Someone's Destiny

The entire village reeked of lavender, so everyone was in the crammed into the tiny, town hall basement.

Yeah, that's probably the first time you've ever heard that sentence. Believe it or not, though, it was pretty common where I come from. I mean, it wasn't common two centuries prior, but what about my world was common then?

Nothing, and every time that wretched lavender leaked into our valley, I was reminded of how different things were compared to before. As a boy, I used to learn about what things were like before the Destruction; according to my grade 2 teacher there used to be holidays. All the books and other papers about these days were caught in the Destruction, but there were old stories about a day of thanks and the great-grandparents of my generation would always reminisce about one holiday... kris mast, I think they called it. I never understood it, but according to my great grandfather, it was the happiest day of the year.

I always felt a little bit jealous of him when he talked about the happiest days of the year. "Why don't we get happy days?" I would pout. The answer was always the same.

“The Destruction.” At least once a week, almost like it was scheduled, I would hear the adults talk about things we can’t do because of the Destruction, and just like all of the other little kids on our planet, I grew up learning to hate the Destruction and its master. Many years passed until I eventually became one of those reminiscing adults, teaching more and more Garrosian children to loathe the Destruction as well.

Now, let’s get one thing straight, here, before I go on. I was a reminiscing adult, not a grandparent. My oldest son, Dakota, was only seventeen at this time - the beginning of our story - so I was not old.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s rewind to early spring.
*

“Can you still smell it?” someone whispered. The people nearest the door shifted around as they sniffed around the dilapidated frame.

“No,” an older voice answered, “I think it’s safe to turn on the light.”

“Not yet,” the thin voice of the mayor interjected, “the Searchers are probably still out there. We must wait.” I felt the bodies in front of me bump into me as they backed up to make a path for the mayor. His face became vaguely visible as he stepped into the the light filtering through the cracks in the door. We were in the basement, so the door itself was more of a hatch in the low ceiling of the room we were silently squished into. The diffused light cast eerie shadows across the mayor's rat-like face. His squinty eyes and caterpillar lips were hidden in the shadows of his wide forehead and bulbous nose. I wrinkled my nose, a habit I practiced when I saw a Changed Face. Unfortunately this Changling had managed to secure a position as a leader of our meager society years ago, so I had to look at his face a lot.

My youngest, Denver, looked up at me as silence again filled the room. I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He motioned for me to lean down to his level and whispered into my ear.

"Dad, where's Dakota?" A gut-wrenching pain ripped through me at his question.

"I don't know, kiddo, but I'm sure he's in a safe spot some where." Denver's older brother had just left on some deliveries when the first whiff of lavender had been smelled by our neighbor. His first recipient, the 92-year-old woman who lived just down the street from our shop, had a basement, so I only hoped Dakota had gotten there safely. "I'm sure he's fine." I hope, I added in my head.

We stayed like that for quite a while longer: hot, frightened, and agitated. The people surrounding me began to get restless very quickly. Children got fussy, adults got nervous, and all the while our mousy mayor stayed cool as a...what's the phrase? Parsnip? Onion? I don't know, but I think you get what I'm trying to say. We'd been in there much longer than usual, which was never a good sign.

THUNK THUNK THUNK. The entire crowd shifted backwards, away from the door. The mayor's smug face flushed at the sound, and he swallowed audibly as he reached up to undo the lock. The crowd pressed farther back as the lock clicked and the door was flung open. The light shone intensely down into the cellar, and a single, gloved hand reached through the door frame, standing out menacingly from the white light. One long finger curled, beckoning us out of the basement. I gripped Denver's shoulders firmly as our mayor nodded.

It took us a while, but eventually we found ourselves upstairs in the town hall building. In reality, it was just a giant mansion that some how managed to stand for a thousand years and was named Mesa town hall by whomever deemed it worthy. The rest of the townspeople were gathered there, and watched, with relief, as the rest of their lived one's filed in from the basement. I quickly spotted the black hair of my oldest son poking up above the other heads in the room. His sharp green eyes spotted us moments later, and I saw him breathe a smiling sigh as he weaved his way toward us. Quick hugs served as relieved greeting before the lead Searcher began to speak.

"We have completed our search," the Searcher's smooth voice informed us. "We searched vigorously and found a great deal of interesting finds." Looks were exchanged around the room as we tried to interpret his words.

"What does he mean 'interesting finds'?" Dakota whispered nervously in my ear.

"It's hard to say with Searchers," I responded. Reading it's expresdion was hopeless in attempt, because it's face and body was shrouded in a leathery cloak that cast inky shadows across everyting. The lead Searcher gestured to one of it's companions who quickly handed the leader a list. The list.

"Mesa," the thing read mockingly, "am I correct, Mr. Mayor?" The Searcher's companions let out a series of short hisses as the mayor nodded; I could only assume they were laughing. The leader shushed it's companions and continued to speak. "Your Volunteer," the thing read in an ironically soothing voice, "is Bill Jacobs."

A woman shrieked. I pulled Denver closer to me as the crowd parted. A boy, no older than Dakota, walked silently between the rows of people. A few men held the screaming woman back. It was Bill's mother, Virginia. Tears were running down her thin face and she was scratching at the hands of the men holding her back. A gloved hand took Bill's shoulder when he arrived at the front of the room.

"Five lashes for fallacy," the Searcher reminded us harshly. It pulled out a long piece of paper and examined it carefully. Virginia sobbed harder and harder as it continued to inspect the page. "Stolen items," the thing announced, "zero. Forbidden items, zero. Treasonous items, zero. Broken diases, zero. Violations," It paused, and hissed cruelly. Glancing back at the sheet, it announced:

"Zero."

The whole town breathed a sigh of releif. Bill's mother stopped crying as soon as she saw him walking back down the floor, unharmed. The Searchers made no sound as they filed out of the room and vanished. For the first time in months, no finds had been found. Young Bill Jacobs was washed with hugs, kisses, and congratulations.

I hugged my boys tightly. Denver pressed his face into my shoulder and Dakota wrapped his long, gangly arms around both of us. We stayed there for a moment thanking whoever for the good luck.

This is the world I live in. It's a world of destruction, a world of chaos, and a world of luck and unluck. It's a world where every thing we do and say is scrutinized by some high falutant dictator who sends out space monsters and alien assassins to keep the planet in check. It's a world where it is a good day when an innocent boy isn't whipped for someone in our town breaking an oppressive law, or when my son isn't sucked up by a creature that roams the planet destroying everything in its path. It's a broken world and I know someone needs to fix it.