Desert Wake ✔

Ch. 2, pt. 1: The Used-to-Be Fields

Some say that we was chosen, our ancestors, and what they mean is, we're special cuz supposedly, there weren't no one on this world before we got here – no humans, hardly even any animals larger than a tortoise. This world, it was given to us. To our people. No one else. Our folks were from other worlds at one point. And when I say other worlds, I don't mean we got here in no spaceship.

Hundreds of years ago, our pioneers came from alternate realities, if you can believe it. On those worlds, they had all kinds of things – flying cars and tall buildings made of metal. But our folks, we didn't want sich things. The story goes that some fancy scientists called Vitalists took it upon themselves to find a universe that we could call our own. We'd live in peace close to the land in a way that sounds nice on paper, at least.

  A better world it was meant to be, though there are others that dispute sich claims, say all that talk of chosen folks and utopian dreams ain't nothin' more than a pack of lies. This ain't no better world – it's a sickly cousin to them other parallel realities at best, and we ain't special cuz we're here.

 We're cursed.

 I don't praise the gods cuz I'm a supposed chosen one. I don't believe in sich nonsense. But I also don't deny that there's a reason our great-great-however-many-greats-you-wanna-throw-in-there grandparents was brought here to this shriveled up world. It's like they was bein' punished, only they was too dumb to realize it. In fact, from what I've always been told, they thought they was bein' rewarded. A lot of folks still do. Sure, this world has one continent instead of the seven or so most of the known worlds have, but that was all right with them. It's a big continent and what did it matter—one continent or twelve, as long as it was home.

That our pioneers was plunked down on this planet determined to swear off the sophisticated science that made getting' here possible in the first place always strikes me as ironic. As does the fact that them Vitalist scientists fergot to include in our deluxe package most useful animals sich as, oh I don't know, a gods damn horse fer instance. I mean, if they was givin' us this world all special fer the chosen few, cuz we're so great, why would they refuse us the means of makin' a decent go of it here?

Sure, the rich and powerful pioneers got set up with the best pieces of land out in the Regions, them fertile areas that border the coasts. Everyone else? We been hard scramblin' since the day we arrived here, even 'fore the desert started spreadin'. They gone and put a bunch of technology-dependent folks back on the land, and them folks said that was exactly what they wanted, sure. To live simple. But I gotta wonder if they changed their tune after the first season gone by without a lot to show fer it. And without so much as a horse with which to attempt their escape.

Not that there was somewheres to escape to by then....

We got plunked down in this plane, this sorry excuse for a reality, but it seems purdy likely the ones doin' the plunkin' returned to their cushy world and fergot about us. We ain't heard of no off-worlders visitin', at least. They just left and said good riddance on their way out. And what did we know about openin' a way from this world back to theirs? Nothin' it seems, cuz here we sit in the swelterin' sun, turnin' from plum to prune by the bushel.

Chosen ones my ass.

I'm ruminatin' over all this as I put Ro's dinner together—a potato, a couple wilted carrots and a precious square of cheese. Ro accepts my humble offerings, sich as they are, lickin' his plate clean like it's the best thing he ever tasted. I take his plate back up to the house, and eat my own dinner with no one but Frank and a sunset fer companionship. They're quiet, but loyal. I've grown accustomed to the silence since the trip Granddad took to town when supplies ran low. The trip he ain't come back from.