Firedown Sun

Exhausted, I kicked the front door closed, not even caring if it was at the same time as the other kids. I yanked at my jacket sleeve, but it was stuck.

"Afternoon, Kitten," my mother greeted as she came to help me. "Long day?"

"Hi, Mom, and yes. Long day. Oh, thank you," I murmured as she successfully relieved me of my jacket and hung it up.

"No problem." She gestured toward the kitchen with one hand. "There's a tray of cookies the wall made up for you just for when you get home. A special treat for your first day. Do you want milk, too?"

"Of course," I said, and I knew, at that very second, fifty seven other sixteen-year-olds were getting their snacks from the wall. No exceptions. Everyone at a certain age got home and did exactly what they were supposed to do.

The fifteen-year-olds that just got to Heavenlight this year were going out their back doors to climb their only tree to do the few homework assignments they received.

Twelve-year-olds on Dusty Hill were hiding up in their room to play with their new contraptions that could spell out words they didn't know and do big math problems in the blink of an eye, a mechanism they'll get bored with in just a few hours and possibly even chuck it at a wall. I knew a few kids who had done that- no, I was not one of them.

As for the kids living in Tress Alley who had just turned nine, they were bursting with energy and letting their Mom and Dad know how many new people they met and how excited they were to go back to school this year.

And six-year-olds were practically boasting down on Harvex Lane, telling all their stories about their first school day of their first year. They were running around with paper toys they had made in Art Class and finger-painting rainbows and flowers on the wall and smiling up at their parents, as happy as could be.

The newborns and three-year-olds probably weren't doing anything too exciting. Just slobbering and smashing toys into the floor and crying when they broke, demanding for a new one and, as spoiled as they are, getting one automatically from their nursery wall.

And as these things happen, what do the parents do? Laugh, play meaningless card games, talk about how difficult raising a child is.

As I eat fourteen chocolate chip cookies dipped in milk, all in one sitting, I try and see myself turning out that way.

And I can't possibly.

"Up to your room, Kitten," my mother told me after I was done. "You're supposed to go study what you learned. Come on, follow the Order."

"The Order?" I repeated, and something in me snapped without warning. "Don't you think I know that by now?" And I shoved my chair back and ran up to my room, hating the Order, hating my parents, hating the way the world had to destroy itself two hundred years ago and leave me in this stinking place. I hated Monten. I hated life. I hated me.

And within two minutes of venting about the stupidness of life and kicking things around my room and glaring out my window at the hateful city, I calmed down. Kneeling on the ground, I began regretting my actions, but still could not take back a word I said and couldn't get to my feet in order to put my room back to rights.

"I'm such a mess," I whispered to my green carpet. Oh, whatever happened to that sweet, smiling Kitten Zigbol who used to chase dust bunnies and roar at scary shadows so they would go away at night. Kitten Zigbol, who used to climb on her dad's back and squeal with delight when he tickled her and dance around the room in the morning, singing, "Wake up, wake up, the sun is shining, the sun is shining!"

What happened to that spoiled kid who loved being spoiled, who obeyed the rules, who didn't even dare question why the world was the way it was.

If I cried, I was given something.

If I said I was unhappy, the next ten minutes were focused on getting me to stop screaming and to start playing with toys joyfully again.

If I was hungry, dozens of desserts and sweets would appear out of the wall until I was practically sick of all the choices and just stuffed my face full until I lay on the floor, too fat to move.

I wiped my nose, which had begun to run, and pulled out a match from my pocket. As I lit it against the wall, I thought of what Lune said. Even considered burning the house down.

But then where would I live? And would anyone even survive? I didn't know how to fight fires yet. Even if my parents could be so incredibly aggravating, I didn't want to be responsible for their deaths. Burning to death sounded a little uncomfortable, too. I couldn't wish that upon them.

I blew my match out and set it on the floor by my feet.

Only eleven left. I needed to get out of here and trade for more. But, currently, I was in my room with the secured window that latched closed whenever someone came in. You'd think the house constructor would have considered giving the owners the possibility to get a fresh breeze coming through, but then again, the city didn't want any people jumping out two stories to land, splat, on the ground. It would be sort of a mess to clean up, very hard to explain, even harder to hide. The Leaders hated sticky situations like that.

So some genius suggested automatic locks.

Fools. Just get keys. That's what the old people did. Sure, most of their activities were absolutely crazy and ended in wars and death and nearly the annihilation of the whole planet.

But at least they didn't have careless parents and rotten children and a hundred rules that didn't make sense. Even if they had natural disasters and murders and robberies and chaos, all that might have been worth it. Because they had one thing none of us had. The ability to live.

Here in Monten, we just survived.

*

I'm still not happy when I go downstairs- I didn't actually study anything school-related at all, I just watched the sun slowly sink toward the horizon and wondered how it actually did what it did since it was man-made, not really the sun itself- but I force myself to apologize.

"I'm awfully sorry, Mom," I tell her softly. "I promise I'll control myself better."

She smiled thankfully, patting me lightly on the shoulder. "Do you want to watch something on the Telo?"

"Sure, sounds wonderful." I sit in the blue armchair that belongs to me, the Telo flicking on in front of me. I sit still, keeping my gaze on the screen and I wait as patiently as I can.

It takes only nineteen minutes for my mother to doze off, and then she's completely out, snoring and all.

"Dad?" I call toward his private room. I know he's in there, doing something I'm not supposed to know about, and he takes a few minutes to reply back because he's so busy. Maybe he's trying to figure out how to cure some rare disease. What else did doctors do? It's not like they actually went out and found people to cure. There was hardly any need, what with walls handing out everything anyone could possibly need.

"Yes, Kitten?"

"Can I go out? I want to get some more pencils for school. I keep losing mine."

"Sure, whatever."

The lie really was believable. I lost things so much, he was bound to think I was telling the truth, despite my shaky voice. But, through the thick walls between us, he might not even notice. Or he was too occupied to even think clearly.

I ran up to my room to grab a book at random then back down the stairwell and out the door into the twilight. I was a little bit hungry, but I could get through the next hour or so without food. Besides, Ankun usually had something to share.

Ankun Wickle was my best customer. He adored books, collected them, even. He lived in the center of the city, which meant he was retired, but he was no more of a rule follower than I was. Back when he was sixteen, he probably used to shoot fire crackers into the sky at the end of the year, when we were all supposed to celebrate. Of course, fire crackers weren't allowed.

But for Ankun, he was better at getting away with rule breaking then anyone I knew. Hence the reason I traded with him more than any other rebels in Monten.

I slipped my hand over the little unused door that led under the house to the basement of sorts. It was basically just a storage place for things old owners had left behind and anything that we didn't want anymore that some other people would check out sometime when I was out of the house and my parents were in the Retiring Circle.

I snapped four times, the ritual call for most motor-scooters. This one was particular and only liked certain people, me not being one of them. It rolled at me unhappily, answering to my beckon but wishing it could disobey.

"Sorry, old thing, you've got to take me somewhere today."

It creaked as I got on it. The metal was rusted in several spots, and as it rumbled to life, I prayed that my mother wouldn't wake up and freak out at my father for letting me out into the city at night. But, when she fell asleep at the Telo, it was usually for at least an hour and a half. If this old scooter would hurry, I might be able to slip out and back in without her ever knowing.

The ride to Ankun's was depressingly long. The scooter refused to go any faster than its minimum pace, and when I urged it to go quicker, it groaned nastily and slowed further. So I kept silent and just kept my fingers crossed for time.

"Welcome, Kitten," Ankun said, pleased to see my face on his porch when I arrived, finally. He glanced down at the grumpy scooter and grinned. "Old little puppy, isn't it?"

I narrowed my eyes, but I was used to him using phrases or names I wasn't familiar with, so I let it go.

"I've got a gift for you."

"Ah, is it fantasy this time?"

"Sorry, no." He let me inside and I hurried through his door, ordering the scooter to stay put. Reluctantly it settled itself down and didn't move. "It's some weird thing that starts with an S. Sci... something. I don't remember."

"Oh, science!" he laughed. "That's even better, Kitten, thank you! Now, what is it worth?"

That was tough. Trading with Ankun may be easier than trading with an impossible bet- like Sorin, perhaps- but that didn't mean it was difficult to settle for a happy medium.

I bit my lip. "Two boxes of matches? It's a big book."

He shook his head. "For a science volume, Kitten, it's actually quite small. Some volumes can get up to-"

"Well, whatever. One box, fine." I gave a little pout, but he ignored my disappointment and grabbed a box from his shelf of forbidden items. I smiled. "No police have come knocking on your door yet, eh, old timer?"

Ankun grinned, wagging his thin, bony finger at me. "You might send them on my doorstep one of these days. If I keep giving you those fire sticks, and you hand over those books all the time, we're both bound to be creamed."

Again, an unknown phrase. The only cream I knew of was the type I stirred into soups or hot chocolate. And that didn't fit with what he'd said.

"Nice to see you, Ankun. I'll be around some other time, okay?"

"Sounds perfect. Don't get lost."

Rolling my eyes, I stuffed my box of matches into my pocket, remembering too late to ask for some sample of food. Oh well. I'd get home and maybe my father could get me something. I didn't want to ask the wall. It seemed too selfish not to have my parents involved with my life a little bit.

The scooter crawls forward on the dark road through the center of the city, and I feel people watching me, peeping out their windows in order to get a glimpse of the strange child that was in their part of Monten for apparently no reason. And on such an old contraption as this hunk of metal...

I was hoping they wouldn't call the police.

"Just a few more streets," I urge the old scooter. It gives me a squeaking reply, probably wishing it could throw me off, but it looked like it didn't have the strength. I rubbed the rusty handle bars gingerly and it shuddered to get me to stop. Laughing, I sped up Dusty Hill, waving to the few twelve-year-olds who popped their heads out of their bedroom windows to call out a polite greeting.

At twelve, you stopped being so self-centered a bit and began to actually care about other's feelings. It was nice to see nothing had changed since I'd been that age.

Of course, how much change ever really happened in Monten?

I rode past the houses where the fifteen-year-old kids had just moved in. They were separated into a different block on the street, divided by a white painted line down the center of the road where it stopped producing that age group and jumped to the next.

My block.

I'd never gone down to the block where the kids a year older than me lived. Well, come to think of it, I didn't know if anyone was allowed to see what that block looked like until they were seventeen... Strange. You'd think they wouldn't be so protective. It's not like the older kids were going to come beat us down with a stick just for riding up their block before we turned seventeen.

The scooter started complaining as we neared my house. "Quit your whining," I breathed, pushing it forward faster. It squeaked annoyingly high-pitched but just kept heading up my driveway and jerked to a halt in front of the basement door. I jumped to a landing spot on the pavement before it could buck me off and guided it back into its hiding place. It rolled where I wanted it to go unhappily, giving me one last grunt of melancholy metal before I closed the door shut.

"Dad!" I called as I walked through my front door, then clamped my hand over my mouth. I didn't need Mom to wake up quite yet. I tapped on the staircase banister and whispered, "Take this up to my room," and placed my precious match box on the dark wood. A tiny, clicking voice told me it would, so I turned toward my father's private room.

Should I knock? I placed my fingers lightly on the ebony wood and sighed. Not like it even mattered. I was just asking for food. And I was his daughter. Why should I have to knock?

I pushed the door open. "Dad, I wanted to-"

There was a woman there. Not my mother. Not my mother!

They were kissing. My father's back was to me, and the woman's fingers were intertwined in his hair, her nails painted red.

Blood red.

"How could you?" I scream.

My father spun around, the kiss broken like glass dropped on cement. As he took in my figure in the doorway, his eyes became huge with what I could only assume to be shock and downright fear. He stammered, "No, Kitten, she's a friend! It's alright!"

The woman stood perfectly still, her face white and her hands down at her sides. I could still see the red well enough, and I imagined her with fangs and an unquenchable thirst, my father's blood smeared across her fingers, and that's when I lost it.

"Get OUT!" I shrieked, my hands flying to the crown of my head and pressing down hard. It was the only thing that kept me grounded. "Get out of my house!"

I thought maybe she would snap at me, maybe even laugh like the wicked beast she was, but she just stood there for a moment like a statue, and then burst into tears. She became, even to me-- the crazed weapon ready to be unleashed on this horrific excuse of a human being-- a small child instead of a grown woman. I could never hurt someone that looked like that.

But I wasn't under her spell enough not to threaten her. "If you come here again, I'll call the police on you! I'll have them send you away! You stay out of my house, you... you Outcast!"

"Kitten!" My mother burst into the room, trying to drag me with her out the door, pulling my arms roughly behind my back and holding them there.

It hurt. She was hurting me. My own mother.

And yet, there was my father, cheating on my mother with a woman I didn't know, lying to both me and my mother, and acting like it was perfectly okay.

"Kitten, calm down. Stop acting like this. Everything's fine." My mother closed the private room's door.

"He's cheating on you," I snarled. "How can everything be fine?"

"It's just how things work," she whispered, lowering her brown eyes to the floor. "If you were just a little bit older, you might understand."

"I'll never understand!"

"Please, Kitten, stop this."

I pushed her off me as her hands fluttered around me. I sprinted up the stairs and slammed my door again, hoping it snapped in half. Then I screamed, long and hard, running at my window and pounding against it with both fists. "I hate you!" I hollered to no one in particular. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate all of you!"

The world below me stared. The solar panels on the house roofs were glistening with the fake moonlight and I felt so many listening to my screaming, so many turning toward my house and wondering what on earth was happening.

Did no one understand how wrong this was? Did this happen in every home or just mine?

But everyone did the same thing. So that meant...

I threw myself onto my bed, burying myself in my blankets, the heat wires heating up to keep me toasty. No. This couldn't work. Every single adult cheating on their own partner? Or maybe just the husband. But I could tell you one thing:

I didn't want to be cheated on. If my husband did that, I'd punch him in the face without question.

So why didn't my mother?

What sort of thing was going on here that my damaged brain couldn't comprehend? And what could I do to try and GET it to comprehend?

Well, I didn't exactly want anyone messing around in my head. I might not be myself anymore and my mind would be just as stupid and selfish as everyone else's.

Where were those stupid matches? I glanced out of my cocoon of blankets and spotted them on my wardrobe. I jumped off my mattress and grabbed them, then hesitated. I set it back down and took out the box with only eleven. I should save the new one for when I absolutely needed them, right? Maybe when I found out my mother was chasing one of the leaders and cheating just as much as my father was... My teeth were bared at the thought, and I curled up on the floor, striking a match.

It felt nice to have something burning in my palm. I wondered if I really should burn the house down...

But again, there was that not-having-a-place-to-live problem.

And even if this was a nightmare, it was MY nightmare.

I decided to go to sleep, growling for the Waking Song to be something random and crawling under the covers once more.