History Repeats

Short story about a young girl and her family in a futuristic society and the dangers they face.

I was only nine-years-old when I realized something was wrong. Dad had died from Ngaio Syndrome and we all had moved in with Grandma Izzy and Grandpa Murle. When I say, 'we all,' I mean, Mom, me and the twins. Paisley and Archer were just four. A bad day for them was losing a picture book or a button eye popping off an ancient teddy bear. I was way more mature, after all, the year was 3031, we were designed for perfection.

Perfection was different for every individual in Alleyn Yard, the Sector my family had lived in for generations. Some were chipped as Growers providing sustenance, some were chipped as Medics to heal the sick and some were chipped with the skill of Martial Arts as Protectors. Weapons were not allowed in Alleyn Yard. We were meant to be self-sufficient with minimal assistance from Higher-Ups; or so we were told. We toiled with our hands, minds and bodies.

At the age of six, like most others, I was given an aptitude test and chipped as Historian. I had a talent for memorizing facts and dates and had excellent writing skills. It was my duty to keep records and preserve information for future residents of Alleyn Yard.

I took my responsibilities seriously and devoured current and past events voraciously. I became quite interested in my Sector, other Sectors and the world as a whole. I studied education, dwellings, fashion, finances and wars. I wanted to learn about the past in order to construct well-written documents for the future.

"How's the research going, Callas?" Grandpa Murle asked on a particularly random day.

"I keep seeing this word 'nuclear'," I pronounced slowly. "Why did people have wars a long time ago?"

Grandpa Murle looked at my Life Screen with watery hazel eyes. "I am thankful that I have never dealt with repercussions of war in my days and neither did my father or his father but I saw a movie once about it."

"What was it like?" I smoothed a wrinkle from my issued uniform. We were not allowed movies or music. We were workers. Little entertainment filtered among us.

"The movie had actors and actresses; people who pretended they were in a war. I knew it wasn't real but it was pretty bad."

"Bad how?"

The man I looked up to, depended on, and loved like no other shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Callas, you don't need to know about these things."

"But Grandpa, I have studied timelines, maps and politics in ancient countries." I tried to convey determination in my young, feminine voice. "The way I'm processing this information, I believe we're in store for one of those nuclear bombs."

"No way." Grandpa Murle pulled a chair beside my own, staring intently at my Life Screen again. "How do you figure?"

I ran my stubby finger along the device, pointing out three key passages.

"When?"

The single word sent a chill down my spine. Pressing a thumb to the left-hand corner, the passages changed to a fresh page. "According to my calculations, I believe we, and the world we know, will be obliterated in a matter of six days."

Grandpa Murle scanned the words flickering behind the glass, hugged me tight and buried his wrinkled face in my cream-colored hair.

Paisley and Archer came bounding into my compartment. Archer's arms were laden with toy trucks. Paisley juggled a baby doll and brush and comb set.

"Come play with us!" They said in unison.

"Grandma Izzy is looking for you, Grandpa," Archer giggled.

"My baby's hungry, Callas. Can you take care of us?"

Oh, how I wish I could. How I wish I could.

Over the next six days I searched over and over again for indications that I was wrong. Had I read something incorrectly? Had I misunderstood? Why were the Higher-Ups not telling the people of Alleyn Yard about the impending attack? Did they even know?

Mom refused to believe, either that or she was in denial. Grandma Izzy believed but went about her day, hoping against hope that if she ignored the circumstances it would go away and never happen. There was no use telling the twins; they wouldn't understand anyway.

We pinpointed the time to the best of our ability. Noon. The bomb would hit at noon and wipe out every sign of life. Men, women, children, animals, plants. Everything. Grandpa Murle convinced me to tell no one else. No one would survive. What good would panic and terror do?

My family crammed into the small closet we had used during times of bad weather despite protests from Mom and Grandma Izzy.

I clutched papers containing evidence in my fist as the lights went out.

Grandpa Murle turned on my Life Screen. "One more minute," he gasped. "I love you all."

I crumpled my papers into a ball and dropped them to the floor. Squeezing my brother's and sister's hands, the last thing I heard before impact was their sweet, childish laughter.

Author's Note

Please give an overall review on this short story. Thank you!

Reviews

[J. Swaney]

I like this one.. It seemed a clear and concise truth, those who forget the past repeat it. I wonder in this day with entertainment news, and so little unbiased truth in the press, if we aren't doing the smae thing even now. Great read, very thought provoking, no one that will be understood by the sheeple.

[MelissaAndres]

Thank you for reading and commenting, J. Swaney. I am glad you liked this.

[747]

This certainly progresses quickly. It's a bit jolting, things happen almost too quickly for the reader to adjust. Overall though a good story with an important lesson.

[MelissaAndres]

Thank you for reading and commenting, Dell.