Rule Underneath Godly Tyrants... (possibly)

Chapter 1: Woe is us

It is a bleak day in Provien. A darker, cloudier day has likely never been seen before. It is the perfect day for the Callas. If we, the people of Provien are lucky enough, the Soliv’s will drown in the gloominess of the day and the Callas will never happen. We will not be, because on this day thousands and thousands of Provien’s will gather to prepare for the biggest event of the year; we will all be forced into what is called the Pizarr, a beautiful building that appears to be harmless, in order to participate in what the Soliv’s refer to as the Marking. To those who truly knew the terrors of it, it is called the Callas. In there countless horrors will take place as we are forced to spill our fellow citizen’s blood. We do this every year as a sacrifice to appease our Gods and to prove to our government that we are good brainwashed citizens. This year, around thirty thousand young Provien’s will enter the Pizarr to fight for their lives- even fewer will come out.

As if this isn’t enough, while all the people capable of protecting their families are gone, representatives of the government will come and “clean”. This is where they sweep through the village and carry off anyone deemed undesirable by our government. The sick, the old and the disabled will all be gone when the Callas ends in three days time. We’re told that they go to comfortable lives. Everyone in Provien knows better, because no one who has been taken is ever seen again. It is ironic that after surviving starvation, freezing winters, disease, and the Callas for twenty years, Provien’s still do not get the chance to enjoy a long and peaceful life. Yet we fight regardless, as if those few extra years make a difference in the grand scheme of things.

            At the fireplace, my mother flipped the bacon she was preparing and started humming a merry tune.

            “Breakfast is almost ready, Eisem.” She chirped.

            That is my mother for you. Still attempting to remain cheery so I won’t drift into one of my moods. I suppose I should pretend to be grateful. I forced a smile.

            “That’s great, Mom. I’ll go ahead and set the table.” I got up and started towards the plates. They had their own special spot on the floor in the corner. She seemed to hear the tension in my voice and, turning, she looked at me. Seeing my smile, she sighed and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

“Eisem… you don’t need to pretend with me. I’m your mother.”

            I dropped the pretense. There is no bothering with her. The smile slid off my face as quickly as waves over the shore, leaving only its ghostly imprint as proof that it had ever been there.

            She pulled me into an embrace, squeezing me gently as if scared that I would break. Stretching to reach, she gave my cheek a motherly kiss.

            “We’ll be okay. We always survive.” she whispered to me reassuringly, saying all the words that I so desperately longed to hear. If only they weren’t just words.

            “You go sit,” she said, sensing that they are not enough this year. “I’ll set the table.”

            Listening to her, I went and sat at the rickety three-legged excuse for a table. It wasn’t even worthy enough to place in a barn- if we had to get rid of it, we would only be able to sell it as firewood, and a poor excuse for that it would be.

            My mom placed the platter of bacon and eggs in front of me. They broke our budget, but if you know a day might be your last, you eat like royalty and forget everything else. She sat down beside me and started to break some pieces off of a slice of bread.

            I rolled my eyes in exasperation and sat my fork down. “Mom,” I began, “What is that?”

            She looked down at the bread and back up at me like a Provien caught with a gold piece. “You need your energy more than I do.” she defended herself.

            “Gods mom, did you give me all the bacon and eggs?” I asked in disbelief.

            “Eisem, please,” she begged me as her way of answering. “Don’t make a big deal out of this. You need it more than I do.”

            “No, I can’t. I can’t mom. You deserve it more than I do.”

            Her eyes widened at me. “Eisem, don’t you say that,” she warned, “you’re my son and I would do anything for you. This meal is nothing to me! I don’t need it. You eat, enjoy it while you can. Please, let’s just not talk about it anymore. Just eat.”

            I looked back and forth between her and the plate, torn between doing the right thing and not upsetting her. 

            “You’d best dig in, the bells about to ring.” she cautioned, seeing my indecision. With that, I started to eat and let everything else drift. She isn’t the type to be persuaded once she has her mind set on something, especially whenever it pertains to the welfare and happiness of her children. I would only be wasting my breath if I kept pushing her.

 

            Thirty minutes later, I am dressed and ready to go. My mother trailed behind me as I started for the door.

            “Do you have your bow?” she questioned.

            “It’s hanging on my back, ma.” I sighed loudly, trying to disparage her from pulling her usual stunt of ask-Eisem-a-million-questions-before-he-leaves-for-the-Callas.

            “Your canteen?” she pressed on, ignoring the sigh.

            “At my hip.” I muttered, trying to reach the door.

            “Your extra knife?”

            “It broke.” I gritted my teeth. This was going to be another year with the incessant questions, meant to delay me in reaching the Pizarr. There is no way I can avoid it- it irritates me to no end. I love my mother, and am grateful she cares about me so much, but the Callas isn’t a good time for me; it doesn’t make me want to hold my loved ones close and cry into their shoulders as I tell them how much they mean to me. Instead, it makes me want to shut them all out. Eventually they will die, or I will die. To go numb in that moment when you know it is likely you will lose them is the best way to insure that no one gets hurt. My mom is the exact opposite, and always tries to get me to open up to her on this day.

            “What about your blanket?” she is practically sobbing at this point, sensing my impatience to go, and I am getting more and more frantic to leave. I know what is about to happen, and I am using every ounce of my strength to prevent myself from running.

            “Yes, ma!”

            “Eisem!” she cried out despairingly, right as my hand reached the doorknob.

            “WHAT, MOM?”

            “You’re the only one I have left out of four kids. I love you, and I can’t lose another kid before my time,” she sobbed. “Stay safe.”

I softened for a moment. I decided that, just for a second, I would let my guard down and my true emotions show. I could afford that- I wasn’t killing anyone yet.

            “I will never give up. Don’t worry about me, Ma. I’m a survivor. Focus on yourself and avoiding the cleaners.”

            “I promise I will. Now, run, so you won’t be late. You know what they do to those people.” knowing full well what she meant, I started out the door. Whether I went to victory or my untimely demise, well, that remained to be seen.

Author's Note

What do you think of the storyline?