Hope in Ruins Book I: The Burning of West Six

Chapter 1: Sunset in the Garden

BEN

Ben didn't like mirrors because he was never sure who else was staring back. Out of habit, he checked his reflection in the mirror at the end of the dark hall with a quick glance. Clear. He was alone. He descended the stairs, managing his limp and his crutch with less grace than he would have liked, but he made it down the stairs and out into the garden and the blue and red and green sunset. Out in the cold, he knelt by a row of winter squashes and quietly began to weed in the fading light.

He looked down at his dirt-covered hands. They seemed older and stronger than they should be, not like they belonged to a nineteen-year-old boy. Behind him, the house was dark. The electricity was out, again, but not that they relied on it way out here in West Six. Above the fading daylight, in the deep of the sky, the first stars winked. Ben didn't notice. He never looked up at the stars anymore.

His mother had taught him about the constellations, their names, and stories. Pegasus, Aquarius, Andromeda, and Perseus. She had talked about them like they were old friends. Like she knew them and spoke to them. Like they knew her and spoke back to her. Of all the stars in the sky, she had particularly loved Perseus.

"Do you see those stars?" she would ask, pointing up into the heavens. "Those stars are Perseus. Perseus is coming to save us, do you understand? There is hope." But that was over nine years ago when Ben was still a child. When he still believed in things like stars and prophecies and hope. Now that constellation was only the remnant of some forgotten religion, myth, and faith. There was no Perseus, and there was no hope. No one was coming to save them, he had no time to stargaze, and there was always work to be done down here in the dirt.

Ben pushed his long, dark braid over his shoulder and out of the dirt. Practically, the traditional long braid irritated him, but he understood its purpose. A long braid meant memory, history, past. Long hair signified status and station. Stability. Whenever Ben negotiated, he let it hang down across his chest. He might be a nineteen-year-old with a limp, but he had seen much, and his hair twisted back into a thick, long rope meant power.

Movement in the shivering grass behind him caught his attention. He looked. Anda, his youngest sister, walked softly towards the garden. She always did have a knack for being quiet, unlike Mica, her twin sister. As far as Ben could tell, the only thing the two girls had in common was a birthday. Somehow Anda reminded him of a fawn, anxious, spindly, and something about her face was rather deer-like. Something about her eyes being too big and dark, and her mouth too small. And her hair was white like the tail of a deer. It waved around her in the breeze and turned pink in the sunset.

Ben didn't know why her hair had turned white. One day, when she was no more than six or seven, Ben noticed a whitish streak in her dark brown braid. Now she was only sixteen, but her hair had been white for years. At least she was easy to spot in a crowd.

She hummed a sad and mournful tune full of sorrows and sea billows and rolling waves. Ben had never seen the ocean, but his mother had described it to him, saying, "it's as wide as a cornfield, stretching on forever, and as deep as the sky."

The crickets began to chirp as if joining in Anda's song. Ben pushed his crutch out of the way as Anda knelt to help weed and pick radishes. His leg, stiff and weak, ached as he shifted in the dirt.

"All set for tonight?" Ben asked, turning his attention back to the garden.

Anda smiled, and it was a smile that Ben had not seen in a long time: her mischievous smile.

Ben kept his smile to himself. Tonight would be good for them all. Tonight was Peter's birthday, and tonight they would celebrate.

Peter had been good to them. He'd saved them. Ben had been on the verge of giving up when he'd found Peter. Thanks to Peter's help around the farm and the money he brought in doing tattoos, they were able to stay afloat. Just barely. Peter had given them so much, so they always tried to make his birthday special.