ATTENTION: YOU NEED TO KNOW NOTHING
OF THE GIVER TO READ THIS
Author's Note: Okay, I know I told myself that I would only want to write Twilight fiction when I came onto this site, but I can't hold myself back! You see, my friend's sister read it and told me it was a great book, this one called, "The Giver". So I read it, and I found it was a very touching book. The whole plot described this perfect utopia, where there is no war and no hate, or love or family. Everyone is the same, gets the same education and amount of food, so no one goes starving.
But is it really so perfect? That's the main idea of the book as Jonas, the new Receiver of Memories in training learns, through the memories of the past given to him by The Giver. And so, finally Jonas escapes to Elsewhere, with Gabe-a small baby he couldn't bear to see released-and finds that he is welcomed greatly, admired and becomes a Leader.
So, I had to write this about Kira, asking her father about this strange boy-man that has come.
Both are around their teenage years, directly after "Gathering Blue".
I looked outside, out the window of the small sitting room, to where a small male child of about five years played. He had blond curls, and a huge, happy smile. He was laughing, and had a bright cherry-colored ball in his hands, just small enough to fit into his tiny fist.
Then, he tossed it, throwing it to a young man who I failed to notice. He had very fair skin, and a mix of brown and gold hair. His eyes were a striking blue, and, although he was smiling softly, you could see the pain in them. Pain, like he had a horrible memory stuck in the back of his mind, unable to bring it out.
"Father?" I said, turning around. He was sitting there, in the big chair, hands resting on his lap peacefully.
"Yes, child?"
"Well, I was wondering about a boy outside the window. He doesn't look very familiar, I don't ever remember seeing him in this Village." I continued to peer confusedly at him.
My father smiled. "You know I have no way of knowing who you speak of. Please, describe him to me."
My father was blind, unseeing ever since...well, I didn't like to think about why he was blind, although I knew as much about the subject as any passing stranger. Still, sometimes I believed that ignorance was bliss.
"Well," I began. "He has brownish-blond hair, and pale blue eyes. He's tall, and-"
"Ahh...yes, Leader." He cut me off, smiling wider.
My forehead wrinkled in deeper confusion. "Leader? But how, he's only my age, about sixteen or seventeen. Very young for a Leader."
"Young, yes. But braver than all the eldest men put together in all of the Villages. Do you know his story, Kira?"
I shook my head.
"Leader came here when he was but thirteen years old, traveling from a Community far, far away, where there are rules that are very unlike ours here." He seemed to know that I was about to interrupt, so he continued in further detail. "That Community is a very...civilized place, supposedly a utopia. There, there is no hate or war or hunger, and every one gets along. They all live a life of peace, and everyone wears the same clothes as to avoid stereotypes or exclusive groups.
"However, with all of these perfections, comes great loss. Loss of the beautiful things in life. There is no music or song, or books of pleasure or color. There is no family, no love."
My eyes widened in alarm. "So this boy grew up without...love?"
"Yes, it is true."
"But...how did he learn of here? Is he just a cold man, with no feelings? Why is he our Leader, then? Did we-"
My father shook his head. "No, no. He is perhaps the most kind man I have ever met in my lifetime. That is it, though. A year before he left, when he was a...what did he call it? A Twelve, that is it. He was a Twelve, and ready to receive his Assignment."
I tried to listen as carefully and understandingly as I could, but all of it was just a confusing jumble of words. My mind was still trying to comprehend the type of community that this boy, this Leader, had lived in for most of his life.
"And..." My father paused again, his brow wrinkling.
I nodded, urging him to continue. "Yes, yes. Go on."
He smiled softly and sadly. "I am afraid that my memory of the story ends at this point."
"But...but, I must hear the rest!"
"All I know, child, is that he came here and was offered a new life. He has been here for four years now, and is highly respected. Now go, and leave me to rest."
I turned, still slightly miffed that I couldn't hear the rest, and ran out the door. My father could be so moody sometimes-that was what I had learned since I had came here, just a few weeks ago. He was so kind, of course, but he tended to be snappy when I pressured him so.
I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking. I was squinting my eyes in frustration, and was on the verge of running. Well, as close to running as this body allowed.
See, I was born with a twisted leg, from my mother. She cared for me, like a good mother, but what was the use of an average girl with a bum leg? Nothing. And when she died, I was left as an orphan, at the time thinking that my father had died too. So they had me working as a weaver, and I died threads and sewed and fixed clothes and weaved baskets for the majority of my life. But then my life changed, hopefully for the better, when my little friend Matt brought me my father, who made me come here, to his Village. And so I had been living here for the past weeks, coming accustomed to this new life, where I had a loving father and a wonderful town. I smiled, walking along still.
Then I hit someone.
Hard.
"Ow!" I cried, rubbing my arm. "Listen, you had better watch where your walking, you could have hurt..." But I lost my train of thought as I looked into the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen.
I could feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. "I am so sorry! I didn't realize that it was you, and I should have realized the speed I was going. It was hazardous to the people in my path. I apologize for-"
He stopped me right there. "Do not apologize, please. It is a waste of time and energy, when there is much work to be done. I learned it from..." His voice trailed off into a memory. "Still, I accept your apology." He seemed to spit out the words, like they were poison.
"Are you alright, Leader?"
His sour expression softened suddenly, and he looked down at me, smiling. "Yes, thank you. I, for one, apologize for that. It's just a habit of hate that I have developed from my...old Community."
I nodded, and was about to turn around, before my stubbornness got the best of me. "...Leader?" I looked hopefully at him as he turned back around, a questioning look on his face.
"Yes?"
"I was wondering about your old Community. I hear that there is no music or love or any feelings there. And I was wondering...how did you get here? My father told me about it up to the point where you got your...what was it? Assignment?"
He closed his eyes, remembering. "Yes. My Assigment. Well, let us start at the Ceremony of Twelve, shall we? When they had skipped number 19, a boy named Jonas."