Daughter 4254

Chapter 2

Day 34. There is a new guard. He is younger than the others, probably the same age as my brother if not a little bit older. His badge says Guard210. Most of the guards don’t make eye contact at all, but he has smiled at me many times and slipped me extra food. The food is not desirable at all, but I eat it. I am not starving; and yet, for some reason, he decided that I need more. Possibly because he knows where I am headed. Everyone knows where I am headed.

He brought me my food allotment this morning and to my delight, concealed under the tray was a battered copy of a paper reader. The cover is bright with the image of a tree and a meadow. It is the Year Ten reader on the History of Nature. I used to have my own copy when I was in the Basic Years School. Looking at it now brings back so many memories.

“Where did you get this?” I asked. He only smiled and walked away. He never says anything. I’m certain he is one of the unfortunates whose body was still useful but whose tongue was not.

Looking at the reader made old feelings well up in my chest like a springtime irrigation ditch. I had always loved working in the gardens and being outside for free days. I could lay for hours on the hill behind our pod and look up at the leaves in the young trees to the sky beyond. The wind shifting and rustling them was companion enough for me. These activities were, of course, deemed completely unnecessary and I was sanctioned every time I was caught. Even on Free Day we were expected to do something productive for the community. The only difference was that it was our choice what we did and where we did it.

I had so looked forward to my year ten and The History of Nature. I had never actually taken a class I was interested in. I soaked up every minute of the lectures and text. The beginning when the Earth was filled with countless types of vegetation and animals was so fascinating. The sheer horror of it all being destroyed by my not so distant ancestors kept me up at night for days. Granted, I had not ever been one to enjoy our way of life, but how could you be exactly the opposite and waste everything? We read of the reforming of the government and the scientific assignments to gather and preserve what plants still remained. In a town not too distant from ours, a warehouse full of garden seeds was discovered. No one could explain how it had survived the wars and fires of the Neurodeficient leaders of the past. A monument stands there now. Monuments are useful tools of remembrance.

These seeds were what saved our lives as a struggling people. The Neuroadvanced survivers had planned for almost every outcome of the devastation, but there had been only a few left who remembered the ways of agriculture and knew how to plant and nourish these treasures, collecting seeds for the following years. Slowly, nature was restored, in part by humans cultivating food and in part because that is what nature does best - it survives everything. Grass began to stubble the hills once the rains returned. Trees began to shoot and sprout after the fires had cooled, the charcoal remains of their forefathers feeding and nourishing them along the way.

In my cell, I devoured every page of the well worn text and didn't stop until I came to a section covering ancient fauna. There was a picture of a bird. A song bird. A bright yellow breast and black patches on the eyes gave it away. A pang of sorrow struck my heart as I remembered the first time I saw and heard one in person.

There was a dirt path behind the last row of pods in the town. It skimmed along the edge of our young lumber wood and vegetable fields. I would return later in the day to help in the fields, but for now, I just wanted to walk past them and breathe. The punishments for these types of infractions weren’t enough to keep me from partaking on the hard days. I had been chastised several times for not taking the most efficient route home, but this day had been particularly difficult. I just needed extra time to clear my head before facing the next phase of the day.

I had been looking up to the sky as I meandered along, occasionally glancing down to kick a stone. My gaze drifted from the dusty road to the bank of grass when a strange sound tickled my ears. It was sweet and high. I looked up, startled and amazed. I heard it again. And again.

It was wonderful! It was like a door chime had come to life and shed all of its circuits and batteries. Finally I spotted the source of the sound. A tiny bird boasting a bright yellow chest. I had seen birds before, but they were mostly game birds for eating. This bird would hardly make a mouthful, and those feathers! So bright and cheerful! And that cry! I had never heard a bird’s cry sound so...beautiful before. I stood mesmerized for several moments, willing time to stop as the little thing hopped and skipped and chimed from branch to branch. Finally the town bell tolled, indicating phase three of the day. I looked behind me to the clock tower above the rows and rows of round pod dwellings, like puss pockets on the land. I was late, but this was worth it. I turned back to watch the gorgeous little creature some more, but it was gone. The bell must have frightened it away. I closed my eyes and stood silent, focused, desperately hoping to hear it again, to follow it. But it was no more.

When I finally returned home, I tried to tell my mother what I had seen and heard. She looked at me with a funny expression. At first I thought it was because she didn’t believe me. I kept on, repeating details, exclaiming at the beauty of it all. The color! The sound! Finally, she held up a hand, indicating that I should be silent. She then cupped my chin with her long rough fingers and said the strangest thing: “Beware of beauty in this life, child. It will break your heart. If you see this bird again, you should either run from it or report it. Do not dwell on it. It is a sign of heartbreak. I can promise you.”

How right she was.