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Amy felt like a play was being performed around her as she sat next to Blaze on the tree stump. She knew the characters, she recognized the setting, but whenever the people of Comida asked her what happened, she forgot her lines. It should have come to her easily.
Deny any involvement.
Tell the truth.
Provide any information they asked for.
But her lips were sealed, and her nerves were shot to the point of exhaustion. She found herself going into a state of shock, and her lack of participation in the questioning only aroused more suspicion. No one thought she killed Robert Willow, she wasn’t cunning or capable enough. But she might have aided someone in the ordeal—she might know who did it.
Blaze said plenty for both of them, but she was still a little girl in their eyes. Yes, her family had prestige, but her judgment was called into question the moment she befriended the bizarre pariah with a penchant for dominating food competitions. The truth was still out there, and violence was sure to bring it out.
“Why won’t you listen to me?!” Blaze pleaded as the crowd murmured amongst each other. After running home and telling her parents what happened, Blaze’s father had quickly gotten the Johnson family and a select few to investigate. Once they found the body, and a messenger was sent out to tell Comida’s key officers and officials, the word was out. The town came in droves, the like in which hadn’t been seen in years. All wanted to know the culprit behind Comida’s first murder in decades, and especially since the victim was one of their most beloved citizens.
“If you saw who did it, just tell us!” a man cried from the crowd as they surrounded the thin ring of law officials. There wasn’t much crime amongst the three communities and most of the disputes were left up to Musgrave’s appointed officers.
“Step aside,” a Musgrave officer shouted as he shoved the citizens back. “Come on people, stand aside.”
“It was one of you, wasn’t it?!” a young man spat at the officer, but he ignored it. He reached out and grabbed Amy’s face between his thick fingers.
“You know what happened, girl?” the officer said, his hot breath causing her to wince and turn away. He yanked her face back in front of his, grasping her chin too tight. “Tell me if you know something. I know you do. Trouble seems to follow you wherever you go.”
Amy was too scared to say anything, and the officer sucked his teeth. “If you don’t tell me your side of things, I’m going to have to assume you had a hand in it. You want that?”
She shook her head, but it only annoyed him more. He began grabbing her face tighter and pulling it closer to his, making it look like a fish.
“Nothing would make this town happier than locking you away,” he whispered. “Maybe if I pin this on you, they’ll stop heckling me.”
“Leave her alone!’ Blaze shouted, trying to kick at the officer’s arm. In protest he backhanded her across the face, drawing gasps from the crowd. Realizing his folly, the officer let go of Amy’s reddened face and stood up to face the mob. They glared at him as he stammered over his words.
“You saw the girl, she kicked me!” he shouted, but the people were already on edge.
“It was probably him!” the same young man from earlier shouted. The crowd wasn’t in the mood to argue—not with their savior dead. Before the officer could reach for the club at his hip, a woman hit him in the back of the head with a stick. A couple of men rushed in to grab his arms while two more grabbed his legs. The officer yelled and screamed but no one was listening. His cries were drowned out by the crowd. They carried him away as Amy stretched her neck upwards, trying to see a glimpse of their intentions towards him. An old man came to her side and began washing her face with a damp cloth.
“We know you didn’t do it,” he lamented as she stared at him in shock. “Little thing like yourself couldn’t take out a man like that. Him being in that forest...he was never a great woodsman. Naw, he was lured there. It’s certain.”
“They don’t know that the officer did it,” Blaze retorted as she stood to her feet from the tree stumps on which they sat.
“Does it matter?” the old man replied. “This is beyond the two of you. Might as well sit back and enjoy the show.”
“They’re going to kill him!” Blaze shouted but the man closed his eyes and made a pressing motion in the air with both hands.
“Settle, child. Comida has been waiting for this moment. If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else.”
“But Musgrave...Hearth...” Blaze whispered. “They won’t stand for it. The community isn’t ready for the kind of fire they can bring. They’ll burn this place to the ground.”
“Not likely,” the old man said. “We are the farmers after all. Won’t have the strength to burn when there’s no food to sustain you.”
“Then we’ll be punished,” Amy said suddenly. The quiet outburst caught them both off guard, and it grabbed their undivided attention. “They’ll make an example out of us. That’s what they do.”
“Amy,” Blaze said, wrapping her arms around her neck. “Are you okay?”
“No,” Amy said, shaking her head. “I wish I was. I...I wish we never found that man. They won’t let me go now. I know they won’t. They’ll think I’m trying to run away.”
“If we explain it to them, then—”
“Explain what?” Amy snapped, pointing to the crowd in the distance. “Look at them.”
Blaze didn’t want to, but she had to acknowledge her friend’s request. She hoped that she would turn around and all was well. Perhaps her neighbors were simply throwing the officer into a cell or giving him a light thrashing. Such was not the case.
The first image that seared into her mind was the red grass.
The next was the noise. Clubs and pipes and whatever blunt objects her family and friends could find began to pound against his flesh. The officer’s colleagues had run off for help or to go into hiding, but they didn’t get far. They were fat and got tired easily from their lavish living conditions.
The townspeople of Comida caught up to them one by one...and one by one, they ceased to exist.
Blaze turned from the horror and looked into the eyes of the old man with tired, watery eyes.
“What happens now?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
He gave her a curt smile and then sighed heavily. “War, my child. War.”
Blaze shuddered from the words, but it only made Amy angrier. She clenched her fists and bit her lip until she drew blood. She stood to her feet and glared at the mob in the distance. She didn’t have the same emotions that Blaze had for them.
Right now, all she could feel was contempt.
The moment she had decided to leave—realizing that she would never fit in—she was being forced to stay. She felt like she would remain a part of Comida forever—a dusty painting on the wall, unloved, unappreciated, and of so little value that to anyone passing by, it was as if she were blending in with the wall itself.
TRISTAN BURST INTO his father’s study. Unsurprisingly, his father found no effort in keeping his focus solely on the newspaper in front of him. Tristan reached over and slammed the newspaper down onto his father’s desk. He glared into the old man’s eyes.
His father stared back at him with a hazy, glossed-over stare as if he had gone blind, but Tristan knew he could see him. At least visually.
“The time for games and disappointments are over,” Tristan said, only an inch from his face. “I’m glad you’ve been reading the paper because you already have the context of what I’m about to say.”
The cloud vanished from his father’s eyes as if he had willed it so. The old man sat back in his throne-like leather chair and folded his hands together. “Has the board rescinded their assessment of your proposal?”
“No,” Tristan scoffed, pacing back and forth in front of his father’s desk. “That was years ago. Why would they do such a thing?”
“Then what are you talking about? You said my disappointment would diminish. That means you have brought me news of substance.”
“I have,” Tristan said, barely able to contain his excitement. “You’ve read the paper. Of the expedition heading outside of the communities? Destiny calls me, father.”
“I’m confused,” his father said, staring back down at the newspaper. “Is this your doing?”
“The expedition is where I will prove my worth.”
“Wait, wait, wait...it says here that the expedition was approved by the board of Musgrave, but the proposal was submitted by Ferris Muttly.” His father raised his hand in anger. He clenched his jaw tight before he continued. “The golden child of Musgrave—this is his expedition. Are you trying to tell me that joining the crew of this ridiculous adventure is how you intend to win my favor?”
“No, no, well, not exactly.”
“Ferris himself isn’t even going,” his father said, getting angrier. “Because he knows that true Musgrave men are delegators and leaders. They would never demean themselves with grunt work and manual labor.”
“That is why he won’t get the glory that I will,” Tristan said.
“Please explain yourself. I can’t stand anymore of your rambling.”
“I plan on creating my own expedition team,” Tristan said proudly. “I’m going to find a crew myself and then lead them personally. When we uncover mysteries and treasures untold, I will be the face of the team, while Ferris will merely enjoy a cut of what they find. Don’t you see? I’ll actually be famous and known throughout the communities. From there, I can submit proposals as much as I like, and they are sure to be approved based on public persistence.”
“So...” his father said. “Not on their own merits.”
“Hmm?”
“Your proposals...they will be approved because you are forcing the board to, not because they warrant consideration.”
“That’s not the whole point,” Tristan said. “It’s also about proving that we can work together to—”
“Were you listening to the board when they denied you? Your idea was ludicrous.”
“That doesn’t mean I should be cast aside forever,” Tristan said, taken aback. “People have more than one idea. I was also a child. Don’t they, you know, learn and grow?”
“An adolescent is often an accurate representation of their adult selves. After that point, it is merely memorized facts and flashes of brilliance.”
“And why can’t my expedition idea be a flash of brilliance?”
His father sighed deeply. “For one, it’s not your idea, it’s Ferris’s. Second, you’ll get yourself killed. Occasionally, an expedition team goes out secretly to find other civilizations. They never return...” his father got up from his seat so that he was at eye-level with Tristan. “And this is not because they have found some paradise. It’s because they die. They are killed. There is a hostile world out there, Tristan, and your idea is to foolishly march beyond the Lasting Wall and perish.”
“It’s better than dying here.”
“If that is your wish.”
“If going out there is so horrible, then why send an expedition at all? Why make it public this time? Did Ferris uncover something?”
“This is a fantastic way to separate the chaff from the wheat,” his father said, crossing his arms. “The troublemakers and the proudest of Hearth and Comida will surely jump on this opportunity, and there will eventually be more expeditions to follow. As they become more commonplace, we will enact drafts, targeting those that we deem unfit for Musgrave’s vision. Over time, the three communities will actually unite and embrace its true, rightful name. Someday...we will be known as Musgrave, and Musgrave alone.”
Tristan stood before his father in shock. “Um,” he shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “I—uh, wow...your idea of improving our lives, is to remove them?”
“I will say this. Your idea of unity is...admirable. There was a time in which I might have entertained a notion, however briefly, but it is unrealistic and unsustainable. Our species is prone to violence while paradoxically preaching self-preservation. This too is unsustainable. We will end up destroying ourselves, and so, before that happens, necessary actions must be taken for the future of mankind. Your proposal is impossible to implement.”
“We wouldn’t know if we didn’t try.”
“You can say that about anything.”
“It doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Perhaps, but who would be willing to work for it?”
“Once we convince them that the best things in life are the hardest to obtain, they will slowly come on board.”
“See, son, that’s where we differ. I don’t believe you have to work so hard for what you need.”
“It’s easier to say that when it’s handed to you.”
His father chuckled under his breath and sat back down. “Yes, and you can include yourself in that number. Fine then. Go ahead. Leave, form your team, and get yourself killed. It’s not like it will make a difference in the atmosphere of this mansion.”
Tristan turned around to walk out the room. “And I wonder whose decision it was to make it feel that way,” he shouted. He slammed the door behind him.
He had never gone in for his father’s blessing, so the rejection didn’t bother him. He had hoped that he could gain a moment of recognition, and though he hadn’t achieved that, he at least was able to muster up a conversation.
It would do.
He wanted his father to recall the conversation daily, as he wondered where his son was, and what sights he was witnessing. Then, when Tristan returned, his father would have no choice but to acknowledge him.
He would love a hug, a word of affirmation, or even a smile, but even a glance his way would suffice.
Tristan wasn’t greedy.
