mathematical perfection. Seeing such violence reminds me of the stories my father told
me of the Colour Revolt and how many good shapes of all kinds were lost that day due
to ideological and artistic intolerance. That is not what I want for us. We mustn't let any
more lives be lost to violence that is loosely justified by the intolerance of irregularity.
Without the existence of the irregular, who is to say that what is labeled as regular is
even regular at all when there is nothing to compare it to. We must learn to coexist but,
unfortunately, I do not believe that will become a reality any time soon. What Gil and I
need to focus on now is getting together more of our irregular brethren and find a safe
location where we can potentially establish a quasi-permanent camp.
There has been talk among some of the men of the potentiality of plotting an
assassination against the Magistrate of the Circles who carries out the sentencing for
irregulars. Such a plan needs to meticulously and discreetly executed so that we would
not expose ourselves immediately. I had thought about taking out revenge on those that
had imprisoned me within those damned walls far too many times to count but now,
when it appears as though that very same vengeance is within my grasp, I don't know if I
would be able to unsheathe my sword.
One particular item on the agenda that needs to be addressed is the issue of
acquiring funds. Hexis has suggested that we could partner up with an irregular cousin of
his that runs a smuggling ring on the edges of Flatland, far from the prying eyes of the
Council. Personally, I believe this would lead us to more meaningless trouble and most
certainly assure a swift execution for every one of us. Gil doesn't know what to make of

6. Hexis' plan and has moral qualms with participating in illegal activities. I do, however,
find it rather ironic that we, a band of fugitives, have been having ethical debates on
whether or not to engage in bootlegging and smuggling.
One thing that does trouble me is that I can't help but think that we are in over our
heads. We are not exactly the most organized and precise group of figures. The circles
will send countless legions of the best soldiers in search of us and I believe that only a
small few of those that are among us are skilled in combat. I took the liberty of
dispatching a pair of two rather spry shapes on a reconnaissance mission to the edges
of Flatland in hopes of gaining preliminary intelligence on the shapes that we are
potentially going to meet if we so decide to venture out that way. However, we must
make our decision and move quickly, time is not on our side and we cannot stay static
for long.
Somewhere along the edge of Flatland ~ 5 months & 2 weeks since escape
I know not the reason for maintaining this journal for there is nothing to tell but, at
the same time, I cannot resist writing down that which permeates within my mind
pertaining to what has befallen my irregular brethren. A dozen days ago or so, we were
attacked by 2 platoons of soldiers en route to our current encampment and lost a large
number of our group. Gil was one of the first to fall when the triangles attacked and
Hexis was the only one to be taken prisoner while over two thirds of our men perished in
the battle. Before the attack, we had gotten word back from one of our men who had
been out on reconnaissance that Hexis' cousin and his camp had been destroyed and
that the soldiers were heading in the direction of our camp. Almost immediately after we

7. had been told the information, the attack began. My recollection of the events that
transpired during the battle are rather fuzzy due to the injuries that I sustained within the
initial attack. I know now that I cannot give up hope and that something must be done in
regards to the treatment of irregular figures.
My approach in this particular revolution must evolve and adapt according to the
cards that I have been dealt and at this time, the idea of any assassination attempt or
other act of blatant act of violence against the circles and the Office of Measurement and
Configuration. Our approach must take on a more cunning and penetrating set of
parameters. I have been contemplating this for some time now and I do believe that this
plan just might work. Out of the many men that I still have with me, there are a couple
that are almost so nearly perfect in shape that they could be circles themselves.
Unfortunately for them, they were born with multiple slight deviations of the angles along
their bodies and are, thus, irregular. These slight deviations can be altered in such a way
by an artist in order to appear as though they were an actual circle. I wonder if we could
infiltrate the Council Chamber of Circles and plant a bomb within the main chamber set
to detonate during the next council meeting. Certainly they won't be needing an
enormous amount of time to carry out such a task but they will, however, need to be
quick and must make as little contact with others as possible whilst inside. I can only
assume that the council chambers will be heavily guarded and fortified so I cannot
expect these brave souls to make it out alive.
In the beginning of this journey, I had believed that I could be a righteous man
and that I should strive to resolve our problems without resorting to violence. Upon
witnessing the slaughter of men that I held in high regard and shared a bond with,

8. innocent irregular souls that did nothing wrong in this world but be born into it, I lost all
desire of peaceful negotiations. At this point, I am no longer concerned with whether I
live or die at the end of all of this, all that I require is vengeance.
1 year after the attack on the Council Chamber
Happiness is not the word that I would use to describe how I feel about what
transpired a year ago during our revolt. I feel as though that I had done much more harm
than good and failed to look out for the well being of all those that I had under my
command. How naïve I was to take on the role of leading revolutionists when I did not
have any clue as to what being a leader truly entailed. Despite our geometric
inefficiencies, we were uniformed and relatively well organized for being a bunch of
mediocre irregular figures from the Office slums. After all that has come to fruition upon
the end of the revolution, I can say that it has been worth it. When looking angle to angle
with one of those that stood with me as we fought for our freedom from tyrannical
persecution, I could see that very same desire within them that was also within me. Life
is the price that we pay for the freedom of the irregulars that come after us and every
one of us was ready to pay that price. I just do not believe that what we have fought and
will fight for is something that will ever truly be in our grasp. The bombing of the council
chamber was definitely a wake up call to the government that the regulations regarding
the treatment, quarantine, and execution of irregular figures within society needs a
complete overhaul and/or thrown out entirely.
I do not know what is exactly in store for myself, those irregulars who remain and
those yet to come. Our victory was only but a small one in the grand scheme of things so
we mustn't let our vigor give way. Perhaps, one of these days when all of this is over,

9. color could return to our world in more ways than one. For now, I suppose that I will live
out the rest of my days along the edges of Flatland, hoping that one day I too will be
visited by some great lord of the 3rd dimension just like the Square was but that is only
but a dream.