The Last Straw

I listened in the back of the gathered crowd to the matricidal lunatic who led our town; if 300 people living out of the ruins of a skyscraper could be called a town. Today's lecture was about the dangers of keepsakes and how they detracted from a future-focused mindset. With the murder of our previous leader, this one's mother, so too went all family ties. Instead, children were to be raised by the community, never fully knowing their parents. Not for the first time, I considered leaving.

I had heard of other towns near us living like carrion in the corpse of this massive city, just as we did. We were always told that we were righteous and this city our birthright or some such claim to grandiosity, and they are the carrion that makes living in the ruins so dangerous. Likely they were allowed family and keepsakes. I wonder, in moments like this, what they are really like. Do they measure up the stories our hunters tell? Do they actually eat human flesh? Do they really kill outsiders on sight?

"Surrender your keepsakes to the communal flame and be cleansed of your weakness," I hear the leader, shouting now that the speech is ending. "The future is ours as long as we remain steadfastly ahead of the past! Never look back, never stop moving, never regret the choices that have kept you alive!" Cheers ring from everyone, no one wanting to be seen as unfaithful, what with the leader and hunters so close at hand. Finally, we all left, dutifully heading to fetch our keepsakes for the evening's fire.

As I pass the hunters, I see the smiles on their faces. They risk their lives daily, and that has left their minds scarred. The leader was once a hunter, and they often are of one mind when it came to choices for the betterment of the town. The hunters carry no keepsakes with them for fear of wasting precious strength carrying that little extra weight. I could see how they reached their conclusion about the keepsakes. I hated that I had to comply with their unrealistic standards.

I reach my room, which takes longer than most as I am a few floors up, in the relative peace of what used to be a corner office with a view. At least that's what my mom told me when I was growing up. I actually don't know what those words mean beyond the lovely view of the ruined city that I have. It spreads out to the horizon, dotted here and there with the lights of the carrion towns. Nature seeks to reclaim every piece of the city, heedless of the people still living within its limits.

In the footlocker under my cot, I have hidden the only keepsake I care about. I double-check that it is safe before gathering the rest. A small, heart-shaped locket with a picture of each of my parents hidden within. I shake my head and smile as I return the locket to the footlocker and lock it tight. I sigh as I gather the others. My dad's baseball cap and my mom's scrunchie, the only other reminders I have of them. They died in the same raid that caused our leader such doubt as to commit matricide to protect the town. Them and a few dozen others, it was a bad day for us all.

I head down the stairs, back to the communal fire, after a good cry over the keepsakes I was about to lose. My parents made life in the town so great for me, and in the years since their death, I really began to understand just how much their optimism made my life better. I never fully appreciated them when they were alive, or however that old saying about not enjoying what you have went. I finally started to understand what that saying means last year, on the anniversary of the raid. So now this year, I have to surrender my last memories of them on that self-same anniversary.

I stop.

It is just too much. I turn round and head back up the stairs. The advantage of my job as a farmer is that I get most of the floor to myself. Only one other domicile exists on my level, and it is at the opposite end of the floor in a twin office to mine. We tend to the farms on the floor. No one expects me to be on time these days. Being down 2 sets of hands and refusing to take a partner, the farm takes most of my time.

It is this inconvenience that I turn to my advantage. I gather my hair in the scrunchie, push my ponytail through the back of the cap and don it. Next, I collect a few days' rations and what scant possessions I call my own. I have had enough of living under this tyrannical rule. I have given everything to this town, only to have this tyrant take it all away. No. No more; I am done with this. As the first-ever act of defiance in my life, I also grab my seed cache, years' worth of crop seeds, to cover any potentially failed crops. Lastly, I take the locket, placing it around my neck.

I then head to the stairs on the backside of the building. They rarely see use as they are far enough out of the way as to be a nuisance. I keep the door to the stairwells open to encourage airflow; it helps with my sanity and the health of the crops. Makes it easy enough to sneak slowly in without alerting any potential sentries of my use of the stairwell. As I make the landing of the community floor, I am grateful I did, as there is a sentry with their back to the stairs as I pass, just worried about listening for the screeching opening of the rusted-out doors. We only oil the doors we regularly use, another nuisance that now pays off for me.

I make it to ground level without incident. It has been the better part of 6 months since I last set foot outside the town, as I prefer to stay warm in the winter, and this spring has been particularly hostile. The gentle summer sun greets me as I step outside, still ranging in the sky for a few hours yet. Hopefully, enough time for me to make it to the next town over. When I was a kid, I heard my parents speak of trade with a neighbor, and there has only ever been one set of lights nearby for as long as I can remember. I head in their direction.

I make it to the lights as the sun hits the horizon. I hear laughter. My heart picks up speed as I hear just how massive this crowd is. I worry I've made all the wrong choices. Laughter so often led to punishment in my town that I was freezing up just hearing so much of it. I tried to will myself to move. I knew the night was not something I wanted to be caught in, and yet I couldn't get myself to move. I could hear my heartbeat. I was getting lightheaded.

"Breathe, young one," a voice says, startling me back to the present and back into myself. I turn to see an elderly woman smiling at me warmly. She waits patiently for me to catch my breath. "What are you doing out on your own? Come come." She ushers me forth without any further fanfare. It very quickly becomes apparent that she is guiding me to the laughter. Her presence is soothing enough to keep me from running.

I get the sense we are being watched as we round yet another corner. The laughter now echoes around us as we walk. I look behind me, seeing nothing following, and turn back. I pull up short. Ahead there is one of our hunters, Dylan, a cruel smile on his face. He and the old lady exchange pleasantries as I hear someone land behind me. Turning, I see the woman who killed my father all those years ago. I freeze again. Several thousand thoughts rush through my head all at once as blackness climbs up my vision and lightens my head as it goes.

When I awake, it is painfully loud. I have never enjoyed fainting. My pack is missing from my back. There is a knife on the ground in front of me. The laughter is now intermingled with jeers and cheers. The cacophonous space around me keeps me from looking up. I'd heard of things like this; I just never believed them to be true. After some effort, I lift my eyes.

Standing before me is a memory of the past. Our former leader, carrying a few hundred more scars, a twin knife to mine in her hand. Our current leader stands among our hunters, wielding a whip just above us in the pit. Strangers crowd around the pit as well, adding their own laughter to the mix. They are celebrating something. Our leader is holding the locket. My heart drops.

"If you want the locket back, you'll have to go through our mother." Our leader says, reminding me of our shared parentage. Our mother does not seem to recognize me. There is something unsettlingly different about her, as though she has changed at her core over the years. My leader knew about the locket, knew I could never give it up. I've been set up, and the family legacy over. My heart drops from my chest. My soul quivers in defeat. I grab the knife and square up against the husk that used to be my mother.

I was a fool to hope. I was a fool to think the locket was forgotten. I was a fool to think there would be no further consequences when I thought my mother had been killed scant hours after my father had passed. I was a fool not to see the setup now that I have the clarity of death beside me. The old guard were most of the casualties in that raid. The hunters had been all been away, despite protocol existing to state otherwise. My leader, no, my brother's plan to seize power had been so subtle and well thought out that maybe he deserves the role.

I understand now that I am not cut out for this world. I was born a generation too late to fully be who I am. That said, I will not allow death to find me so freely. I am no meek farmer to meet my death quietly. With a ferocity I never knew I had, I snarl, startling mother into a low defensive stance as I hurl the knife in my hand. She rushes me; I never stood a chance. My vision begins to darken as I collapse to my knees.

As the darkness takes me, I see the heart-shaped locket falling slowly, open, showing me my parents' faces one final time.