My train moves slowly, chugging along at such a pace that it has lulled me in and back out of sleep. I swing and sway back and forth to the rhythm of change. Productivity drains from me, ending up no where in particular. Forlorn, I've been on this trail for days.
My GPS console blinks brightly against a dusty beige screen. This is comforting against the cave-blackness that is my train car. These pixels are indicating that my ETA is two minutes. Just enough time to put on my green/orange badge, and my too-heavy Kevlar vest.
As the moment grows near, and the train slows to a halt at a nearby freight-yard, I prepare myself with the tactical helmet and shield, thigh-covers protecting my emaciated legs. Water quenches my thirst, the last of my rations.
"Don't fuck this up, Bari."
Casually, then cautiously, I am approaching the steel door, and use a lever system to open it. Bright light floods my enclosure. My vision is tinted by the face shield attached to the helmet, allowing me to see the first gun drawn and fired from the back of the freight yard.
This greeting was followed by multiple people hissing, shushing this loud action. Silence followed as some ache was felt in my lower abdomen. There was no telling exactly who did this, for a majority of them were hidden behind or within enclosures to protect them from the fire-starters among them.
Some people didn't trust me. Some people wanted this to stop, to end the one bringing the news.
"Continue the stories." I begin.
"The recitations of tribulations and pain."
A few male figures, shroud in darkness save their faces, exposed to the windy, barren dust bowl. Wrinkles encased their bright eyes. These were the brave ones.
"Those who shoot first can not see the trainyard for the trains. They are blind to the journey-- YOU are blind, firemen." I continue, the continuous hush of the crowd egging me on.
"Speak, talk, tell, lie, retell... Never stop, and if your voice is taken, know that you have told your loved ones these tales-- and that they will continue." There was a bit of a bustling in the back of the group-- My speech was going to have to end soon.
"Embellish, lie. The myth will live on longer than the truth. But let the truth live within the myth! When your stories die, we all go blind."
From the back, flame-throwers and machine guns cause my audience to flee like ants, bumping into one another, silently scattering. In my own slow movements, turning, lifting, making my exit as the train jerks with movement-- bullets rain down again. Some strike my back, bruising what meat was left of the surface beneath the Kevlar. I'm used to it, they're used to it.
I shut my front door and remove my thigh braces, my vest, my helmet, my guards. Back to my hammock. Swing and sway.
The GPS route beeps sweetly, alerting me the new ETA of 18 hours.
18 hours until I hit the Prime Unit. Approximately one day before I'm killed.
"Deb, there's no use in telling me not to go. I have to help him." Anise started to fill her bags with food and water. a large V stapled to her left arm indicated one of two things-- she was either a veteran, or a volunteer. For her case, the latter was true, although the confusion of meanings worked in her favor.
Nobody liked volunteers, not openly.
"You know what they say about trains-- and don't get me started on the time it will take for you to even get to him. He's always on the move, Annie."
"Seriously, there's no reason to worry. The riots don't target volunteers often, and if they do, I know my way around the unit. I'm going, okay?" Bags packed, mentally prepped, she was nearing the door, only to turn and face Deb.
"Do you even know why? Have you ever known why I volunteer?" Anise offered. Deb shrugged, shaking her head in a patronizing way.
"I don't know if I care, Annie."
"Figures, well you know what? That's all the reason to clue you in. Sit down, let's split that coffee."
After a bit of strong-arming Deb, they sat at their milk-crate table, sitting on the floor.
"Since before we were born, before even Nannie or Nanno moved here, we have been controlled. No, not in the way they say. Not like, GMOs or genetic programming or that bullshit. We're being held captive in a society that forces us to remain in poverty. The Big Man has been watching and waiting for us all to die. He's just sitting in his tower in Unit, watching us struggle to survive with the nothingness that we have.
And he travels, The Small Man does. He knew The Big Man, and he knows the truth. He knows what we must continue, so that we must survive. Do you get me, Deb? Sure, you've heard it before... But what if you hadn't?
What if you never heard of Human Potentialities, or governmental manipulation... You are a rebel too, you know. Anyone who hasn't suffered demise is a rebel to the society which we have been cornered into. Even the ones with the guns, the fire-starters. Even they are against The Big Man, even if they are against us as well.
-Silence lingered in the room, Deb staring at Anise, uninterested in the story that she'd heard many times.-
Well... Maybe you'll understand when you're older." Anise finished, beginning to stand.
"Hell, maybe I'll understand when you're dead, Annie. But do I really need to understand that gibberish if I have to lose you?"
"You know, Deb, you're right."
Deb looked pleased, nodding, arms crossing.
"You're right. You do need to understand it if you lose me."
Anise left through the beads, their front door. Onto the streets, her spry, but elderly figure trudged toward helpfulness, heading toward Unit.
He was practically on Hell's doorstep, and a rattling was coming from above. His supply hatch had a visitor.
With a click, the command prompt allowed the top hatch of his train car to open. A litre of water, a burlap sack of food and some shoes fell to the floor. A small hand waved through the hole.
Why had a volunteer arrived so far into this journey. In a mile, they would both be trapped past the point of no return. "Thank you. Remember the tale of the moon. She was stricken by decay, and day after day, she corrodes and breaks. The Big Man took her down, to remove the light in our darkness." He spoke. Per tradition, he gifted each volunteer with a tale to share with the world.
He did not hear the volunteer leave.
"They say you're not coming back." A female voice spoke, her figure was unseen as it lay on the top of the moving train-- staring up to the moonless night sky.
"Neither will you, if you plan on Hari Kari." The atmosphere would grow thin in the coming moments. Unit was within eyesight.
"I want to show them meaning. They don't believe me, my listeners." She spoke again, light-headedness setting in as the oxygen thinned.
"You must leave, volunteer." His voice grew urgent. The ETA beeped down minutes, five left.
"I have a story, you know. I was with a man, we had a child, and it died. I knew the truth then. I knew that without the truth, we would all be blind-- like you say." She sounded delirious.
"Like I say, volunteer, leave me!" He was putting on the gifted shoes, and drinking some sips of water. Silence overwhelmed the darkness of his enclosure. Used to the thin atmosphere, he was fully-alert.
"Volunteer, speak..." Perhaps she had left, he thought. The console beeped, terminating the ETA program for the time being. Then it shut down. Darkness enveloped him. He dressed, packed his satchel, the train creaking to a stop. It would remain still for a month, waiting for repairs; maintenance which would never happen.
Though the top hatch was too small for the average volunteer to fit through, he could manage easily. Sure, he didn't typically do this, but he wondered if this volunteer had indeed left. Doubt flooded his darkness, and he began to stack crates heavenward to inspect the rooftop.
Anise had grown tired atop the train car. Wondrous thoughts were filling her with fatigue. 'A sight it was, now that the moon was gone, stars litter the sky.' Small revelations would write themselves in the stars. 'The lie is reality. The lie is hope.'
In the void of unconsciousness, she was entirely occupied. 'Practice hope, and rebuild,' 'fires start, and starters fill with fire. They will move us all.'
Something began to touch her hair, breath on her face brought her to life for a moment. "Some say The Little Man is nothing but a man." She spoke, just moments before dropping into the comatose state which conquered all in Unit. Two days of it, and you were assimilated into what was left of the prime unit.
The Little Man stared down at her, the hitchhiker which should never have been. Her features suggested an age near his own. Her words stirred him to the core, keeping him from wanting to resuscitate her any longer.
As suspected, the truth was growing closer.
As he turned to face the prime unit, he lay a hand on the woman's forehead. "Don't wake up."
His eyes traveled along the too-familiar scape before him. From East to West, squat buildings were collapsed inward from the rooftops. Almost alive, the setting was sterile, metallic and clean. But, nevertheless, it was dead. He spoke to no one:
"There is no government, no ruler, no king.
No one is controlled, because there is no controller.
We must keep the stories. We mustn't go blind.
Live for the journey, not for the ends.
Tell and tell again, even if they are lies."
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