Before. . .
“Cassie, I want you to know something. . . .something that you will take with you everywhere to always remember me by when the time comes, which won't be any time soon. But, just in case, I will tell you this now although you may not fully understand it at this time,” Mr. Hunkel, better known as my uncle Robert, who raised me since the day I was born, said to me, his gray speckled brown mustache twitching beneath his big nose.
Even a child of ten could tell something was amiss. My big round blue eyes stared back up at him as I sat on the floor below him, my head resting on his knee, taking in his every expression he was showing me.
“Although my judgments are almost always accurate, I may be wrong on this, but I can see a writer in you just like your mother and father and just as I am. Even now, you're eyes show that you're concentrating on my face. . . .perhaps deciphering what I'm thinking. I see you sometimes peeking in at the door to the shop with longing in those eyes of yours, watching as the machines work to print the paper of the upcoming newspaper for the next day. I know that look well since I myself was once like that, and so because of that I will tell you something that I have kept in the back of my mind since the day I'd heard it.
“ 'Write what you see, write what you hear, write what you know, but most importantly write what your heart feels'. These words have guided me throughout my whole career as a journalist and a newspaper printer, so I know they will have the same effect on you.”
There was a moment of silence as I pasted the words he had said onto the back and front of my mind. Somehow I knew that this was going to be the last words of importance who would say to me, which made me want to hug them close to my heart. We sat in that position for quite some time until the clock struck nine and he sent me scurrying up the stairs to my room, proclaiming it was long past my bed time.
I stopped at the top of the stairs, taking one last look at him as he sat in his favorite easy chair before the blazing fire, a scene that wasn't hard to come by on cold winter nights. I sketched every detail of this image of him into my mind before I went to bed because it was the one that most comforted me and I never wanted to forget it. Then I went to bed.
The next morning the sound of the rooster's cry awoke me, but there was something else that was missing. I rarely woke up when the rooster did. I was up a clear hour before the rooster was, so how and why did I wake up with the rooster? Then it dawned on me.
My feet scampered down the cold stairs, my beaten up old rabbit dragging behind me as I did so. I ran right through the living room into the kitchen where the first sign that something was wrong greeted me: nothing was cooking on the stove. This didn't stop me though. Maybe Uncle just forgot to heat up the pans this morning, it's happened before, my mind reasoned with the clues of something being wrong.
I pushed open the back screen door that lead to the space of lawn between the house and the shop where our clothes line was put up at. The second sign showed itself: there were no wet clothes hanging on the two old lines. There were only two days out of the week we didn't do wash and those were Saturdays and Sundays. Today was neither a Saturday or a Sunday; it was a Thursday.
Oh well, he's just being a bit forgetful today. It could happen to anyone, I told myself, my little brain trying to come up with more reasons of why he wasn't following the normal routine.
I rushed across the expanse of lawn between the shop and the house, blades of wet grass brushing against my bare feet as the purplish colored sky of dawn began to light up with the sun's brilliant rays. I stood on my tiptoes as my little fingers desperately reached for the round knob that would reveal the comforting printing presses.
Slowly, the door creaked its way open, revealing the third and final sign, this was what had awakened me: the printing presses were not moving, not one sheet of paper had a single word on it. By this time Uncle would have a whole stack of newspapers lined up against the wall, but instead I found an empty spot.
The windows were still open from the day before when he'd opened them to give the room some fresh air, so when a breeze blew in through the window it sent all of the blank sheets of paper flying all about the room.
It was then that I knew that the Lioness had come, and she would soon be coming for me.
What I Know. . .
I know that ever since that early morning in the middle of July when I found the printers unmoving and my Uncle gone that I had to follow in his footsteps. . . but in a different way. If Uncle wasn't there to start up the machines by himself I wanted no part of them, and, let's face it, at the age of five there was no way I could start and run them by myself anyways, so that idea was given up.
The second thing I know beginning from that day is that I would have to run and run and run. The Lioness was coming after me and there was no going back; she would hunt you down until she found you and killed you herself, if you were important enough to be killed by her hands. I was and still am.
That's exactly what I've been doing since that day: running. Although it wasn't easy at first being a girl of ten and all, and it didn't help that we lived in the middle of no where, where the nearest town was a good three day journey. That would be impossible for me. Nevertheless, I had nothing better going for me because sooner or later I would die by the hands of the Lioness, but that didn't mean I wouldn't put up a fight for my own life.
I walked back into the house, my floppy eared bunny trailing after me. There was no reason why I couldn't still live on in this house that I'd had for nearly eleven years. I knew how to cook and how to catch game; I'd be able to provide for myself for the little amount of time I'd be staying in my uncles house. The longest I would stay at that house would be a week at the maximum; I needed to get moving before the Lioness discovered there was another person living in the house.
The night my uncle came to retrieve me from my parent's city empty apartment five years ago he'd told me that I was to tell no one who I truly was; I was a secret. If I told anyone my true identity it would surely mean my death. This was enough to scare me into not telling anyone my real name to the little amount of visitors we had come to our house. From then on I was known as Cassie to anyone who ever visited, even to my uncle, who also called me Cassie instead of my true name, which I've managed to remember since it was the last thing my parent's gave me, Victoria. I knew that there was no way the Lioness knew I lived with the man she murdered, so when they came to look through the stuff in his shop and house they would have a surprise.
The man from the post office, which was half a day's journey away, would be coming in two days and that would be my ride away from home. I wasted no time and packed as little as I needed into a sack I was able to carry, which included a knife, a few biscuits and apples, some cheese wrapped in a cloth, another set of clothes, a bit of money, and my worn out rabbit. On my finger I wore my aunt's wedding ring that had a sapphire and two diamonds in it; when I ran out of money I would be able to barter with that.
Two days later the postman came and I paid him a few pieces of gold for a trip back to the post office. He didn't oblige nor did he ask what happened to my uncle. This was what I liked about Old John, as I called him, he didn't ask questions and just accepted things for what they were. I hopped on the back of his little wagon his horse pulled and watched as we slowly got further and further away from the place I once called home.
I know that that was the last day I ever saw the old place. I know that I will never have a place to call my home. . . or my own. I know that my life will never be easy. I know that the Lioness will come after me. I know that even though she may come after me I will never stop writing, revealing the truth behind the lies to people. I know that I will never forget this one simple phrase that has guided me throughout my whole entire life: “write what you see, write what you hear, write what you know, but more importantly write what your heart feels.”
What I've Seen. . .
I've seen this country become ruins within the twenty years of my life. I've seen the poor and rich who live in what we call America. What used to be the American dream no longer exists. There is no dream and the Lioness has made it this way. City's have crumbled down and are now inhabited with filthy thieves and crooks, but it isn't their fault that they're like that for they have no other choice. Although, I must admit I am one of the lucky ones to have been able to survive going through the cities in this town. There are many who do not come out alive after entering them.
I've seen the lies the newspapers spew out about how the Lioness will save this country, but have they not looked around them? Ever since she has come into power there has been nothing but misery and torture. America has shattered with turmoil everywhere and money almost impossible to find. But, does this “savior” come to our rescue? No, she does not. She does not care about the well- being of her country; the only thing she is worried about is how much money is in her bank and how much power is in her palm.
Am I the last journalist who actually writes the true stories about the Lioness? Am I a dying breed? Even though I ask this question I already know the answer I will receive: yes. I give out my writings to anyone who will take them; to anyone who is willing to listen, and, luckily, I've found a few followers and believers. However, they will not join me and my travels. They do not want to die by the Lioness's hands even if it means revealing the truth to this brainwashed society.
Every where I go I see the Lioness's face plastered onto posters everywhere. Her red eyes staring at you as you walk past the poster, daring you to write the truth about her campaigns. Her wild blond mane flowing in back of her as a fake pleasant smile crosses her lips. There is no happiness in that smile, there is no laughter in her eyes.
I've seen a million people dwindle down to half that size. Starvation has killed us off and those who dare to hand out extra food than what we are given, are killed. For those like me, who travel everywhere, we do not receive our daily ration of food. We are scavengers ,roaming the streets and forests, or what's left of them, for an animal to run by. The remaining rich people in this country have weak backbones, which does not help our plea for food.
I've seen lush green landscapes turn into a dark and brown place. There is no one to tend to this land, not even nature since the Lioness has pushed nature away and created a barrier to “protect” us from the environment. There hasn't been water in I don't know how many days, and the only one who can send it is the Lioness. She controls everything: the food we eat, the weather we have, practically our whole lives. It's a wonder we're still allowed to travel, but even when that is taken away I won't stop.
What I've Heard. . .
I've heard wistful tales of a “New America” that is filled with happiness and hope. There is no hope. There is no happiness. There is nothing. We have nothing. It is not healthy to believe in something that will never again exist. It only brings depression when the harsh reality comes crushing down on us. They say there is a place where you can run free without laws to restrict us, but it is not true. I've searched far and wide all across America and have found nothing. Perhaps this place is outside America, but how are we to reach it? The Lioness will not allow us to escape the walls that confine us to this “land of freedom” nor will she let anyone in. It wouldn't matter anyways for she has taken control of almost every nation out there. How, I do not know, but I will find out.
I've heard the lies of deceit that the Lioness says across the speaker of the little radio I carry with me. She says that she will help us make the “New America” everyone is talking about, but she doesn't mean what she tells us. She never does. She is out for her own gain for she has the money and the power.
I've heard the cries of children and babies as they ask for food. The mothers have no food, though. They only have the meager amount they receive once a day as their ration. The babies still cry though. They grow thin and gaunt when they should be plump and rosy. Finally, the children's pleas and cries stop. . . they are dead. I have not seen one child in many moons. The last one I saw was back in Massachusetts. That was over two years ago.
The only ones left are the old and the young. The old are so feeble and rickety that they can barely walk. Their skin grows dry and flaky from lack of food for they give all of their daily rations to the youngsters that need it to grow. They think themselves useless in these times, but they are a dying a breed. They are a dying breed that remember the days of old when America was actually thriving and surviving. They do matter no matter what they may think.
The young know nothing. They are too young to know what's wrong and what is right. They have not known anything but starvation and want. The Lioness have brainwashed them to think that this is right and that she will help them out. Even if they did want to join the opposition that I am a part of they would not be able to do anything for they are scrawny and wirey. The food that they are give does not provide them with the nutrients they need to grow so they remain short. That is what this whole new generation is going to end up being: short.
I've heard the silence of the night. . .such loud silence it is. There are no noises where I travel. There is not one tweet of a bird or the sound of wind rushing through the grass for there is no grass. Everything is a complete barren wasteland, complements of the Lioness. There is not the hum of the motor of a car or the roar of a plane engine. Automobiles were long since given up on when there was no more gas left. When I lay my head down for a four hour sleep I do not hear the buzz of insects for even they have left us too. After all of the vegatation was killed off soon enough the bugs migrated to other places. Sometimes I wonder how I've managed to survive this long with nothing to accompany me but silence.
I've heard the voices inside of my head tell me stop numerous times. They tell me that what I'm trying to do is not worth-while. They say that all of my efforts are for naught and that I will never reach my destination. They do not realize, though, that this gives me more incentive to outstretch my hand even further towards the goal I'm reaching for. For they would not have said those things if what I am doing is not worth my time. I will never give up.
What My Heart Feels. . .
What does my heart feel? This is a hard question to answer. My heart feels anger at the Lioness for putting us in the position we are today. She was the one who started it all. She tricked us with all of her plastic barbie doll smiles and simple small words. She was the one who killed off hundreds of family lines, who starved the little children, and who took away everything we ever had. Most of all my heart feels angry at the country's people, myself included, for not seeing this coming. The signs were there, but we did nothing. How could we have been so ignorant and stupid? The answer to this question will never be answered, of this I know.
My heart feels sorrow for the people I see around me. They are dying and need food, but no one will help them. They cry for dead loved ones in the streets, wailing their sorrows to the skies, but no one comforts them. They wander the lonely streets, searching for the deeper meaning of life that there has to be, but no one will give them the answer. They long for a hope that does not exist and no one will give it to them. They are wilting under the suns unrelentless rays of depression and lost hope, but I will not fall victim.
My heart feels love towards those I used to know. I used to know a family in Wisconsin that had the nicest hearts in the world. They had a basement filled with food that had somehow passed through the Lioness's inspection and they were kind enough to share some with me. They knew the dangers of doing this and yet they still gave me some. That family will forever stay in my heart. There are others too, but there are too many to count. This is one thing the Lioness can never take from us: love.
My heart feels determination for a cause that has been set deep in my soul for ten years now. A cause that I have stuck to for ten years: finding the Lioness. This now brings me to the present day where I'm standing. . .in front of the Lioness's front doors.
It wasn't hard to find her after listening to the clues given to me through the radio. No, they were not intentional clues, but she let slip some things she thought other would not take notice of. However, I did not miss them. I am one of few who listens to what I hear. It wasn't hard after seeing all of the posters of her face that are plastered up against the cracked walls of buildings. If I searched deeper into the picture I could tell exactly where it was taken. It wasn't hard after knowing what to look and hear for. I know the true evils she has done as well as her heart's desire. A desire most would not know of. It wasn't hard after knowing what my heart feels. My heart feels that same desire, but my desire cannot yet be fulfilled.
There are no guards surrounding the building. In fact there is no protection at all, but it does not surprise me. Walking into the old brown shack placed in the middle of Las Vegas itself, I see the stairs that will lead me up to the room she is waiting in. Slowly, I trudge up the steps one at a time. They creak beneath my feet and I'm almost certain that one will break under my weight, but it doesn't. Finally, I reach my final destination forevermore.
The stairs lead up to a short hallway with a cracked open door at the end of it. There is firelight escaping from the small crack in door, showering the hallway with light. I step up to the door and push it open. To my left is a crackling fireplace, to my right there is a window without a window, and before me is the Lioness's back.
“So, you've finally come?” her scraggly voice whispers to me.
“Yes,” I croak back.
“I've been waiting for a long time, you know.”
“I know.”
“You know my one true desire, do you?”
“I do.”
“Then, tell me, what is it?” she asks me as she turns around, piercing me with her deep red eyes.
“Death,” I spit out, pulling the hidden pistol from my shirt. I briskly walk up to her, cock the trigger back, and stare down into her eyes. What I see there is neither fear nor regret. What I see in her eyes is. . . relief.
Bang. The Lioness's blood splatters up against the back wall and her body falls to the floor. The deed is done and I can already feel her same desire growing inside of me again for now I am the people's leader. But, there is one thing to rejoice about. We are free.
The End