Losing Hope

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
                   ---Robert Frost

         It was a very Thursday-like Thursday. In the historic novels I like to read, whenever something horrible is going to happen later, there is always foreshadowing. It may be a puppy killed in an accident or just a shadow on the wall, but the indication that the heroine is not going to have a calm and pleasant few days is always there. Those novels lie. Sometimes, your day will be completely normal. Sometimes, you will have no clue that something dark awaits you. I mean, sure,  the heroines never noticed the foreshadowing until it was too late, but at least they had the chance. I'd like to think that I would not be so stupid, given the chance.

         Instead, I got to put in my allocated ten hours at the factory. The whispers of discontent were no greater in number or magnitude than normal. I focused on my task, losing myself in exact measurements. On the task scale, it's not the best, but it's far from the worst, also. Papa's job at the ministry ensured that. I should be grateful, I know, but if I had a lower-level job, I wouldn't be as scrutinised. No one cares if you miss a piece of trash. A missed compound is an entirely different matter – it has to be, when these pills are our only forms of nourishment. That's their excuse for limiting our talk, but everybody knows the truth. They don't want us to bond, for that would be dangerous. Groups lead to change.

         So, just like always, upon stamping out I walked home by myself. Like always, I walked impatiently, not wanting to waste my free time. You get precious little of it nowadays. Yet another aspect of the historic novels I envy. One day's freedom is so little it is painful. It's the same feeling I get when looking on a sunrise. Life can be so beautiful in simplicity, yet, thanks to our own designs, we're forced to come up with more and more complicated means of living. Even the grass I walk carefully next to is genetically modified. I wonder, if one of those heroines was transported here from the past, would they even recognise it?

         My admittedly dreary thoughts ended as soon as I got home. I banged the door shut behind me and raced downstairs to the family room, not bothering to lock it behind me. There was no reason to – we had nothing worth stealing, and for no other reason would anyone visit. The thick door of the basement was an effective silencer and my parents had seen fit to not turn the heating on, but when I stepped inside the warmth of chatter and laughter floated through me. This was why I was able to put up with the day: I had something worth coming home to. I will ignore the fact that I really have no choice, of course. Ignoring sad truths is practically a law of survival.

         “Semantha! Look what Papa found!”

         The level of excitement in my sister's voice was such that I went right over to where she was sitting, rather than greeting my parents.

         I had no clue what it was she was holding so reverently. It was old, that was certain, but I couldn't say anything more. She was the scholar, not I. “What is it?” I asked, running a tentative finger over the circle of glass.

         She rolled her eyes at me, eyes practically identical to my own. “A digital camera, stupid.” The last word was said quietly so that our parents would not overhear. If you can't say something nice... had been drilled into us since birth, and no exceptions were made for joking around. It was a decidedly sensible lesson: talking back was not a mistake you could make twice, outside of your own home.

         “Really? Does it still work? Where did Papa find it?” I had to admit that I was curious. Life in the olden days seems so incredible, and relics like these are the only signs that the history is true. It would be easier to believe that it has always been like this. Easier, but far less interesting. I stretched out a hand to take it, and she reluctantly handed it over.

         “Papa can talk for himself, you know,” my father declared from across the room with an indulgant chuckle. “But go ahead, tell Semantha about it. No doubt you can make it sound more dramatic than I could.”

         I settled myself in the chair across the table from her and let her words wash over me. Surely she was making some of this up, but I didn't mind. Papa obviously didn't either. We were hard-pressed for interesting stories, so even half-truths were welcome. Of course, after ten hours listening  to machines only, I would be happy to listen to my sister read the instructions on a box of detergent tablets. Mama and Papa, sitting contentedly empty-handed, obviously felt the same way.

         My sister finished telling me about the find, and after I gave the proper comments, bounced a little on her seat and moved to her next subject. “Semantha, did you know that people used to be able to visit places far, far away? They went in thesky, in a machine.” Unable to sit still, she twirled her hair between her fingers and tapped her bare foot against the table. It was hard to believe she was almost sixteen – five year olds learned in the first day of school to not be so noticeable. I couldn't help but grin at her. Enthusiasm had that effect on me.

         “I think I remember reading that,” I replied uncertainly. Transportation was not an area given much detail to in school. Practical aspects of history had all the emphasis, and there were not that many of them. “I can't imagine it, can you?” I continued.

         Her eyes widened. “Of course I can! It would be like a trasportator, but nicer, and it would go so high that you could barely see it from the ground.” She jumped to her feet and circled the room. “If you were sitting in it, it would be the most comfortable place you ever sat. There would be plush cushions, in bright colours, and everyone would be super friendly. The view from the window would be magnificant and -”

         Seeing where this was going, and how long it would take to get there, Mama got up and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was hard to stop my sister when she was on a roll, but after a few starts, she managed. Subdued, she plopped back down into her seat and opened her exercise book. In between shooting faces at me, she practiced her chemistry equations. I retrieved my novel and picked up where I had left off yesterday, to the backdrop of a murmered conversation between Mama and Papa.

But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
is also great
And would suffice.

         I froze in bed when hearing the crash at the door. There was no reason for any of us to be down there at this time of night – time of morning, really – so I felt myself turn to stone. It couldn't be. I urged my legs back to life and sneaked downstairs, stopping just before the bend so that I could see what was going on. As expected, what I saw was not good. My heart started to beat again and went at a pace that must be unhealthy when my eyes latched on to the two enforcers standing in the hall. Routine inspections did not happen past eleven, and then only one was present.

         Papa pushed past me, an expression of confusion carefully arranged on his face. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked angrily, still wrapping his robe about him. I felt Mama's arm wrap around my waist. She was trembling. I could still barely move.

         One of the enforcers looked Papa square in the eye and handed him a scrap of yellow paper. “Inspection, Sir. Kindly ask your family members to join us, so that we don't startle anyone.” His eyes flickered toward the stairs, even before Mama and I reacted.

         “And what, pray tell, is so urgent about this that it could not wait til morning?”

         The enforcer actually smirked at that. “So, for the record, you are Harold Bruce Billings, this is your wife Elisabeth Phyllis Billings, and this is your legal daughter Semantha Melody Billings.” After each name he paused to gaze at us, looking as if he could read our minds through our eyes. I shifted my weight uncomfortably. And why the use of the word 'legal'?

         Mama seemed to have the same train of thought as me, for she demanded, “I have no idea how you managed to get that permit, but will you please just get on with the search so we can go back to bed?” Her voice was not as steady as my fathers.

         “It would be my pleasure,” the same enforcer declared.

         We had no choice but to stand around and watch while the two men peered through every aspect of our lives. It was strange how short a time that took – surely being violated took longer than three minutes? After this whirlwind which left me trembling, they stood at the door and said a brief goodnight, and had the indecency to look disappointed. That should have made me feel angry, but I was just pleased that they were leaving.

         “Wait, boss.” The younger enforcer finally opened his mouth. “What's that?” He pointed over to where the rug was slightly askew.

         I didn't look at Mama for fear that my horror would then show on my face.

         The men stalked over to it, and the younger flipped the rug back with his foot. “Well, well, well!”

         Papa was not giving up. “Oh, that. Nothing down there worth your time. Just a bit of storage – old paperwork mostly.”

         The men paid no attention, obviously. Papa shot an indecipherable look at Mama then raced after them, with us close behind. It was impossible to do anything. I heard a squeal before reaching the bottom. We always knew a cupboard was a useless hiding place, but it wasn't as if she could crawl under the floorboards.

         “Lemme go, you're hurting!” my sister protested and was immediately backed up by Papa. Mama stayed with me, wringing her wrists.

         “How interesting,” the senior enforcer said victoriously, his thin lips curling into a sneer. “Storage, indeed. And what do you call this piece of junk?”

         Papa raised his head proudly. “We call her Hope.”

         Mama let out a whimper. My body had turned to stone again.

         “Let. Me. Go.” My sister glared fiercely, squirming to get away.

         “Don't be stupid, child. You're coming with us. The Prelate will decide what to do with you, but I doubt you'll ever be free again.” He gazed at her in a way that reminded me of pictures I'd seen of animals stalking their prey. “Oh, no, there are plenty of uses for you, I'm sure.”

         With a swift punch to the jewels, she managed to tear herself out of his arms, and tore across the room towards us. Halfway there she seemed to trip over nothing and fall, and it wasn't until I saw the enforcer slap the stunner out of his partner's hands that I realised she'd be shot.

         “Idiot!” the enforcer declared. “We want her wits about her when we take her in, so she fully appreciates it.” Seeing the younger man step towards his stunner, he shook his head. “Leave it. Who knows what you'll do next. Take those three, and put them in the transportater, first.”

         I barely noticed this exchange, more concerned with my sister. She had hit her head pretty bad, and she'd never experienced a stunning before. I knelt down next to her and brushed her hair out her face, waiting to comfort her when she came around.

         Wait. Her eyes were open. “Hope?” I rubbed her back, trying to sound cheerful. “It's okay, get up.” She didn't move, didn't even blink. My lower lip trembled. “Hopie?”

         “Oh, shit,” I was vaguely aware of hearing. “Maybe I hadn't set it back to stun. Shit.”

         I brushed my sister's hair with my hand one last time then let out a howl. I walked on shaky feet over to the abandoned stunner. Wary eyes were on me and I saw my mother reach out both arms. Papa's mouth moved, but all I heard was my breath coming in short gasps.

         I raised the stunner and aimed it at the enforcers, a mirror reflection of one of them.

         “Baby, don't do it!” I heard Mama shriek.

         But what did it matter now?