Talia Varoglu - Beware: Falling Rock

Beware: Falling Rock

Talia Varoglu

Copyright 2010 by Talia Varoglu.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010902079

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4500-4351-9

Softcover 978-1-4500-4350-2

E-book 978-1-4500-4352-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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74559

I want to see the red rocks.

Perhaps the deadliest sentence known to our blandly satisfied world. We dont think it, write it, acknowledge its prohibited existence. Or at least we shouldnt.

The General forbids all to speak it. Even in the lowest of tones. Even in the softest of whispers. It cannot be said.

And if it is, It will undoubtedly find you.

Last week a child blindly spoke those seven deadly words. KA-77639. At noon the next day on the way into town, I watched out of the corner of my eye as KA-77639 stepped through a gap in the Wall. A frightened shriek of misunderstood innocence pierced the heavy air, pinning my heart painfully to the back of my throat. When I craned my neck to peer through the car window, I saw an explosion of red as the scream was abruptly cut short.

A life was lost.

JH-39862 turned crossly in his seat and hit me. The force of the blow tossed my dizzy head to the side and popped four of his knuckles. I could feel my eyes beginning to water as blood rushed to my face and turned my cheeks cherry red.

Eyes ahead, JH-39862 snapped irritably. He turned back around, chin held high in a display of empty dominance and false moral superiority. I glared hotly at the back of his head and silently gloated because I couldnt feel any pain yet. If you hit the same spot too many times, eventually the impact dwindles into nothingness. And if you cut scar tissue, it doesnt seem to hurt.

Life continued as normal.

LB-00791 tells me stories on Free Days. The most wildly terrifying and gloriously faux pas stories imaginable.

Today hes telling me about how the world used to be. How life felt before the General dominated freedom and individuality.

Freedom. Individuality. What do those words mean, LB-00791, I ask. Ive never heard them before. Speaking them leaves a sweet taste in my mouth, and as I release them into the suffocating air around me, they seem to gently coat the earth in hope, soothing the sticky angst of our rejected planet.

Ill tell you, LB-00791 says, either lovingly or menacingly narrowing his eyes, but only if you call me Grandpa . He coughs and shifts awkwardly in his seat. Even JH-39862 wont call me Dad anymore.

His words trail off into confusion and drift lazily into the sadly unblemished sky, where the General devours them and frowns. It tells Itself to keep a close eye on LB-00791, and then It laughs because It already knows what is going to happen. Thousands of harmless people caged in Housing Units like animals begin laughing as well. None of them understand what is so funny, but they all continue laughing until the General stops and takes a deep breath and floats away.

LB-00791 pulls me close. I remember, he begins ardently, a time before this ridiculous control. He waves his arms in the air before allowing them to flop to his sides. Before the General. His eyes sparkle with furtive enthusiasm behind the dirt-covered lenses of his glasses. He seems to be in a state of blissful insanity and it almost makes me grin.

What do you mean , I ask quietly.

He coughs and then slowly continues, picking his words with apparent caution. I mean, life wasnt always this way. He raises his bushy eyebrows and becomes excited by the prospect of his illegal tale. There was a time when people thought for themselves. We did what we wanted, said what came to mind, and chased opportunity to build a future. Thats individuality. His voice, dripping with enthusiasm, trembles and cracks in his throat. No one was assigned a job, and each day wasnt specifically scheduled to fit a government agenda. And there were no Walls! Thats freedom. His whole face is transformed with joy into something so beautiful it becomes altogether unsightly and sickening.

But his words make my heart beat faster, and my mouth dries and freezes because I cant imagine a world without Walls.

I cant imagine a world without Walls.

The words I choke out sound like they belong to a robot: monotonous, dull, lifeless. The stifled creativity in my mind shudders in its accommodating prison cell.

It was marvelous, LB-00791 exclaims. Life, in itself, was something completely different. The attitude of the people alive and free and happy on this planet changed everything about the world.

The sun was stiflingly hot, but sweating under its rays didnt make you feel uncomfortable or unhappy. It made you feel alive! Empowered! Limitless! And after a day of laborious toil under that sun you could walk home watching the sunset, drink a cold beer, wash the layer of grime and filth from your skin, and then step out of the shower feeling clean and accomplished and beautiful, wiping the fog off the mirror to stare shamelessly at your naked body and see the sun baked into every crease and fold of it, save for where your clothes had been, and you could laugh at yourself because you looked all too much like a discolored gingerbread man who couldnt and wouldnt be any happier if he were just like everyone else.

Sometimes the grass was green, and sometimes brown and sometimes yellow, and sometimes multicolored because of the wildflowers everywherejust dots of color to brighten up the world, to articulate the earths joy to be alive and unbound. I remember running through grass in all kinds of weather, when the sun was shining, or when it was raining and I could barely travel three feet before slipping in mud and falling to the ground, or when there was just a dusting of hoarfrost on the plains, or a full blown snowstorm had hit the town! I loved the snow. Just taking a step required far too much effort, and even though it was colder than cold, I had to shed countless layers of clothing in no time to allow my sweat to dry. I remember trudging through three feet of snow one day... three feet! Imagine that! And I closed my eyes and inhaled frozen air and it felt unbelievably soothing in my lungs, it felt fresh, and cheerful, and when I opened my eyes and looked around, the world was such a beautiful sightso beautiful that I had to stop and catch my breath and slow my heart before it burst. Everything was covered in a quilt of whitepure white, as far as the eye could seeand I could hear blood rushing to my head and pounding from my heart to my soul, which was more than alive and was content to use my body as a host. And when I started walking again, wiping frozen moisture from the raw skin beneath my crimson nose, my boots crunched through the brittle surface of frozen snow and sunk to meet the earth buried far below, and my breath came in raspy puffs from my nose and mouth, fogging up my glasses and enveloping me in a mist of natures unbridled ecstasy. I remember thinking to myself that I was happy to be alive, and wondering if Id ever remember this moment in my life again, and Ive never forgotten it since.

And in some places there were rocksthe red rocks! They lined the hot pavement and stretched to the horizon, as far as eye could naturally see, and they blended with the mountains and with the waters that used to flow across the land, and when it rained the waters grew bigger because no one stopped the rain from falling, and if you looked up and opened your mouth you could feel nature bathing away your wrongs, and on both sides of you, out of the corners of your half-closed eyes, you could see the rain turning the red rocks redder.