Chapter 1: The Party “Where do thoughts come from, Father?”
King Mafferan looked deeply into his twelve-year-old eyes. “While I may not be sure all thoughts are my own, I am sure when I own them.”
IT DIDN’T MATTER THAT SHE MOVED amongst hundreds of other children down the long, white hallway in a predetermined fashion; Stephanie was alone in her thoughts. What’s the big deal about one-hundred years? I hate all these ugly banners. If we really used to be the United States, then we wouldn’t be celebrating the second civil war. Is everything just a big lie?
The warning bell sounded, everyone sped up, but Stephanie seemed to slow down. What about me? I’m more important than a stupid country. Her edginess since biology class finally gained her mental recognition. That teacher’s question absorbed her mind. I think it’s an important question, but why should I have waited for a teacher to ask it? Actually, it should be the most important question of my life: ‘What makes me what I am?’ Am I really just a bunch of experiences all subtly piled upon each other -- like a snowfall in the darkest night? Nothing more? She got sarcastic with herself. Life dumps all this crap into me, a few good experience . . . I think . . . and the rest bad, then says, ‘Lookie, lookie, you’re a person!’ It felt terribly wrong, but she didn’t know why. The words shouted in her mind, I’m more than that!
She abruptly stopped in mid-traffic, but no one ever stopped! The rules. Several children crashed into her from behind with quiet sneers and jeers as they squeezed around her on their way to their next class. There was enough to be irritated about without such odd behavior. She didn’t notice the pinches and grabs as all the others pressed on by because that teacher’s lesson, for some reason, irked her in ways she couldn’t even begin to describe. But even the snow has something to rest on. The teacher didn’t mention that. I just figured that out myself. The shape of the ground…whether it’s a hill, or a dip, a big rock, or a deep hole . . . that determines how the snow rests! So, why isn’t the shape of the ground also me? For that matter, not just the shape but whatever the ground is made out of! The teacher didn’t ask about that. What made me ask it? Not my experience, I don’t think. It feels like this question is coming from . . . where? My ground itself! What am I talking about?
Three boys squeezed against Stephanie just as she went through the classroom doorway, bringing her back to reality. She tried twisting away as they groped her, but they prolonged their contact by making it difficult to pass. Working her arm free, she shot it sharply into a boy’s side.
Surprised, the boy grumbled, “Hey, how’d you know if it was me?”
Another boy laughed. “She never objected before. It must be you!”
She realized he was right. But right now, such disgusting actions from anyone no longer flattered her. The boy rubbed his side as everyone took their seats.
Bulldog. Stephanie thought, as she inspected Mr. Hardcord’s face for the last time. From the first day of class to this last, she expected her teacher to slobber. Everyone sat silently with their hands folded on their desks, their feet flat on the floor, and their faces forward.
The teacher’s gruff voice filled the emptiness. “After today you’ll be in tenth grade. Therefore, this last lesson shall be particularly special.”
Internal groans were held in check, and the teacher saw no sign of it as his hawkish stare raked-over his students. “You’re old enough now to understand about sacrifice.”
Sacrifice. That didn’t sound good. Heads didn’t turn, but eyes darted around. The teacher’s large presence loomed larger when he stepped closer to the front row where Stephanie sat. She swallowed once as he stared at her.
“You know it’s been a whole hundred years since the Great Religious War, when most people in the major cities were killed by plague and poisoned water. Stephanie, what happened afterwards?”
Stephanie tried to swallow again, but her mouth was dry. She cleared her throat before answering. “We used to be called the United States, but we weren’t united at all. Afterwards, we separated from the South, because they wanted the government run by their fanatical religion, but we were more sensible.”
“Right! And what did all the former religions lead to? Jason?”
“We know all the former religions lead to destruction -- they’re all at fault.”
The teacher returned his stare to Stephanie, but this time he narrowed his eyes at her. “Why, Stephanie?”
Why! Why! Why did he ask me why like that? The silence seemed like eternity. Oh, I’ve got to give an answer right away. “That is a good question, Sir, but when something doesn’t make sense, like the old religions -- whatever they were -- it’s hard to answer a single, particular why as to destruction or fault.”
“Excellently put! Very good! It is precisely because none of them made sense that they were destructive. And because they demanded people to follow blindly their fanaticism, they acted irrationally, therefore becoming guilty but as you said, we of the North were sensible.” Hardcord stood up taller, proclaiming, “Science and reason rule the day. That’s why our new religion stresses support of the government, and not the other way around. What was the economic result of the civil war? Karen?”
Glancing across to Stephanie, Karen smiled, and holding her head high, sat up straighter. holding her head up high. She answered smoothly, and offered much more than the teacher asked for: “The glorious civil war which we are now happily celebrating finished some fifteen years after the Great Religious World War, drained all of our resources, and allowed us to be free of all old, foolish religions.”
“Very good, Karen!”
But she wasn’t missing this opportunity. “Excuse me Sir, I’m not done yet.”
With a hint of sarcasm, Hardcord restrained himself. “Oh, ahh, please continue.”
“In reaction against the religious terrorists of the Great War, to their destroying all of our cities, and to their different God, the South determined that everyone needed to worship only the South’s God. They blamed our own lack of faith for the enemy’s victories.”
“Very good Karen, Thank --”
Karen interrupted again while smiling sweetly. “I’m still not done.”
Hardcord frowned as Karen kept smiling at him. “Finish up. We have an assignment to do!”
“Many from the South were forced to move north to escape oppression. The fanatics up north were allowed to move south, thus, in a way, the South became just as destructive and threatening as the terrorists. We had to defend ourselves against our own countrymen, lest we be forced into their religion. The economic strain to defend such a long border across North America is, even now, tremendous and destructive.” Smiling sweetly, Karen checked to see if Stephanie had been bothered by her impressive answer. Stephanie ignored her.
Mr. Hardcord cleared his throat, signaling an end to the interplay. “Lengthy, but you are correct also, Karen. You’ve all learned this. It’s taken a while for people to overcome their fears about the major cities, but now our government has undertaken a glorious restoration project to reclaim them. But to do so, requires us to sacrifice.”
There it was again. That word seemed to boom much louder than its actual sound, enslaving all who heard it. “The government needs more resources to build the cities of the future. Every one of you has some money the government allows you to earn at summer jobs. Your assignment, to be handed in on the first day of your tenth grade year, is to write a ten-page paper on how and why you have uniquely devised ways to sacrifice for the good of our country to rebuild our great cities. With your paper, you should hand-in the sacrifice you are making!”
Everyone’s face turned red, but no one moved. “Take out your notebooks and create an outline of how and why you intend to sacrifice. I will be coming around to check each one in ten minutes.”
Bulldog sat behind his desk watching the class. Is that the hint of a smirk on his face? Sacrifice! Bahhh…the school officials will probably pocket our money, most everyone thought. Future? Everyone knows there is none. Immediately they embarked on their task.
Education had reached a new low. Everyone knew they could be kicked-out of school for disobeying the teacher. As bad as it was here, being kicked-out would be worse. Stephanie raised her hand without thinking. ”Why do you think it’s right to rebuild the cities, and ignore all the small towns where we’ve lived for so long?” When they heard her, small gasps resounded throughout the room.
Stephanie felt her face redden. What am I doing? Her stomach turned over. She squirmed under the teacher’s silent glare, its message pounding in her head: ARE YOU HAVING YOUR OWN THOUGHTS? Even though she quickly apologized, she was sure he knew she was. That was exactly the kind of thing that got kids sent to the State Work Farm, she was sure of it. Everyone sat stone silent, in mid-breath, waiting, but the teacher went back to his deskwork. Stephanie could still hear her words as if echoing in the room.
Fearing reprisal, Stephanie thought extra hard on her English assignment. I’ll get a summer job somewhere and give half the money to the government -- maybe that’ll keep me from being sent away. A page later, she finally relaxed, noticing the cramp in her writing hand. She was done before anyone else.
Her eyes glanced up from her work. Hardcord sat staring at the class, rubbing his chin. She didn’t mean to, but her glances became more frequent and lengthened, and every time she looked up, she looked deeper into his face. His concentration seemed magnetic, drawing her into it. When he turned his eyes upon her she still stared for a second before realizing she was discovered. What am I doing? Her heart skipped again. The teacher slammed his hands down on his desk; everyone jumped and Stephanie more so. Hardcord looked determined, as if he’d made some kind of decision. Stephanie knew it was about her and hung her head. . . .
